#Sniffle... I remember seeing them in the magma

[luckyartdrawer]

IF YOU'RE COLD, THEY'RE COLD!!! LET THEM IN!!!!!

Version without the heavy glass effect :3

These cutie patooties are @divinit3a Chimera Alien DCA! (Cosmic Horror Chimera AU) I did a little art trade with Pom, but regardless of that I still love these Alien goobers' designs so much <333 They toe the line of creepy and adorable well! (I'd trust them :3 )

(I was actually planning to draw these sillays eventually, but now I got an excuse to do it immediately anddd get something too mwehehehe >:333)

Go check out Pom! He's got some lovely designs and alsooo here's a link to these sillays' ref sheet :3

Here's a link to their half as well! (LOOK AT IT, ITS GOREGOUS, I SWEAR ON MY SEALS IT'LL BE WORTH IT)

[mandoinevarro]

NO APPOINTMENT, NO MEETING

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Words: 9.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: so ok descriptions of blood (it’s only one sentence and I don’t think it’s too bad but just in case), remembering trauma/triggering memories, angst. now for the fun part: SMUT, one (1) thigh spank, a sprinkle of dirty talk, a dash of praise kink, spitting, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, maybe cockwarming but for like two minutes

a/n: happy 2021!!! only one chapter left after this one so enjoy. for the hornies who only want fun and sexy times: scroll to the bottom and work your way up, smut is like 3/4 in.

……………

In the blue morning light, Nevarro is almost beautiful.

The deserted lava fields spread in flat terrain as far as the eye can see, bumps and dips where magma cooled creating waves like a black ocean. Among the tide, obsidian turtle shells shimmer like dark mirrors, where Din Djarin studies his face. It startled him when he crawled from the tent to take the pram inside; when he glanced at the ground and the ground glanced back. His face cloudy and warped by irregular volcanic rock, he barely recognized it. It’s not rare for his features to blur in his memory sometimes, especially when he’s out working for days at a time unable to catch a glimpse of himself. Vanity is not one of his many shortcomings—hiding your face for decades is a mighty vaccine against it.

But today something’s different. The reflection peering up at him belongs to a stranger. Relaxed eyebrows, a hooked nose (has the curved always been so pronounced?), lips that faintly curl up. Content brown eyes. His mirrored counterpart is a sentient being below him, plump with blood and oxygen. Alive.

He looks happy.

However, morning weighs heavily on Din, he can see it in the bags below his eyes. It stings like a hangover, like the only hangover he ever had, back when he was an eighteen-year-old idiot and used the credits of his first bounty to get a flask of spotchka from some seedy bar. He remembers sitting in his crammed quarters at the old Covert, chugging the bottle on his own, methodically forcing himself to swallow against the burn. Waiting. Waiting for the alchemy to kick in, for the magic toxins that flushed drunks’ faces, lubricant that oiled their scowls into easy smiles. Waiting to feel what everyone else felt, just for a moment.

Lifting his head, Din peers ahead. Shadows of the city’s buildings creep above the horizon like a bad omen. The opposite of a promised land. Hunchbacked buildings stain the blue-gray sky, abruptly interrupt the intricate lava patterns, Nevarro the planet versus Nevarro the city. Din’s stomach crumples. One, maybe two hours by foot. One, maybe two hours, and last night will fade into a distant memory, a collection of ghost sensations.

But not yet. Right now, last night is still real. You are still real.

Crawling back into the tent, he licks his lips for the millionth time today. He can still taste you: that thick, salty-bitter taste, so much better than he could’ve imagined. He hopes it stays on his lips for a long time; or, at least, that he can replace it soon.

Inside, you’re curled up with his cape, a blooming bruise above your shoulder peeking out, the baby’s pram hovering next to you. He sits down, careful not to awake either of you, and runs a finger down your shoulder, feels the skin prickle. He buries his nose on the back of your hair and inhales: rain and earth as usual, but his soap too, a part of him that clings to you. Lips on the crook of your neck, Din smells himself on you, wonders if you’ll want to wash his scent away, or if you’ll want it to stay on you. You stir, your soft exhales gain a rasp. Din smiles. You do snore, after all.

He’ll have to wake you soon. He knows. He knows. You need to talk about last night. You need to have the frank conversation that you’ve both been postponing for way too long, back when you floated in dead space, no deadlines, no rush at all to make decisions. But things have changed, and he knows what he wants now, and he knows it can’t wait. Yet every time his fingers brush your shoulder to nudge you awake, he pulls them back. He’s never seen you so peaceful, not moving except for your expanding and contracting chest, the light fluttering of your lashes. All the fight in your body gone, those tall bridges around you down and inviting. So different from when he met you.

If there’s one thing Din’s good at, it’s sniffing out trouble. He had to be, if he wanted to make it in the Fighting Corps. In the Bounty Hunter’s Guild. He can sweep a room with a mental black light, spot the people who flare up white and bright, the ones he needs to stay away from—or approach, depending on the situation. And that day at the cantina, the first time he laid eyes on you? You glowed with it. Talking big game in Karga’s booth, laughing with your pretty smile and shuffling cards, you beamed with trouble, bright as radiation and just as dangerous. What needed to happen was clear as day. The Mandalorian needed to turn on his heels immediately, strut out of that bounty hunter hive without a second look, and never, ever, ask about you.

He’d been there before.

Mandalorians, despite common belief, are not made of beskar. Not on the inside, at least. They’re all warm blooded organics, burdened with flesh and internal organs and skeletons; pain and pleasure receptors. Older Mandalorians cautioned younger ones when they came of age and finished their training, when they were ready to become providers. Tall stern warriors, his superiors, warned that there would be temptation, situations that would make him doubt the Way. “Even the briefest taste,” Din’s former Alor said with that cavernous voice he had, “can be the point of no return.” And he was right.

Outside the Covert, there was so much…stimuli. Voices and colors and movement, a twenty-four-hour beehive, the galaxy buzzed and vibrated to no end. It was equally wonderous and grotesque, like a circus. The strenuous noises that rattled his ribcage, the strong smells, the different food, his senses had never felt more exhausted. The faces…stars, the faces. How muscles stretched in a big smile, the glint of teeth, the deep creases between eyebrows that signaled anger. Always moving, always changing, Din hadn’t seen so many uncovered heads since he was a child. His first few weeks outside he’d stare at people for hours until they scurried away or tried to fight him. Tried.

Then, when the initial shock wore out, he noticed other details. The way children’s eyes filled with admiration when they’d look at their parents, how that dimpled girl in Alderaan would blush and stutter whenever he bought something from her stall. And Din would wonder, despite all warnings, what it’d feel like to be one of them. To share so much of himself with the outside world. With time, curiosity morphed into obsession, obsession into desperation, and soon enough he found himself with Rand and the others, running rampant in an already chaotic galaxy.

One war, two decades, and a thousand regrets later, the curiosity died down. The helmet helped him tune out the outside world, made it easier to retreat into his memories. The galaxy seemed duller by the day, emptier. Lonelier, though he didn’t dwell on it.

That is, until he met you.

Until his resolve circled the drain and he asked Karga who you were and where to find you, walked into your store without an idea of what he’d say. Behind the counter, eyes shining and that silky voice asking what you could do for him, you reset the galaxy for him. Every time he visited you felt like his first day outside all over again.

But last night—that was stronger, set in stone. It felt like commitment. Something was born last night, something burgeoned in his chest and took root. Din can feel the fullness in his body, like he grew an extra limb, similar to the swell that tangled in his insides when he went back for the kid. He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but it reminds him of the day he swore the Creed. The fresh sense of purpose, the carved-out path in front of him, knowing what needs to be done:

When the siege is over, he’ll take you with him.

“Are you watching me sleep?” you mumble, cotton mouthed. “Kinda creepy.”

Din chuckles, then remembers. Stars, his heart stops beating for a second. Dread and natural reflexes throw his palm whip fast over your closed eyes. Maker. What the hell was he thinking, sitting next to you without the helmet. Maker, one second too late and you could’ve opened your eyes and—

“Didn’t see anything. Promise,” you say with a smile and pull his cape over your face. “Cover up.”

He pats around for the helmet (where the hell did he drop it last night?), finds it abandoned by your feet. When he fits it around his head, the familiar padding hugging his skull, he swears it feels heavier than it did yesterday.

“You decent?”

“Yeah.”

You lower the pseudo blanket, sleepy eyes and easy smile. As if you purposefully want to make it harder for him to strike up a conversation. But do I really need to— Yes. Yes, he does. He has to know where you stand and ask the big question: If you’d be willing to leave with him once the siege is lifted. Stars, his hands are sweating. But he can’t imagine you’d say no. Not after last night.

“Listen…”

As if on cue, whimpers and sniffles float from the closed pram. Great timing, kid. The baby’s ears droop like wilting leaves when Din places him on the ground, and the little bundle waddles with his eyes cast down until he reaches your ankle.

“What is it, kiddo?” you ask softly, your voice gentler than Din’s ever heard, sitting up as you hug his cloak tighter around your shoulders.

“I think…” Din begins, watching the baby sniffle and hug your bandaged calf. “I think he’s apologizing.”

A pair of eight-ball eyes blink at you, shiny with unshed tears, and Din feels an ache deep in his chest. This sweet little kid, all he’s been put through…

“Oh, don’t worry,” you coo, as one of your hands wriggles out the cloak and cradles the baby’s cheek. Your thumb brushes away a fat tear. “I’m tougher than your dad.” You wink at Din: Just kidding. But it’s true. Living in this planet for so long, all on your own. “Tough” is a survival skill for you, not a choice.

Also…dad. He should probably correct you. Din is not the kid’s real father, even though he’s caught himself thinking about the baby as his son once or twice, when he’s not too aware of his inner monologue. But he can’t bring himself to tell you the truth. Actually, he belongs to a race of wizards that I’ve been quested to deliver him to. Can’t adopt him if I’ll eventually give him up. Not when the kid’s shedding quiet tears into your leg and you’re doing your best to soothe him. Nevarro’s not child friendly, and Din can’t imagine you’ve got much practice with baby stuff, but he can tell you’re doing your best. And that’s enough to spread warmth through his chest.

What a troop you must make: Mandalorian bounty hunter, black market dealer, magic green baby. You could set up a three-person circus and retire. Yet the image tugs at a memory tucked away in his mind, something familiar but blurred.

His rumination’s cut short when Din notices the kid’s pudgy hands extending strategically on either side of your right leg, his eyelids beginning to flicker. Shit, shit, shit.

“She forgives you,” he tells the kid hastily as he scoops him and lays him on the open pram. He doesn’t need to be the little womprat’s real father to tell he was about to whip out his favorite party trick: healing witch powers. So far it doesn’t look like it permanently harms him, but it does weaken him, and Din can’t take chances. Plus, he skipped the part about the baby having supernatural powers when he told you his story, and there’s not a hell of a lot of ways one can explain fresh wounds disappearing.

“So,” you say after the baby’s settled in his pod. “What are we going to do,” you start, and Din’s throat knots with dread and excitement, “about the jammer.”

Oh. Stars, straight to business

“You said you have one.”

“I said I might have one,” you answer, grabbing for your discarded skirts. You fumble with them under the cloak, one hand clasped tight around it. It’s funny—after everything you’ve shared, you won’t undress in front of him during the day. “I mean, jammers aren’t picky like motors, they’re more one-size-fits-all.”

“But we still have to rewire it,” Din completes, wiping dry drool from the kid’s cheek with his thumb.

“Right.” Holding the cloak with your chin while you clasp your tunic, you seem to slowly draw your way out of a maze. That restless abacus in your head adding and subtracting. Your brows relax, and Din knows you’ve figured it out. “But I’ve got my equipment in my workshop, and we’d save time not having to remove it from a ship. And, no offense, but the Crest’s jammer was an antique. Way more complicated than newer models.” You finish dressing and hand him the cloak. “Only problem is the potential trooper stakeout outside the store.”

“I’ll take care of troopers.” Din takes the cloak and hesitates. It��s day nine, that time bomb still ticks in his head. Could it be that easy? Could you really do all this in one day? “What if we don’t finish on time?”

“Then,” you say, “we’ll figure something out.”

We, Din thinks, and smiles. Somehow, that’s all the reassurance he needs.

≈

Nevarro couldn’t look more deserted if tumbleweed rolled in the streets. The city’s a populated ghost town, no man’s land that’s filled with men. Well, men is a strong word. How did Viszla put it that time? We live hidden like sand rats. Yes, rats seems more fitting. Packs of them, scurrying around the former Covert, stealing Mandalorian armor to be bartered for scraps. Karga didn’t have to spell it out when he told him about people finding the Covert. Mando is familiar with the ways of the Outer Rim: Anything unclaimed is up for the taking, and beskar’s too tempting to resist. Knowing doesn’t make his blood boil any less, though. If Din focuses, he can almost hear their squeaking echoing from the sewers, the scavengers of this gray rock serving themselves to the abandoned armor of his people.

Movement to the left. The Mandalorian draws his blaster and bars you with his forearm, to see…a tunic. A short tunic. Tiny red lights. A Jawa. He exhales and sheathes the blaster. Stars. With the vembrance turned off, he has to rely on bare eyesight to scan for danger.

The Jawa drags a sleigh behind him. On it lies a dead or unconscious trooper (it makes no difference to these creatures), its gloved fingers drawing traffic lines on the mud and ash of unpaved streets. Red stars below the cowl focus on you for half a second, the bounty hunter’s hand approaches his blaster, and…

…and the Jawa waves at you, says “hello” in its squeaky language. You wave back, smiling, and the lump of shadow continues on its way. A neighborly gesture that in this context is plain bizarre.

“Old friend of yours?” Mando asks, walking again.

“Associate,” you correct, running a finger along the kid’s left ear until it twitches and he giggles. “Jawas scavenge parts straight from the wreckage, eliminate the middle man. And they don’t report to the New Republic.”

You mean steal from the wreckage, Din almost says, but bites it back. He supposes he can’t judge you for trading with Jawas. Prospects on the Outer Rim are bleaker than ever, and everyone’s got to eat. Especially during a siege.

Maker, sometimes he can’t believe he convinced himself to leave you here. Marooned in the type of place Core World citizens only talk about with shaking heads and disapproving voices. The type of place that makes people feel better about their lives, because hey, it could be worse, at least I don’t live in Nevarro. Granted, Din didn’t know then there’d be a siege. After the fight, after he bid goodbye to Cara and Karga, he hovered on the atmosphere for longer than was safe, gazing down at your store’s roof from the Razor Crest’s cockpit. His head a seesaw, weighing his options and unable to make a decision. You were still so close. He could fly back down to the surface, knock on your door, and take you away with him like he did with the kid.

Would you say yes? Reject him?

But most importantly: what about his quest? What kind of life would you lead travelling with him, a fugitive of the Empire and the New Republic? Life for Din has been defined by survival. Every day he’s had to get up and fight; fight to an inch of his life, fight with concussions, frostbite, shattered ribs. Knife wounds, blaster wounds. Personal wounds. He didn’t want that for you. You’re young, clever, resourceful. After that day, maybe you’d decide Nevarro was too dangerous. Maybe you’d pay your passage on a cruiser and start over in the Core Worlds, make your luck own there. Find a good man, if that’s what you wanted.

So he started the thrusters—the same ones he bought from you so long ago—and jumped into hyperspace with a semi clear conscience. This was best for everyone. You probably wouldn’t have accepted his offer, anyway. For five months he lived with his decision. And then he learnt about the siege.

In the sky, a string of river pearls forms a pattern like a necklace. Imperial cruisers, tie fighters, every ship that Guideon commands, solemnly presiding over Nevarro, itching to shoot down runaways. They’re too far up in the atmosphere to make out anyone in the surface, but Mando grabs your arm and coaxes you behind him all the same, his grip on the pram tighter. The memory of that imp’s blaster on your forehead is still too fresh. The dried blood on your legs.

Din glances back at you briefly. You catch his eye and smile—not grin, not smirk—but smile, a pretty, kind smile that would put to shame any of the imaginary Naboo girls you were so worked up about two nights ago. He should know, he’s been to Naboo, and none of the women there had your kaleidoscopic face, those hints of life that send his pulse on a sprint. The Mandalorian wonders what else you could be hiding under that sharp tongue, behind those clever eyes.

“Mando,” you call and point at a blackened mass to your right. “Nursery’s this way.”

All buildings in Nevarro emerge from volcanic rock, pushing away from clumps of hardened magma. They’re half-manmade, half-volcano hybrids—it’s a useful layout that gives their structure grip against constant earthquakes. It also, however, makes the buildings look like tumors growing on the navel of an ill planet. Your store’s the only one that’s never looked malignant, more like a sprouting flower than a parasite.

And now, the cantina too. Burned to a crisp, blacker than night, the former Church of Nevarro seems to have been swallowed by its unwilling host: the volcanic rock it was built upon. It’d be near impossible to know there’s a cantina inside, if not for the wide window peering inside. And it’s far from impossible for you or Mando, who know by heart where all the doors stand. He pushes one open for you, and together you walk inside.

“Thumb on the bottom, middle and ring fingers on the top, index to the side,” instructs Cara from behind the cantina’s crisp black counter. “The other side.”

Greef Karga sits on a stool opposite her, fumbling with a deck of cards. “Got it. Then what?”

“Then…” The veteran moves aside a flask of ardees and places a matching deck on the bar. “Pressure with your index, release the thumb.” She acts out her instructions and creates an arched ribbon spread on the surface. The Mandalorian can’t remember the last time he walked into the cantina and didn’t see the hypnotic patterns on cards, didn’t hear the wing-flapping noise of their shuffle. Although if he thinks about it, it makes sense that sabacc is the local sport around here. Dumb luck is the only god in the Outer Rim, where inhabitants gaze perpetually at their uncertain future and never look back. Tomorrow they’ll get a better hand, yesterday’s lost credits are forgotten. Everyone here seems to shed their past like snake skin.

“Nice spread, Dune,” you call. Greef and Cara follow your voice, realize they have visitors. “You should job hunt at Canto Bight.”

“Oh yeah?” replies the ex-shock trooper with an impish grin, both elbows on the counter and a rag over her shoulder, all bartender swagger. “What do you know about Canto Bight, hot stuff? Heard you’ve never been off this rock.” She spies a sly glance at Mando, enough to confirm that she’s annoying him on purpose, openly flirting with you. He squares his stance, rolls the helmet to pin her down with the visor, but (he really should know this by now) it does little to intimidate her.

“No trash talk before nightfall, ladies,” quips Karga, walking towards the pram. “And certainly not in front of babies. Hello, little one!” Said little one coos and lifts his skinny arms to be lifted by the Guild Leader, who sits back down delighted at having the baby’s favor, the little rascal on his lap. “He likes me!” Greef Karga smiles wide, flashing those white glinting teeth that’ve always reminded Din of a wolf’s. He’s not happy to leave the kid here, but he can’t take him if there’s a stakeout in your store. Beggars can’t be choosers and so on. But Cara’s here, and Din knows he can trust her with the baby. Though not with you, evidently.

“Tell you what, Mando,” Cara continues, apparently not done peacocking around you. “We arm wrestle, just like last time. Winner gets a flask of spotchka and the opportunity to take the lady to Canto Bight after you lift the siege.”

“Help us lift the siege and I’ll consider winning that flask.”

Dune lets out an long whistle, giving you a complicit look. “Big words.”

Your eyes rake along the Mandalorian’s armor slowly, boots to helmet, a dark tint in your eyes. Din flushes, the oppressive heat of his clothes suddenly thicker.

You shrug and answer, “Big man.” Your fingertips dance idly around the nape of your neck, which makes Mando think about last night, about his tongue on your neck and the purple bruises he sucked, the salty taste of flesh, the heady one between your legs. The memory steers blood into…into awkward places. Which, knowing you, was your intention. Maker, he needs to talk to you about teasing him in public.

“Help you how?” asks Greef, lifting the baby into the counter, whose six little claws hold on to two of his gloved fingers.

“Look after the kid, we won’t be more than a few hours.”

“Sure thing!” booms Karga, at the same time as Cara says, “Fuck no.”

You fold your arms at the veteran. “You scared of an infant, Dune? It’s only one of him, and…” you squint at the cantina’s black shell, like something’s out of place in its burned remains, “…two of you. Where’s—” you start, before glancing at Mando and swallowing the second half.

“Duma?” supplies Karga, tapping the corners of the deck on the counter. “Don’t know, probably boiling beskar to make broth. Rumor has it she’s running out of supplies, fast. Did you ever take her up on that deal?”

Your eyes shoot vibroblades at him, your mouth a flat line.

“What deal?” Mando asks.

“Nothing,” you reply, still glaring warnings at Karga, who sighs, shakes his head, and tickles the baby’s tummy. The kid giggles and kicks half the deck off the counter. “Nothing important. We should get going.”

Outside, you guide the Mandalorian through a maze of back alleys, the ugly underbelly of a planet that’s already the galaxy’s own underbelly. Mando glues a palm to his blaster’s grip, lifting it only as muscle memory to turn on the vembrance and activate the setting to scan footprints, frustrated when he remembers his own piece of equipment would immediately snitch on him. Yet you glade past dark corners that beg for their own knife-brandishing mugger with the grace of someone frolicking in D’Qar’s moorlands, postcard-calm.

Once in your store’s backdoor, the Mandalorian ventures a glance at the front street. Empty. Like the rest of the city, it’s like curfew was declared, not an imp in sight. Certainly not a stakeout in process. Behind him, you push the door open, the busted security panel no more than a prop to discourage robbers.

“What?” you ask when he doesn’t walk inside.

“There’s nobody here,” he answers, studying the connecting alleys like a web of arteries, waiting for a trooper squadron to materialize and ambush you.

“It’s quiet too quiet?” you tease with a lopsided grin. “Lay off the thrillers, Mando. Come on.”

You step inside, he hesitates. “Could be a trap.”

Hands on the doorframe, leaning forward, your face almost touches the helmet. “Then you’ll shoot them and we’ll be back to square one. Not much of a choice here, Mando.” Those pretty eyes, your shining, wet lips. It’s a siren’s call he knows he shouldn’t answer.

The Mandalorian follows you inside.

It takes him a moment to recognize his surroundings.

Your store hibernates in the dark, stale air floating around its vault. Your store, which used to buzz with drills and neon lights and life around the clock, looms like a beast’s hollow belly, crypt-still. Lights off and furniture wrapped in sheets, it looks abandoned, the way all those family houses in deserted villages were hastily vacated during the war. He wonders how long you’ve been out of business because of the siege. Because of him.

You walk across the reception in tomb silence. In the reception signs hang next to the front desk—store policies that gave Mando more than one headache—dark and colorless, like they turned in their badges and no longer preside over this place. Only “NO IMPS” twitches, one or two agonizing flashes of neon green, before it shuts down like its colleagues. Six rules in total, although in Din’s opinion there’s a seventh that foregoes the need of a sign: “NO QUESTIONS”.

That’s a rule that everyone in Nevarro—bounty hunter or not—subscribes to. It’s the rule you followed when the Mandalorian walked into your store, still crafting some half-assed excuse about thrusters when he came face to face (helmet to face?) with you. You never asked about New Republic guidelines or what he wanted them for. Not even for his name. No questions when he came back two weeks later. No questions as weeks passed and then months, as tension thickened between you until his internal barometer cracked.

No questions when his thinning resolve broke one night. That night. He pushed you onto your workbench, you undid each other’s belts, pawed at each other’s sides. No questions when he slid into your wet heat, when he had to stop for a second to avoid a heart attack. No questions when he finished inside you, blood roaring in his ears, your sighs clouding his visor, your hand gently pushing him back.

And then, his question: “Where are you going?”

“Upstairs,” you answered, pulling your trousers back around your hips.

It dropped on his head like freezing water. Upstairs. Upstairs to your apartment, to rest. Alone. Meaning your encounter was a one-night stand, a shortcut to let off some steam. Stars, you were basically swinging the front door wide open for him, putting away a couple of wrenches and switching off the lights to signal the night was over. The Mandalorian didn’t need questions to know he’d overstayed his visit.

But…what if he’d spent the night anyway? Maybe the next morning he would’ve been upfront with you, confess he’d wanted you for so long and that he wanted it to evolve past one furtive encounter, that he wanted it to be real. No, he probably wouldn’t have. As a bounty hunter—as Mandalorian—there are things he simply can’t have. Things that are better off unspoken, better off—

“Tucked away,” you say behind him, making the Mandalorian jump.

“What?”

“The planner.” You walk behind the front desk. “I was saying I don’t remember leaving it here. I thought it was tucked away in some box.”

Oh.

It is strange. A light sheen of dust covers the counter, yet the planner is glossy clean, a painted depiction of the Manarai Mountains on its cover. A souvenir from Coruscant. He wonders who brought you that. It tugs at something sweet but sad in his chest, the fact that you have to rely on others’ cheap souvenirs to explore the galaxy. That’ll change as soon as this mess with the siege is settled.

You flip through the planner, empty for the most part but for a few scribbles on the first pages. It’s dated 5 ABY, four years ago. The Mandalorian knows from experience that your appointment rule works mostly to turn away unsavory clients. Or to get on his nerves.

“Look at that,” you murmur as if reading his mind, your finger pointing at nothing on a page. “You don’t have an appointment, Mando.”

“We don’t have time for this,” he answers, though he knows he’ll make time for it anyway. It used to drive him up the wall whenever you refused to see him using that stupid excuse. But, as with everything with you, it was more complicated than that. It took longer than he’s willing to admit to understand that it was a game. That you liked him riled up, after the push and pull, the hot and cold, the challenge. You had a taste for difficulty. Although it didn’t take as long to figure out that he liked it too. “Just let me in.”

“I don’t know,” you drawl, glancing at the dull signs on the wall. “Rules are rules.”

The Mandalorian has played this game with you enough to know what you want. He thinks of all those memories in this building. You, pinned between his armor and the doorframe; him, sitting on that battered couch upstairs with your hands on his knees. Even those calm nights, when you’d only sit and talk and make him laugh, and sometimes he’d get a laugh from you too, if he didn’t try too hard. All the sweating and the panting and the talking that these walls have witnessed. Maybe there’s time for one last memory before you both leave this planet for good. Not maybe—there’s definitely time. If this were an ambush, you’d be dodging blaster shots by now.

“So bend the rules,” he says slowly, gripping his edge of the counter and dropping his voice to the low register that gives you goosebumps. “For me.”

Your eyes twinkle like copper at the fact that he’s playing along. “And what do I get in return?”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. “Whatever you want.” Perhaps he’s known for a while, in the back of his head where he could ignore it, but last night the idea rushed to his front lobe. He’ll give you anything you want.

“I want…” you begin, mischief shining in your eyes, before a shadow clouds them. Slowly, your face goes soft, a special kind of longing in your pupils. You swallow, your voice becomes throaty, and the words sound truer than anything Din’s ever heard: “I want you. I just want you.”

He almost trips on his feet when he rounds the counter, his head already swimming. The hunter crowds you with his body, backs you up against the counter until you’re caged and looking up at him, hooded eyes and parted lips. Hot stuff. Cara’s shallow pet name. When he heard it he thought it was inappropriate. But now. As your mouth nestles on his clothed neck and breathes hot, damp air through the fabric—a mild sensation for most people, he guesses, but almost a mating call for him—he realizes it’s not untrue. The name fits you like a glove, hot stuff. It’s just…incomplete. If he’s learnt anything these nine days is that there’s so much more to you, enough sailor knots of emotion and personality inside you to loop around the galaxy if unraveled.

“Touch me,” you breathe, rubbing up against him, searching friction. “Please, please, touch me. There’s nobody here, we—we have time.”

Gloved palms on your waist, down to your hips, lower to your ass, Din tries to fondle you as best he can. He pins you between the counter and his hips, your leg curls around his back and holds him closer. His erection starts to bulge against your belly, your breaths start quickening, your hearts start pumping faster. The tell-tale signs that indicate you’re both ready to go hit all their usual beats. But something’s missing. There’s a step you’re skipping, something…something he’s not doing right.

Tentatively, you press a small kiss on his covered neck, and he can only feel its frustrating whisper, a promise of more.

A lightbulb flicks on.

Mando holds your hips and spins you around, the desk’s edge on your waist. “Bend over,” he grouses next to your ear, his voice sand-coarse. “Don’t turn around.”

Gloves off first. One palm cradles the back of your neck, feels you shiver. His left hand runs down your back and around to your tummy, savoring all those warm, secret places on you, the way your body opens up to him on instinct. The power trip when he cups your heat through your skirts and you moan into the counter. You nestle your hips on his lap, and he stiffens on command, a tug between his legs that he knows is far too insistent for foreplay. Stars, it’s like he’s conditioned to get hard in this store.

“Don’t—” he chokes out “—not so fast. Or I—I won’t—”

“What?” you pant. Din hears the grin laced in your voice and knows it’s bad news for him. He drops to his knees and both hands walk up your bandaged calves, squeeze the tops of your thighs. “You…you don’t…” He throws your skirts over your back. You inhale sharply at the cold air—or at his hands pulling the soft flesh of your backside. When he removes the helmet, your pitch sounds broken up, more desperate. “You d-don’t want…”

It’s a small victory when he parts his lips against your clothed core and it’s you, for once, who chokes on words. Small victory, but he’ll take it, especially after the way his cock twitches in his pants when he smells you. He kisses you again, just a peck over your clit, and your legs shake. Fucking…stars. If this is how you feel when you tease him…well, he gets it. You mewl and push back on his face, but he hardly thinks you want it that easy.

“Stop moving,” he tells you sternly, with a voice he’d use on quarries.

A shiver runs down your spine. “But—” You break into a whine when his open palm slaps the side of your thigh. It’s probably the surprise rather than the sting that makes you inhale sharply, and a combination of both that dampens the cotton between your legs.

“Stop moving,” he repeats, mouth pressed against your core so you can feel the vibration; that, he learnt from you. “Or you don’t get my mouth.”

Above him, you let out a displeased little grunt, too throaty to mean much. But you open your legs wider and brace yourself on the front desk, grant him full access to you. His index hooks on your underwear, moves it aside, and he buries his lips deep into the softest part of you. Din barely hears you gasp. He circles both arms around your thighs and pulls you closer, until his tongue is buried between your folds and you just have to take it. Fuck, it’s just…decadent. The taste, the smell, how soaked you are already, your little purrs and whimpers when he sucks on your lips. They’re not things he ever thought he’d get to feel. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“Mmm, stars, Mando,” you sob, sneakily rutting your hips like you just can’t help it. He allows it, but only because he’s so rock fucking hard he’s practically doing the same thing. His cock trapped down one pant leg, he squeezes his thighs to try and soothe the ache. “Move—move up a b-bit.”

“No,” he grunts, and licks a slow line from the spot right below your clit to the back of your slit. It wasn’t so long ago that it was your mouth on him, you teasing him mercilessly inside this very store, him moaning and grunting and losing his mind. That’s how he wants you: sloppy, desperate, begging.

“Maker, don’t t-tease,” you moan, but it only encourages him. His tongue slides deep inside you where you’re hotter than sin, enjoying how your walls swell and tighten around it. You’re so fucking wet, he could push into you right now and relieve the pressure building between his legs. But not yet.

“Beg me,” Din groans, mouthing at the inside of your thighs and sucking tiny bruises there. You moan above him, deep in your throat, and he wonders which one of you is more turned on right now. “Put—fuck—put that smart mouth to use. Beg me.”

For a moment all he can hear is your labored breathing, the wheels turning in your pretty head, laying out a plan to make him give in faster. Then, soft and sweet, you hum, “Mando.”

One word. Probably the word Din hears the most, so generic and impersonal that everyone from friends to strangers to enemies call him that. That word coming from your lips makes his heart sprint, his cock pulse and scream at him to hurry up. Stars, but if it was his name—his real name—on your lips, soft and purring like you pronounced his nickname, he knows he wouldn’t be able to hold back a second longer.

“You always make me feel so good,” you continue, arching your back a little to test the waters. “You’re so—so good with your mouth, stars. Want you to kiss me again—kiss me everywhere. Taste me like yesterday—” Your breath catches when he sucks on your inner lips again, closer to where you want him. Maker, if you keep talking like that… “Used to th-think about it all the time, how—mmm—how your—your tongue would feel. Never, ngh, never thought you’d use it th-there, though.” Din laps at your cunt, drinks from it. Fuck, he can’t remember the last time he got this hard. An airy laugh before you continue. “You can be so d-dirty sometimes. I’d let you do—do anything to me.”

Really, Din doesn’t know what pushes him to do it. He doesn’t know what makes him pull back and spread you open with his fingers, stare at your glistening, deliciously swollen folds, and spit at their very top. You moan raggedly above him, a complete mess of sobs and whimpers, as Din simply stares. He watches the trail of spit run down your slit, the lower it goes the more precum he feels sticking to his trousers. Half-drunk on your words and your slick, Din thinks: What did you do to me? Maker, you have him wrapped around your finger.

Saliva trails down until it teardrops on your clit, clings to it, and he doesn’t need another sign. His lips latch on to your bundle of nerves and suck. You sob and whine and cry, rocking your hips hard against his mouth, and he continues sucking through his teeth. Your knees give out, but he holds them before you can hit the ground, holds you in place as he feels you give him everything, your pussy clenching around nothing. Slick trails down his chin, all the way to his neck, and—shit. He’s going to burst in his pants just from feeling you cum in his mouth.

It takes every last ounce of self-control he has left to detach his lips from your cunt and stumble to his feet. You’re still shaking, still panting, but he can’t hold it back a minute longer. Fuck, not even a second longer, he needs to have you right now.

It’s a struggle to get a hold of his fly, fingers trembling and teeth grinding. When he finally pulls the zipper down, the sound snaps your head up.

“Are you—Mando, are you going to—”

“Yes,” he grunts, digging into his waistband for his cock, lining it up against your cunt. Stars, he’s so pent up, it hurts to touch it. “Is it—is it o-okay, can—can, I—”

“Oh, fuck, yes,” you mewl, pushing your hips so tightly against his groin the head of his cock catches against your entrance. Fuck. “Please, please, please, put it inside, let me feel your big, thick, co—”

One hard shove, deep enough that he feels himself poke your cervix, and he’s cumming—hard. His spine doubles over and he grunts and moans into your hair, giving you short, stunted thrusts as he fills you to the brim. You were already so swollen before, now you feel unbearably tight, squeezing his cock so harshly his eyes roll back on his skull. And his balls keep pulling up and giving you more of his load, his teeth grinding so hard they might crack. One last thrust, nice and deep so his cum stays inside you, and his palm presses down on your eyes. Din uses that hand as leverage to turn you around and tilt your head like you showed him, just enough so he can reach your lips. And he kisses you.

Your bodies spasm and throb against each other, you clench around him involuntarily and he flinches, too sensitive to handle the aftershocks of your orgasm. Still, he could stay like this for days. Gently sucking on your tongue, running his along the roof of your mouth, feeling how your lips curve against his in a smile. Then, an alarming thought. Maybe this is the only way to do it that feels right now—sex, he means. With the helmet off, his lips on yours, his nose on your hair. Bare hands drawing circles on your hips. Every sense devoted to you. Even the briefest taste can be a point of no return.

You peck his lips and flutter sweet, short kisses around his jaw, working your way up to his ear, where you whisper, “We’re running out of time.”

The jammer. Those words are quickly becoming the bane of his existence. “I know,” he whispers back, but presses one last, long kiss to your lips that feels inexplicably sad, like a kiss goodbye. Din shakes the thought off his head. He’s too pessimistic sometimes.

You both hiss when he pulls out, slowly so he won’t hurt you.

“Keep ‘em closed,” he tells you before removing his hand from your eyes. For all he knows you could open them right there, and there’d be nothing he could do about it. Somehow, however, he’s certain you won’t. His trust is rewarded when he pulls the hand back, and your eyes are screwed shut beneath it.

It takes an awkward choreography to straighten yourselves. You try to pull your own underwear back on, but in your position it’s near impossible. So Din kneels behind you once more, fishes his helmet from the floor, tucks himself back into his trousers, and lifts your panties until they hug your hips. You push your own skirts down before Din’s upright, which results in the long fabric covering him like your furniture. You share a quick laugh before standing straight and facing each other.

“You can open them.”

Now, he tells himself, watching your sated smile and blinking eyes. The words are on the tip of his tongue: When this is over, would you like to come with me—

“If there’s a jammer here,” you say, before he can get a word out, “it’s in the workshop.”

You walk around him and open a door behind the reception desk to reveal the staircase that leads to your apartment. Din’s still telling himself that he’ll just ask you later, when you climb one step—and stop. You turn around like you can sense he’s about to ask, for the second time in this store, where you’re going.

“Gotta get some stuff from upstairs, but I’ll be down in a second.” Your voice wobbles, your foot hesitates on the step. You’re nervous. “But if you find the jammer before I come back, don’t…don’t leave.”

“Of course not.” Maker, of course he wouldn’t leave without you. Do you really think he would?

The workshop is darker than the reception. A single window, currently boarded up, so he has to use the helmet’s light. The cone of white light creates a sinister effect, like creatures lurk everywhere it doesn’t touch. Rubber tubes hang from the ceiling like lianas, circuit boards glimmer green like leaves, and yellow sensors blink from several components. Your own little ecosystem watches him dig into boxes of clutter to search for a jammer. Stars, he’s never known how you manage to find anything here. It’s probably best if he waits outside; he wouldn’t be able to find his own ship in here without you.

He’s turning to the door when the helmet’s light catches on a dark glint, like it reflected on a mirror. It stops him on his tracks. Din’s not sure what prompts his feet to carry him toward your worktable, where the mystery item lays center-front. He sees himself reflected on the dark T-visor. It’s a helmet. It’s a blue Mandalorian helmet.

At first he’s confused. Surprised to see a Mandalorian helmet here—and is it even a Madalorian helmet? Yes, yes it is. His brain lags behind his eyes, goes through different scenarios, each less likely than the last.

Is there another Mandalorian here? Did the Alor bring this? Is the Alor a client?

And then, truth.

It falls abruptly on his back like atmospheric pressure, gravity that crushes. A hot rush of blood enveloping his head, poisoning his thoughts, a ringing in his ears so sharp he thinks he might pass out. A million thoughts in less than a second—convoluted, scrambled, furious. Then an image, so clear that the Maker himself might’ve played it for him like a holo: Thieves, scammers, criminals scurrying through the tunnels of the Covert, the empty halls where his people built a refuge, where they could feel safe. The pile of beskar armor unguarded—the high price that brave Mandalorians paid to help Din, help the child—served in a silver platter for these scavengers, these fucking honorless lowlifes.

His gloved fingers grip your worktable so hard his knuckles might crack—or the table. But the Mandalorian can’t feel the pain on his joints, not when his bloodstream’s turned to acid, when it feels like somebody jammed live wires into his head.

This fucking place. This planet with its fucking people, their fucking cynicism, this fucking landfill for hazardous waste, this piece of shit skughole—

Above, the Mandalorian hears footsteps. Your footsteps. You.

He looks down at the helmet, the empty T-visor limp and black, dead. You did this. Thinking of you clears the red cloud from his mind, trades it for a gray one. A headache creeps behind his eyes, his shoulders go slack. He feels hollowed out. Like a spoon reached inside his chest and scooped away everything essential, left him a carcass. Like something died here today.

You did this.

And then the helmet is not a helmet, but a severed head. A head with a pool of blood around it, guts sprayed all over, and there’s the corrupt smell of blaster residue coming from his neighbor’s house, the taste of copper after biting his tongue running, the durasteel giants shooting red death, the deafening explosions, his parents’ screams, his school going up in a cloud of smoke, his father holding him, whispering one last sentence that he can’t hear through the sounds of war and carnage, his mother’s cheeks stained with tears and dirt and blood, their blurring faces, the darkness, the fear.

Holding the helmet, Din feels tears sting in the corners of his eyes, then hot on his cheeks. Nobody understands, why can’t anybody understand? The warrior that owned this helmet is lost forever, condemned to live like a phantom, empty without the Creed, without the Way. It’s worse than death. It’s the curse that most of the Covert was forced to carry, to walk this galaxy like living dead, violently stripped of everything that mattered. And the relic of their sacrifice sits in your workshop next to the rest of your junk, ready to be sold off to the highest bidder, somebody who’ll want to hang it in their wall like game they hunted, and how could you do this to him, how could you, how could you do this—

“Find anything yet?”

When the Mandalorian turns, his helmet’s white light locks you in place like quarry. Like guilty quarry.

You squint and raise a palm to shut out the bright beam. “Stars, Mando,” you laugh. “Are you trying to blind me? Turn that off.”

Your words are muffled by the rushing blood that wraps around his ears, loud as a waterfall, but he can understand them. The Mandalorian grips the helmet tighter between his hands and keeps the light on so you can see what he found, what he knows about you. The ugly, festered truth about you.

Once your eyes adjust to the bright light and they’re able to stay open for more than three seconds, you give him a quizzical look. The visor gives you nothing, so you drop your gaze to the hard evidence between his hands.

And you have the nerve to look even more surprised. Furrowed eyebrows and everything to add to the performance.

“Where did you get that?” you ask.

A thousand responses climb into his head in a savage, foul clutter, like army ants. I should ask you the same, where do you think?, how much are they giving you?, was it worth it?, what’s wrong with you?, what’s wrong with this fucking planet? He opens his mouth, but they swarm in his throat all at once and tie a knot around his windpipe. More tears on his cheeks, another attempt at words—nothing.

Finally, quietly: “How could you do this to me?”

The crease between your brows digs deeper, and there’s genuine worry in your eyes. Of course you’re worried, he just caught you red fucking handed. “Mando, I really don’t understand—”

“Me neither,” he hisses through his teeth, “because this is a Mandalorian helmet, and you’re no Mandalorian.” The first insect out, the rest follow like a waterfall, crawling out his mouth. “How long did you wait after I left to steal this from the Covert? An hour? Five minutes?”

Trapped under the light, where you can no longer hide in shadows, you look stricken. The harsh light shines on circles under your eyes, creases where you frown. Bleak features he never noticed before.

Your voice is low and icy when you say, “I never stole anything from the Covert.”

“Scavenge, loot, I don’t care what you people like to call it.” How could you, after everything, how could you.

“Listen to me,” you say steadily, but your eyes are hot coals and your jaw is set, your own anger rising. Good. Masks off. He wants to see who’s been hiding under his noses these nine days. All those fucking months. “I didn’t take a thing from the Covert. I have no idea where that helmet came from.”

The Mandalorian is barely listening. He’s heard more than enough lies for two lifetimes, he sure as fuck doesn’t need yours. Instead, he focuses on the one thought that manages to float in the red sea of anger and despair. He holds on to it like an anchor, clutches it until his palms bleed, but truth hurts.

“Duma.” He doesn’t ask this time around—he tells you. He knows and there’s nothing you can do about it—nothing he can do about it. Greef Karga’s words shine painful light on fog. Boiling beskar…did you take her up on that deal? “You’re selling it to her.”

“Stars, of course not.” The stoniness of your features melts for an instant, hurt revealed underneath those layers. You look devastated, tired. Maker, you’re good. Those hours of sabacc are sure paying off. “Why won’t you believe me?”

“How can I believe you?” he snarls, his head suffocating in dark quicksand—grief, anger, betrayal all clogging his nostrils, making his head throb. How could you how could you how could you. “When I know what type of people sprout from this planet, I make a living hunting them. I know you—” his voice breaks, but the words keep flowing and he hardly hears them “—I know the kind of company you keep, I know you have no principles, I know you can’t commit to shit—”

“Commit?” you snap, face hardening cold and twisted like the magma outside, but he knows too well what lies beneath the surface. Lava, hot and bubbling, your anger as raw as his. Rawer. “You wanna talk about commitment? I waited for you for five months!” The light from the helmet no longer makes you squint, but it turns your eyes red and watery. “You left. You left me here to starve through a fucking siege that you caused—”

“I came back for you!”

That gives you pause. Then you shake your head. “No, you came back because that piece of shit official asked—”

“He asked to meet me in Belderone.” Belderone, same sector as Nevarro, not even ten minutes away in hyperspace. “Told me Nevarro wasn’t safe because there was a siege, so I insisted we meet here.” The memory drains him. How worried he was about you, the type of worried that stirs bile in the stomach. How guilty he felt. “To see you again. Make sure you were okay.” The Mandalorian looks down at the helmet in his hands, a strange mirror staring up at him. Harsher than the one from this morning. His ears ring, his mouth tastes sour, his rising headache plateaus into an unbearable, incessant throb. A ghost limb aches somewhere in his body, all over it. He wants to leave your store, your planet.

How could you?

Mando doesn’t raise his head to look at you when he walks out the workshop. You don’t stop him when he reaches the main door. You don’t stop him when he walks out to the street.

The sky is jaundice-yellow when he steps outside. Gone are this morning’s blue hues, suffocated by the sickly coughing of a million volcanos, by their fumaroles and their sparks. For all the Mandalorian cares, this planet can burn.

On his way to the cantina to pick up the kid, he stares at the marker that identifies the entrance to the city: that crooked, arthritis-ridden arch. Beyond it, he spots the outline of a ship. A sleek civilian shuttle, probably a rental. The official isn’t stupid enough to fly a Republic starship past siege lines, so if the tiny shuttle fooled Guideon’s platoon in the atmosphere, well, it’ll have to do it again. Tomorrow, they’ll just have to tempt fate and avoid tempting the batallion of Imperial cruisers. Or fly out in the Crest and hope they can jump into hyperspace before imps pulverize them. All he wants is to put as many lightyears between him and this planet.

Din’s head pounds when he walks inside the cantina. The only thought hammering against his skull: How could you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 5…’tis the end

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im pretty sure i forgot someone so please message me if i did!

[roseofithaca]

Right Here

Quick Hellstrop brotp mini-fic.

Fluff, hint of one-sided romantic feelings, emotional hurt/comfort.

It wasn’t until he saw the leather jacket on the desk that he began to worry. Before then, when he’d seen Eleanor make a rather impromptu exit out of Tahani’s party, he’d been a little confused. In what crazy dimension did Eleanor Shellstrop leave a party before all the shrimp had been devoured? The platters had barely been touched.

He’d waited a while, in case she came back, mingling among the fake residents, the real humans as well as the rest of the team, head constantly rotating back towards the door for a sign of her re-entry. Na-da. 

After making his own excuses, he followed the scent of her perfume, which had also left a pink mist in her wake, visible only to his supernatural eyes. He regrets having told his friends about that aspect of his abilities a little, mainly after Jason compared him to the sniffer dog that slobbered over him once at a bus station. 

The path lead him to their office, or the ‘Hot God’s Throne Room’ as she’d once named it. Hardly a false analogy, Michael had silently thought.

“Eleanor?” he’d asked, making his way in. All of his adversary-turned-friend-turned boss that awaited him was the jacket on the desk that she’d worn over her dress on the walk to the party.

That and two pairs of high-heels kicked unceremoniously to the side.

“Oh, Eleanor...” He whispered, grasping the jacket in his hand, instantly inhaling the odour of discomfort and anxiety. 

The smell said half of it. The fact some of her clothes had been hastily abandoned here rather than at her clown house said the rest. Something was wrong.

Fortunately, a burned out Eleanor is easy to track. 

It doesn’t take him less than fifteen minutes to follow the pink trail in the air, cutting through the deserted town, over the fields, out towards the lake. Ah, of course. As soon as he recognises the significance of her destination, he knows what prompted her to leave in such a rush. He doesn’t need to follow the trail, he knows exactly what wooden bench she’s going to be sitting on.

She doesn’t look up as he treads closer to her, head buried between her knees pulled up onto the seat, hugged to her chest. The little bumps on her exposed shoulders tremble while the rest of her stays rigid.

“Getting chilly?” he says, softly.

Eleanor lifts her head, the tiniest of gasps, her eyes sparkling with the briefest flash of excitement before they dim. Disappointed.

Were you expecting someone else? Of course.

Tears mark her blotchy cheeks that she rushes to dry with her fist; “No...Just way too hot at the party and I thought I could cool off back at the office but it was like a forking oven, so I came out here and....now I’m cold, yeah.”

He nods, understanding all too well how the world can turn into a furnace when everything feels as though it’s about to collapse in on you. And this is coming from a guy born and raised in magma.

Eleanor might not have had anxiety attacks the same as him. Her usual response to stressful situations was to lash out, toss over some cakes, kick some chairs, consuming a ton of alcohol on the way. Without any of those options being acceptable for an Immortal Heavenly Being; her only outlet was to do as she did as a frightened child; and hide away.

“Here,” he doesn’t wait for her to accept the offer as he removes his jacket and places it over her shoulders, just to cover the little bumps; “Wow, you’re small...It looks like you’re popping your head out of a molehill made from cloth.”

“Shut up, you flagpole” Eleanor manages a chuckle, sniffling after, tugging it around her shoulders, “...Thanks.” she remembers, with a mumble.

He lingers, this time waiting for her consent; “D’you want company?”

“No...” she responds, staring out at the vast body of water beneath the full moon; “I wanna be by myself.”

“Okay...”

He starts to step away, only for her to grab his hand.

“What the fork are you doing?”

Michael blinks; “You just said-”

“Yeah. By myself. And you’re like...ridiculously similar to me that we’re practically the same person, so you can stay.”

He blinks again.

“That’s...insanely confusing!”

“Just sit down, dummy.” She tugs him again. As she wishes, Michael places himself down beside her, taking note of how short of breath she still is from crying. As soon as he’d noticed the tears shining, he’d had to ground himself to avoid rushing forward to dry them.

Now he’s close enough, having been invited to share her space, he dares to reach out and rub her back.

“Just breathe. You’re okay.” he whispers, softly, “No one’s gonna be out here, you can cry if you want.” Fork the garbage Donna fed her about hiding her emotions. 

She sniffs, gulping for air; “M’so sick of crying...And I thought I was over this, I mean...We’re so close to the end and I’m sure we’ve got this but...Fork.” Eleanor looks down; “Seeing them dance...Seeing him kiss her...They look so happy.”

“Not half as happy as when he danced with you.” He’s tempted to give her the memory of their little dance in the rain in #119, in case it stopped being fresh for her. He’d been so pissed off about that not being enough to spoil their date at the time. 

“What does it matter if he doesn’t remember that?” She scoffs, untucking her knees and looking back at the lake; “What does the first kiss we have here mean anything if he comes here with Simone, all the time, and they have dozens of their own kisses!?”

“He will remember. I promised, I’d give him all his memories back when this is over.” It can’t come soon enough. Saving humanity was beginning to come second to just seeing her be happy again.

Eleanor’s shoulders slump; “...And if he still chooses her? What then? We could win this whole thing and he could come back and I’m just...back to being alone!”

“Okay, now you’re being an idiot.”

“Thanks, pal! And you wonder why I refuse to call you Hottest Savior?!”

“I mean it!” He almost growls, putting his hand on her shoulder; “Do you really think you’re gonna have none of us around you, on the one in a billion chance that Chidi doesn’t wanna get back with you? You don’t think what you’ve got to look forward to in the Good Place extends beyond being with him? C’mon. Chidi would the last person to want you to be thinking like that.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes; “Yeah well...Sometimes I wanna say ‘fork Chidi’. I mean...obviously I wanna fork Chidi but I mean-.”

“I get it.” Damn horny bipeds.

He reaches out to take her hand, linking his fingers between hers, caressing the joint of her thumb with his own.

“Listen. If you were ever alone without him, do you think I’d have followed you out here? Do you think Tahani or Jason or Janet wouldn’t have noticed, if not me, and done the same?” He lowers his voice, inching closer.

Eleanor pauses. 

Her other hand moves up to touch with the hem of his jacket covering her.

“It’s always you.” she mumbles, eyes casting over his chest. I’m up here, he wants to say, or would that crane her neck?

“Yeah, well...I could say the same about you.” The first one to ever pick him up after an existential breakdown. The last one who held him during a crisis, paralysed at the thought of losing his friends in the worst possible way. “Who else knows rock bottom better than us, hmm?”

Finally, she smiles; “We pretty much founded the place. It’s like our own little kingdom at this point.”

Michael shyly smiles. Hades and Persephone. All those times, in his past, when he pictured Eleanor at his side, not as an oblivious victim but his partner. His one worthy equal. Then he found himself constantly bested by her, beaten, to the point he was at her heels, following her lead, waiting for her to say jump so he could ask how high? Willing to cast himself into the fire if she deemed him unworthy, or she needed him gone. 

He will never understand how Chidi could resist her pleas to stay. If she asked for Chidi’s memory back tonight, even at the risk of dooming humanity, he would obey.

Perhaps the knowledge that he shouldn’t is all that stops him from making the offer in the first place.

Fork, when did his arm find its way around her shoulders? When did she start leaning in so close? She’s practically snuggling against him now. She must be getting cold.

He waves his hand, warming up the night breeze that passes over the lake. She still doesn’t move away. He doesn’t exactly push her either.

“Y’know...The reason I was looking to find you at the party when I saw you leave was I was gonna ask you for a dance.” he confesses, needing to break the tense silence.

“Oh, really?” She glances up, raising an eyebrow; “Well...I’m not walking all the way back.”

Michael nods; “It’s okay...I was expecting a ‘no’.”

“Did I say ‘no’?”

He looks to see her giving that cheeky smile. Shirt, he must be blushing. She always looks at him with that smug, endearing gaze when she knows she’s succeeded in teasing him.

It feels a shame to pull away from the cuddle she was beginning to relax into as he gets to his feet. Probably for the best none of the humans come across their Goddess sleeping in the arms of her Architect out in the open...especially Chidi, no matter how chaste it may be.

“No trying to trip each other to fall in the lake, deal?”

Eleanor groans, leaving Michael’s jacket on the seat; “I guess...Spoilsport.”

Neither are going to make that promise. What would be the fun in that?

He gives her his best ‘devilish’ grin and holds out his hand.

“May I have this dance, Boss?”

Eleanor’s eyes flutter up and down his front before locking his gaze again, her tears all but dried. “Only because you’re rockin’ that tux,” She gives him her hand; “You may, buddy.”

He gently tugs her up onto her bare feet. Without her heels, she barely meets his neck. She doesn’t seem to mind, smiling as he moves her onto the pier, beneath the strung up lights along the boardwalk. 

A snap of his fingers and a song begins to play on the invisible surround sound system.

If I see you next to never, How can we say forever?

Fingers smooth gently up her back as he holds her close. Her head rests into his chest as they sway to the 80′s ballad. Stroking her shoulders, he finds the same little bumps are still there, but no longer trembling. He wishes he knew enough about being human to understand what that meant. So long as she no longer feels alone, that’s all he wants.

“Michael...” she murmurs, sliding her other arm around his side.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for being here.” 

He resists the old urge to make a nonchalant quip for humor sake and gives into the sentiment swelling beneath this suit. He kisses the top of her head, whispering adoringly;

“Always.”

Wherever you go, Whatever you do...

It feels a little wrong to be dancing with Eleanor Shellstrop in the spot where she had her first kiss with the love of her life, but as she pointed out, he’s had just as many dates here with Simone. Michael allows the remnants of his demon past to find a weird taste of satisfaction, for Eleanor’s sake anyway. It’s hardly as if the nerd was here to see it, or even care in his current state. Maybe one day, in the future, if he’s feeling particularly petty and satantic, he’ll brag to Chidi’s face about how he had one of most romantic, moonlit dances with his girlfriend. Because only a fool would give up that chance, even if to save the Universe.

All for no other reason than to make sure his friend is always grateful for being the one Eleanor Shellstrop loves with all her heart, and wanting to make up for every moment he missed with her this year. Just as Michael thanks Upper Management every day that he has the honor of dwelling in a fraction of it.

Whatever it takes, Or how my heart breaks, I will be right here waiting for you.

[megamanxfanfics]

S.VI - Ep.12: Grand Design

-------------------------------------------------------------------- INT. FALLEN COLONY – Lab Sites - NIGHT

--------------------------------------------------------------------

-Fade in-

Gate stares at his monitor in fear. Zero has just defeated Blaze Phoenix and X has destroyed another Nightmare Portal.

GATE: (panicking) This is.. horrible!  Not only is he back, but he’s made short work of Infinity Flea and Blaze Phoenix like they were nothing!!  How…?  How did he get so strong??

Isoc steps into the room.

ISOC: That would be the Nightmare’s doing.

GATE: (gasping) Isoc!

ISOC: (shrugging, acceptant) He did create it after all…

GATE: We created it!

ISOC: His Virus was the source.  You know that better than anyone…

GATE: Hmph…. How are you so.. nonchalant about all this?  Aren’t you afraid that he’ll come after us??

ISOC: (grinning) Oh no… I have a theory.

[INSERT TITLE CARD - Grand Design]

--------------------------------------------------------------------

INT. MAGMA AREA – Blaze Phoenix’s Lair - DAY

--------------------------------------------------------------------

X nods to Zero, ready to beam out and go home.

ZERO: Wait, before we go…

He spots a green Nightmare Soul left behind from Blaze Phoenix’s core and grabs it. Zero absorbs the power into his own core as his eyes glow orange for a second.

ZERO: We can’t let these fall into the wrong hands.

X: (nodding) Right!

Zero takes another second to walk over to the fallen Phoenix and rips out the weapon chip from his decaying core.

ZERO: …There. Now we can go.

The two share a smirk before teleporting home.

-cut to-

--------------------------------------------------------------------

INT. MHHQ BUNKER – Control Area – DAY

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The triumphant battle-weary heros appear in the middle of the room, by Signas’ console. They are both war-torn, but otherwise fine.

SIGNAS: Nice work, you two!!

ZERO: (nodding) Thanks, boss.

X: (saluting) Sir…

They both wearily nod and salute him as they walk over to Alia’s Console. On their way over to her, Zero looks at X with respect.

ZERO: Here, /catch.

He /throws the enemy’s weapon chip at X, which surprises him.

X, /catches it with a mild smile on his face.

X: Huh? /Oh… Actually, I’ve got something for you too..

ZERO: Hm?

He fumbles around in his compartment belt and returns the gesture by /throwing him the new Sub-tank he just found.

X: Here…. /catch.

Zero catches it and looks at the gift with gratitude.

Once at her console, Alia turns around with a satisfied smile.

ALIA: Very good, Gentlemen.  Now that you’re back… Let’s debrief!

Zero rolls his eyes.

ZERO: Always with the debriefing…

Alia looks at Zero, annoyed.

ALIA: Uhh, Yeah we’re debriefing…  It’s called - Doing My Job?  Hellooo!

X: (beaming, amused) Ahahahaahah.

Zero shakes his head and cracks half of a smile.

ZERO: (smirking,) …Alriiight, alriiiight ya got me…

Mid-laughter X suddenly panics.

X: Oh no!  Wait!! What about that Reploid?  I completely forgot about him.

ALIA: Don’t worry.  When you came back from the Pocket Dimension, another Reploid appeared at the Settlement. That must have been him.

X: (relieved) Okay, good.

ALIA: Speaking of which, who was in that Portal?

X: You’re not gonna believe this.  It was Vile.

ALIA & ZERO: What!?

X: I don’t know…. He didn’t seem real.  Someone must be messing with me.  

ZERO: Well that’s gotta be the Nightmare at work…

X: Even less-so.  Your Nightmare Counterpart had that Purple Virus Color we both love so much.  This one was more of a faded blueish gray. He was also very weak.

ZERO: Well, maybe that means that the Virus is wearing off!

The two look at him, spooked.

ZERO: N-Nightmare Energy…. Whatever this is!

Alia walks over to X and.

ALIA: Hmm, well that’s another mystery we’ll have to figure out later.  As for this power set…

She takes the new chip and walks it over to her computer.

ALIA: This, we can examine!  

She runs an analytics test.  The monitor displays a grid-like image of a generic reploid figure swiping a burning saber.

ALIA: It looks like you got Magma Blade! Good job!!  It emits a wide-ranged blade of fireballs from a Saber.

X shakes his head.

X: It’s unearned… You should use it, Zero.

Zero shakes his head.

ZERO: No need.  I’ve learned how to use his Shoenzan from our battle!

With a quick diagonal swipe, Zero shows them a new menacing saber, engulfed in flames. He creates a short wall of fire, similar to Blaze Phoenix’s winged fire-clap, but more contained.  

DOUGLAS: (nervous, troubled) HEEY, EASY!!

Douglas runs over to them from his Console, worried and annoyed.

Zero extinguishes the flame just as soon as he creates it and sheathes the saber into his back.

DOUGLAS: Could you not do that indoors, please?  I spent a long time making this place operational…

ZERO: Relax, Doug. I’ve got it under control…

DOUGLAS: (muttering) Hmph…. wreckless..

X and Alia both look each other wide-eyed for a second. Then they both choose to shake their heads and move on.

ALIA: U-uh anyway…. I should give you some more background on Blaze Phoenix before we close his file.

X: Yes, let’s proceed.

X gives Zero a disapproving glare for a second.

ALIA: Blaze Phoenix was an Ex-Investigator of the Earth’s Hot Spots. His ability was far beyond any of the other members on our Team.  Even Turtloid couldn’t examine these climates, but Phoenix was our solution. He could research any area that was dangerously hot without fear, but the problem was that his teammates couldn’t keep up. During the Great Repliforce War, his Team had investigated Burn Dino-Rex at the Sunhouse Mountain long before you, Zero…

ZERO: (shocked) Really!!?

-FLASH-

—————————————————————————- INT. SUNHOUSE MOUNTAIN – Deep Pit – DAY —————————————————————————-

Blaze Phoenix leads the way with an eager grin on his face as a fantastic wave of flames surrounds his entire body.

ALIA: (v.o, narrating) Yes.  His team made it as far as the Lava Tunnels.  Do you remember that?

Far behind the flames, Allen, Glen and Ron struggle to keep up as their bodies are perspiring from the intense levels of heat in the pit.

ZERO: (v.o, reacting) Oh my God, I hated that…

The whole area begins to rumble. The giant tunnel shakes as rocks can be heard crashing down beneath them.

ALIA: (v.o, narrating) So did they…

RON: What the-?

A Researcher turns around and widens his gaze immediately at a huge stream of lava, as tall as the entire tunnel around them.

RON: Oh God!!

2 others turn around, frightened to see the huge wall of lava coming for them.  

RESEARCHERS: AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

The wave engulfs all three of them entirely. Their bodies disintegrate instantly upon contact.

ALIA: (v.o, narrating) All the others who fell behind died needlessly...

From far ahead, Blaze Phoenix crashes through a wall with an aura of flame around him.  He barely hears the faint sound of screaming, which makes him only slightly turn his head.

Then, he notices a giant wall of lava headed straight for him.

BLAZE PHOENIX: Hm!?

-Fade to Orange-

Upon an orange background, she narrates.

ALIA: (v.o, narrating) When he came home, he was punished and thrown into quarantine.  

-dissolve to-

————————————————————— INT. LAYE LABS – Probation Bunker – NIGHT —————————————————————

A charred and recovering Blaze Phoenix rests in a chamber that is only slightly comfier than a jail cell.  

ALIA: (v.o, narrating) Ultimately, it was decided that in order to prevent any more victims from getting hurt, he would be disposed of and buried deep underground.

His cell door opens as he continues to sleep on a bench.

ZERO: (v.o, responding) How…?

A Reploid with a large cannon in hand walks up to him and places the weapon directly into his open beak.

ALIA: (v.o, narrating) Boulder Gun to the mouth while he was sleeping…. It got ugly…

-flash-

A large boulder is generated from the weapon, instantly crushing Blaze Phoenix’s skull from the inside. Blood spurts all across the wall and onto Victor’s chest, who shakes it off and wipes his weapon clean.

-FLASH-

--------------------------------------------------------------------

INT. MHHQ BUNKER – Control Area – DAY

--------------------------------------------------------------------

X and Zero look at Alia horrified.

X: Whoaaa!

ZERO: Brutal…. No wonder Gate lost it…

ALIA: Hmph.  It’s really hard to tell who was right in hindsight…. But he was definitely dealt an unfair hand.  Ugh, God that place was so toxic…

Alia winces and looks down with a hard feeling of guilt.

X: Heeeeey.  You okay??

He immediately walks up to her and puts two comforting hands on her shoulders.

With tightly closed eyes she nods and sniffles it off, trying to maintain her composure.

ALIA: Yeah, I… I’m fine.  It’s just a lot.

X: I know hun. We’ve all been through a lot…

He places a loving forehead against hers and they both take a slow deep breath together.

ZERO: Uhhhhh, is this still part of the debrief…?

Alia looks at X and grits her teeth.  Then she takes a breath and looks at Zero with a sly simper.

ALIA: Hmph… ya got me.

ZERO: If I didn’t know any better… It looks like X, has got you.  Hey, are you two…?

ALIA: That’s None of your Business!!!!

X blushes.

ZERO: Oh-o Maaaan! Woooooooow.  I really Did miss a lot while I was out.

X: Come on, Man. That’s enough.

ALIA: Alriiiiiight, alright.  Let’s keep it Professional. We’re done here.

ZERO: Hahahahaha, okaay…

X gives Zero two side-eyes with a half-grimace, feeling embarrassed.

Alia pets her hair and smirks at them with a slight blush.

ALIA: (grinning, smug) You both look like hot garbage.  Get cleaned up and spend the night in the Settlement.  I think it’ll be good for both of you.

ZERO: (confused) Huh?

X: (smiling, thoughtful) Hm.

-cut to-

--------------------------------------------------------------------

INT. FALLEN COLONY – Lab Sites – NIGHT

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Gate and Isoc continue their troublesome discussion.

GATE: So what are we supposed to do now… just wait until he miraculously comes around?  I don’t think that’s a very sound idea.

ISOC: We’ll follow through with the Contingency Plan until such events fall into our favor.  

GATE: That’s crazy! It’s not working!!  Dynamo is unreliable and that Resurrection was too weak!!  What the Hell was that???

ISOC: …Something to keep X busy, like you asked…

GATE: Hrrrgh, it’s not good enough!

ISOC: I’ll get Dynamo to come around.  Don’t worry.

GATE: (panicking) How can I not!??  Zero suddenly came back, stronger than ever and he’s tearing this whole thing apart!!!

Isoc hides a wicked smile and takes a breath.

ISOC: I know it may seem Counter-Intuitive, but the more he consumes the Nightmare, the better off we are.

GATE: (frustrated) How!? It will only make him stronger!!

ISOC: Yes.  And then he’ll become an Omega-Level threat once again.  X and the Public will turn on him. They will force his hand and once he Finally crosses that line… Then, my friend… he will see that our visions are aligned.

Gate looks at him wide-eyed.

GATE: You’re a Mad Man.  You’re putting a lot of faith into a hypothesis that we don’t even know is feasible!  

ISOC: Oh, it’s possible. I know how he thinks…. And when he’s backed into a corner, he will cut through anyone. Even his closest of friends.

GATE: That’s a very dangerous game you’re playing…

Isoc makes an evil grin. Gate shakes his head.

GATE: No, I have a much better idea.  It’s time to tip the scale in my favor…. It’s time to send in High Max.

-cut to-

--------------------------------------------------------------------

INT. HEXAGON STATION – Reploid Settlement – NIGHT

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Zero walks with X down the main steps of the reformed Train Station.  It is now a Recovery Hub for Homeless and Injured Reploids.

ZERO: So this is the Reploid Settlement..?

X nods.

X: Yeah.  It got really scary out there after your Shuttle Mission had… failed.

Zero frowns and looks away.

X: Local Mavericks turned up from around every corner and a lot of sacrifices were made…

X clears his throat.

X: But that was a while ago, already.  Once we got a semblance of control to the city, we noticed that the survivors naturally flocked over to here.  So, we decided to help them as best as we could.

ZERO: That’s really great, man.

X nods and smiles.

X: (proud) This… is who we fight for.  It’s a constant reminder that we need to get back out there and do better.  Every day.

Zero looks at X, stunned.  Once again, he has done a lot of growing up in his absence.

Just then, a cute reploid that shares X’s likeness in blue armor walks up to them.

LEVY: Hey, X!!  I was wondering when you’d grace us with your presence again.

She gives him a hug.

X: Eh heh heh..  Hey, Lev.  How’ve you been holding up?

LEVY: Really good.  Your friends are awesome!  Especially that new Fire Guy.

She thumbs over to Fef, who is mingling with Kassy, Regina, Iso, Data and Araki.

X: (smiling) Glad to see everyone’s getting along…

LEVY: Oh yeah. I’ve been training with the others and everyone’s been /really /Welcoming.

She /punches the /air with both fists in a cute way while making eyes at him.  Zero gives her and X a strange look.

LEVY: (flirty) Any chance, we’ll get to spar again soon???

X: Ahh.. n-no. We’re just here to recover and catch up for the night.  But now that we’ve got Zero back, maybe the two of you could-

LEVY: Hmph!  Passing me off to the Nightmare!?  I know who you are…. You’re the one who caused this whole mess!!  Under normal circumstances, it’d be an honor, but frankly… you can go to Hell.

She walks off in a huff.

Zero looks at X and rolls his eyes.

ZERO: So much for getting along……

They both walk on towards Lifesaver’s Med Car.  

X: Ah, don’t listen to her. She’ll come around.

When they pass by Fef’s group, the reploids all look at Zero in awe and fear.

ZERO: I don’t really care, if I’m honest…. I just want to get better and get back out there.

X frowns as they make it to Lifesaver’s car.

-pan to-

-------------------------------------------------------------------- INT. REPLOID SETTLEMENT – Med Cars – NIGHT --------------------------------------------------------------------

X and Zero step inside the car to see Hanse and Hal sitting with the charred Tekk. Lifesaver is tending to him.

HANSE & HAL: (nervous, scared) Ah-hh… Z-z-Zero!!

X: (annoyed) Relax, guys. He’s with me. He’s on our side…

Zero folds his arms and turns his back to them in a huff.  They instantly see his burn marks from the Magma Area.

Tekk tilts his head and smiles at Zero.

TEKK: H..h-hey.. Zzeerroooo…

ZERO: Save your strength, Tekk.  You’re no good to us, dead.

TEKK: (nodding, weak) rr..riigghhht…

He curls up and goes back to sleep.

Lifesaver looks at them with a stern face and walks over to X.

LIFESAVER: Gentlemen… What can I do for you??

X: We need a recovery bunk for the night.

LIFESAVER: Ohhh. Finally taking my advice and giving it a rest, I see. Come on…. Right this way.

He grabs some gear and leads them to another car, internally.

-cut to-

-------------------------------------------------------------------- INT. MED CARS – Recovery Bunk – NIGHT --------------------------------------------------------------------

The wounded legends are led to two padded gurneys, which lie at both walls of the car, across from each other. Lifesaver Prime and two assisting clones set the both of them up with IV wires, energen packs and light sedatives, which will ensure a smooth night without incident.

Zero gives Lifesaver an untrusting look, once stuck with the needle.

LIFESAVER: Oh, don’t worry. It’s a light dose of Repli-tonin.  This’ll just take off the edge, so your body can focus on recovering faster.  That’s what you want, don’t you?

ZERO: Hmph… I guess.

X: Thank you, Lifesaver.

He smiles at X.

LIFESAVER: Very good.  I’ll have a clone check up on you later.

He and the clones exit the car. The last one out, turns off the light and shuts the door, finally leaving them to their privacy.

The glow of their red and blue head gems illuminate in the darkness as X and Zero recover together.

-cut to-

--------------------------------------------------------------------

INT. ABEL CITY – Dynamo’s Apartment ��� NIGHT

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Dynamo stands by a window and watches over the barren city from high up.

DYNAMO: (v.o, thinking) Man I miss this City! …What have I done?  The bustling streets, the unsleeping crowds, the traffic at night…. Tearing it down was a lot of fun, but what was the point?  Everything’s so Boring!

Out of nowhere, from a distance, Dynamo can see a faint shadow amongst the night sky flying towards him.

DYNAMO: Hm?  What the-??

High Max bursts through his apartment window and grabs him by the neck.

HIGH MAX: I’ve Found You!!!

DYNAMO: AAGgghhkkk….  What the Hell??

He tries to fight back, but is flown into his couch and blasted 4 times at close range.

DYNAMO: AAGHH.

He tries to get up, but is instantly kicked right back down into the couch.

HIGH MAX: Stay down…. I have a message for you from Isoc.

DYNAMO: Ughh, what does He want??  Is he sad that I didn’t return his calls???

HIGH MAX: Hmph…. He wants you to know that you have one more chance to make things right.  Otherwise, you can forget about your Payment and the Luxury of Life altogether!

DYNAMO: Agghh…. Tell him, I need more time.  X really got me good, last time.

HIGH MAX: Not my problem…

DYNAMO: I’m gonna get stronger… I just need to sleep this off and collect more Nightmare Souls.  That’s all. I promise!

HIGH MAX: Hmph…. You have 24 hours…

DYNAMO: O-okay. Thank you!

High Max folds his arms and flies backward out from the window he came in. He threateningly locks eyes with Dynamo the entire time with a stoic grimace.

-       Cut to -

--------------------------------------------------------------------

INT. MED CARS – Recovery Bunk - NIGHT

--------------------------------------------------------------------

After a brief period of silence, X turns to his partner.

X: Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you…. How did you get that new saber?

ZERO: I created a new one while I was hiding out.

X: Huh?  You’ve never been tech savvy, before..

ZERO: Heh…. When it comes to my stuff, you’ll find that I’m full of surprises.

X: Hm… Where were you all this time, anyway?

ZERO: Well… I don’t remember a lot of it, to be honest. Reserve Processors must have blocked it out until I was safer…. But what I do remember is that by the time I rebuilt my arm and legs, I was hunkered down in a cave somewhere.

X: A cave…?  That’s it??

ZERO: Yeah, man. I dunno.  I was on the move, constantly roaming around not fully sure of where I was, exactly.  I kept looking for.. better parts. I tried to rebuild from scraps… turning junk into… something that could interface with my system.

X gives Zero a look of disbelief.

X: …Uh.. I’m sorry, but… Your story doesn’t add up, Man.  Why are you being so secretive…?

ZERO: What do you mean?? I’m not-

X: Come on. After all these years, I know you better than anyone. I can tell when you’re lying to me… which is upsetting.  …What is it that you’re hiding??

ZERO: (sighing) Look, the truth is I don’t know…. And it scares me.  Honestly, I just remember a cave and having a new saber. I was fully rebuilt with no idea how I got there and no idea where I was.

X: Oh…. Well no need to hide that from me..  Why don’t you trust me?

ZERO: In fairness, you haven’t trusted me for a while.  …And I’ve given you no reason to.

X: You always have my back in the Field.  That should be reason enough.

ZERO: But it’s really not… Is it?  

X: (hesitating) …We don’t need to get into this now…

ZERO: No, we really do.  It’s time, Man.  Speak your mind…

X: (sighing) Well… you’ve always been a guarded person, which I’ve come to expect over time.  But… my Damn Memory plays tricks on me, now...  

ZERO: Ever since Dr. Light… found you?

X: Yup. Now I don’t remember which Zero helped me grow up and learn to fight back anymore…. The cocky, headstrong idol or the jaded, corrupt Maverick…

Zero closes his eyes and winces, ashamed.

ZERO: It’s been both, Man.  The whole time, I’ve been fighting something.

X tears up.

X: And somehow, I already Know that!  And yet it’s news to me, now.  Can you imagine how frightening that is??

ZERO: I’ve lived it.  How do you think I felt in Antarctica?

X: …You scared the Hell out of me in Antarctica.  You weren’t acting like yourself at all.

ZERO: Actually, I was…. All of my inhibitions were gone.

X: Don’t start that up again!

ZERO: (sighing) I don’t Care about the Prophecy anymore, dude.  Me sitting here with you should be living proof of that.

X: But now we both know we were designed to kill each other…

ZERO: Fuck that.  I don’t care about their Grand Design.

X gasps, relieved as warm tears escape from his eyes.  Then, he makes a wry smile.

X: Always fighting against your own Destiny, to the bitter end, huh??

ZERO: (smiling) You know it.

X: So, in that case, I do have to ask this.  What’s your End Goal, now? …What are you fighting for…?

ZERO: Come on, do you really have to ask that??

X: I mean it, Zero.  If I’m ever going to fully trust you again, I need to know your motives.

ZERO: Ugh. After the Shuttle Mission Failed, I just want a sense of Normalcy…  Even if it’s unattainable.  Maybe I just want to hurt people for making the World this way. Get some of this frustration out…

X: I’d hate to say it, but I think you made the World this way…

Zero gasps and scowls with a grimace.

ZERO: Is it ‘cause of what that… fan girl said?

X smirks for a second.

X: Who, Levy? No… …Alia told me that your signal still doesn’t read as Data. So… what are you?

Zero shakes his head and takes a breath.

ZERO: It’s just as it was before. This is my Original Data.  It’s not Maverick and it’s not even Evil.  It’s just… Me.

X: Hmph.

ZERO: Not good enough for you?

X: What about the Nightmare Souls? What are they supposed to be??

ZERO: Well… They’re pieces of my Soul, actually.

X becomes wide-eyed.

X: What!!?

ZERO: I don’t know how they exist… Or even how I exist! But… somehow, the Virus Energy manifested itself into the Nightmare and was contained into these little orbs.

X: Sounds kind of like the Erasure Experiment…

Zero becomes wide-eyed.

ZERO: On steroids.

X: That explains how you’re becoming so powerful, I guess… I’m worried though.

ZERO: About what..?

X: (hypothesizing) You were revived Zero… No doubt about it.  But by who…? And for what reason? …If you absorb too many of those Nightmare Souls, I wonder… Will you end up like you did back at the Colony??

ZERO: (scared) I don’t know…

X: Can you contain it this time…?

ZERO: (worried) I don’t know!

X takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

X: Then that’s a problem…

ZERO: When this is all over, I want Lifesaver to do a full work-up on my internals.  One way or another, we’re gonna figure this out, Man.

X nods.

X: I like the sound of that.  

Zero cringes in pain with a heavy head of guilt.

ZERO: (hurting, guilty) X…. I’m so sorry that I hurt you.  Not just Antarctica or Laguz Island.  I’m sorry for all of it!

X: (surprised) Zero…

ZERO: (regretful, ruminating) How I acted during the Great Repliforce War, my reckless attack on Dr. Doppler, which nearly got us all killed… All you went through with the X-Hunters for me… and my unconventional field-training methods during the Rebellion, before that! I’m always putting you in danger. All this time, I’ve been pressuring you to do things My Way and-

X: I forgive you…!

ZERO: Huh??

X: Zero, all those experiences helped shape me into who I am today.  All the Good and the Bad…. And now that I know I can trust you.. None of it matters anymore. I mean that.

ZERO: But this Nightmare has been killing you…. That’s on me too…

X: (sighing) This Nightmare’s been killing all of us…. But now that you’re here to help, we’re finally starting to see some light at the end of the tunnel.  Now let’s get some rest.  We’re gonna have a lot of work to do when we get up.

Zero smiles at his best friend, who closes his eyes and rests with a peaceful face that he hasn’t seen in a while.  This causes Zero to let out a deep sigh and close his eyes. Before long, he is lulled to sleep with a more complacent face as well.

ZERO: (v.o, thinking) Maybe… things are gonna turn out alright, this time…

-fade to-

--------------------------------------------------------------------

INT. MHHQ BUNKER - Control Area – DAY

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Caption - December 30th, the next morning.

A well-rested X walks over to Alia’s console with a cheerful smile on his face.

X: Good Morning, Beautiful.

ALIA: Hey there, sunshine!

He gives her a kiss on the lips. She smiles at him and turns back to her monitor.

ALIA: How was your sleep last night? Just what the doctor ordered?

X: And then some! /I feel better than ever.

He /stretches his arm and twists his torso, cricking his neck and looking refreshed.

ALIA: Hehe, good.  Where’s Zero??

X: Heheh.. That lug is still sleeping.  But that’s fine.  It’ll give me time to catch up to him later.

She nods and gives him a thoughtful look.

ALIA: I see.  So, you’ve settled it?  You seem.. really at Peace today.

X: (smiling) Heh...  We discussed just about everything we could last night, and... I guess I’m just really relieved about how it all went.  I’m definitely satisfied with the outcome.  

She nods and offers a genuine smile.

ALIA: Good!  You deserve some Peace of Mind more than anyone else...

X: And what about you...?

ALIA: ...I still might have some reservations, but... if you know that you can trust him, then that’s good enough for me.  I trust you...

He gives her a warm, loving smile and holds her hand.  They massage each other’s palms for 3 seconds before she pulls away and clears her throat.

ALIA: So where to, today?

X: Inami Temple.  It’s beyond time to follow up on the Reploids I left behind…

Alia offers a worried grimace.

ALIA: Okaaaaay.  Just be careful.

X: I know…

She pulls up their Mission Select screen, clicks on Rainy Turtloid’s black and white mugshot and punches in the coordinates.  In another moment, he teleports away.

-cut to-

--------------------------------------------------------------------

INT. INAMI TREE – Meditation Room - DAY

--------------------------------------------------------------------

X is teleported directly inside the Inami Tree, at the ground level, where a jagged tunnel of spikes can be seen.  It is still raining.

In a flash of light, he transforms into his Blade Armor and slowly walks up to the tunnel trap.

X sighs.

X: Here goes nothing…

He crouches down and carefully amplifies the gears within his boots.  After a moment of prepping, he launches himself directly through the tunnel, narrowly avoiding the spikes above and below him.  In an instant, he bashes into the wall, with his hands out and brakes on his heels.  He has made it to the other side.  Above him, the ominous portal awaits him.

ALIA: (o.s, filtered) Now, remember. Once you jump through that portal, we’ll lose contact. I won’t be able to see or hear anything from your end until you get back.

X: (nodding) I know…. Here I go!

ALIA: Be carefuuuul!!!!

X jumps into the portal and smiles at the sound of her voice, before suddenly disappearing.

-cut to-

--------------------------------------------------------------------

INT. POCKET DIMENSION – Rainy Entrapment – DAY

--------------------------------------------------------------------

X appears inside the trap from out of thin-air, whereupon he immediately spots a curative platform while getting rained on.

X: Hmph…. Just as I thought.  This isn’t the same area.

Just across the way from a similar gap in the room, a Monbando Unit looks at him and smirks.

MONBANDO: Weeeell… Look, who finally decided to show…

X: Hm!?

MONBANDO: I’m afraid you’re a little late, my friend.

Just then, an infected reploid peers out from behind the Mechaniloid.  She looks at him, driven with hatred.

X: Oh no!!

MONBANDO: And now it’s time that you Suffer the Consequences!!!

From out of nowhere, three other infected reploids reveal themselves from the platforms below him.

X takes out his saber and breathes heavily.

At once, all 4 Infected Reploids dive after him and he is forced to defend himself.

X: GOD DAAAAAMN IIIIIIIIT!!!!!!!

Jumping after them, he performs his Double Wave Giga Attack for the first time with regret.  All of the Infected Reploids shatter to pieces at once.

-Freeze Frame. Grainy Effect-

[flailingkittylover]

Voices

Summary: Annie had a spotlight in the dark, even if she couldn’t see her. Takes place between Ch. 125 -127.

Rating: T

Characters: Annie Leonhardt, Hitch Dreyse, Armin Arlert

A/N: Happy Birthday, Annie!!

To be back in this setting brings a strange comfort to Annie.

It’s not that she enjoys an ounce of the havoc around her or doesn’t feel pity for the people trapped under their toppled houses. The sight of the world being catapulted into hell is nostalgic, reminds Annie of when she was a child.

Blood is nectar to the soil and ripped muscle will feed the creatures who prowl the devastation. It’s a cyclical and mechanical process Annie understood at a young age and perhaps she is more messed up in the head than she thought if destruction and the wails of widows brings an odd sense of ease. She’s always been morbid but being outside beats being stuck in a sea where her limbs are stiff and all the space around her is bleached black.

Annie remembers it all too clearly as she rides on the back of Hitch’s horse out of Stohess. She hovered for so long and a sound which had a gurgling thickness rumbled everywhere—Annie is still unsure if the noise was her own imagination or her being pulled closer to the magma rivers of hell.

Faint voices in the distance were her only distraction.

“If you die in there, I’m going to make sure you’re even more dead when I join you.” Hitch seethed on a particularly bad day. “You haven’t explained yourself to me yet.”

“I admit, something about you being stuck in there and being forced to hear all my bitching is kind of satisfying.” Hitch had snorted at her on another day. “The fact that there’s nothing you can do about it is the cherry on top of it all too. Ha!” Hitch paused. “But still, sometimes I wonder if you’re even alive in there. What a downer thought, huh? I must be hanging around you too much.”

“Hitch…you’ve got something on your neck.” The new voice which Annie deciphered as Armin pointed out a few days later.

“It’s called a hickey, Armin.” Hitch huffed all too similarly to an irritated older sister. “Do you not know what that is?”

“…You do know which regiment I came from, right?” He combated.

“Is that you admitting that you’re a permanent third wheel? Or you trying to use some weirdo innuendo talk on me? Orrrr?”

“You’re very street savvy, Hitch. I trust that you’ll be able to figure it out.”

“Exactly and my super-smart diagnosis is that you’re the shy, quiet type who fakes innocence—a.k.a, you’re a pervert.”

“H-Hey!”

The pair’s antics are always either amusing, boring, or so frustratingly irritating, Annie resents how she can’t maim her ears to block out their noise. But she’s connected to things outside this nighttime void where the only chatter is the whispering of past horrors. They include her, pretend she can see what they see by saying “Look!” and she hears a thump, probably them shoving what they’re looking at against her crystal so she can “see”. It’s futile and stupid but funny, especially when Hitch uses her to act as a “two-against-one” tally when she and Armin fight to win an argument.

But their moods were never consistent.

“…. It’s the anniversary today.” Hitch said bleakly. “Marlowe would have been eighteen if he made it. He might have even stopped being such a brain-dead idiot and learned how to be a normal person. Might have learned how to not be an even bigger idiot around women too.” Hitch stopped. A sharp hiccup and sniffle left her and Annie had wished then that her crystal had broken sooner. “You know, it was a real dick move on both of you for leaving me all by myself…”

Annie hugs her knees tighter. Hitch sleeps now and Annie worries, stares at the stars glinting outside the window. What she aims to achieve is at the end of a perilous path and Hitch doesn’t belong in a battle. She’s proud that her nail-polish obsessed roommate flipped her, of all people, and Annie’s confident her frequent visitor can fend for herself. But Hitch has no place on the front lines.

So when Armin and Connie make their case on the urgency of stopping Eren, Annie is reluctant but agrees.

She leaves behind a note for Hitch, the human anchor who steadied Annie when the darkness and nightmares swam too close.

She joins a group which has her senses prickling her skin, tells her to keep an eye out for them—there might be ill will and lies lingering here.

But careful hope finds bravery to grow and the emptiness honeycombing Annie’s chest doesn’t feel so bottomless as it had before.

Annie doesn’t believe this plan will work but as the cart pulls all of them to the harbor, she accepts this group is the only shot she has. Her promise is not far away from being fulfilled and if she fails—if Father dies and she’s left all alone—…she’s not sure what to do with herself.

Annie stares into the wood boards of the cart’s floor.

Maybe—regardless of whether or not life will gift her with or strip her of Father—Annie can find Hitch again and she can say thank you to a person she didn’t mean to leave behind.

Inspired by Sweet Night - V

How could I know?

One day I’d wake up feeling more

But I had already reached the shore

Guess we were ships in the night, night, night

[littleladymab]

tiny cracks of light - chapter twenty

(master post)

Prelude- Archivist, the scene you see is thus: There is a woman sprawled out on the floor of the Archives. 

You know who she is, because even though the nature of her has been changed, you can perceive the truth. Beneath the layers of vast realities piled over her like stifling blankets, like a shroud, like a pall, there is just a woman. 

Her eyes stare blindly up at the domed ceiling above, and what is left of her cries for reasons she has forgotten. The Eyes that make up the rest of her see and calculate and know. 

They watch. 

They do not wait, because there is no action to be taken. They only watch. 

Above her stands what used to be a man, but instead looms twisted with shadow and determination. 

He waits, because he knows what is coming. 

He sees you, and he smiles. 

(The future swims before you in bits and pieces. Hundreds of thousands of bits and pieces and it is your job to separate them out according to the Watcher's whims. He sees them all through you. 

He selects the ones that he likes best, that suit a world beholden to him. 

He then arranges them into a narrative, one thread at a time, until he weaves a tapestry. Instant by second by minute until a lifespan is illustrated in his selected futures. 

And it will come true. He knows it will, because he feeds those threads back into you and through you they seep into the world. 

There is a narrative he dismisses, but a part of you still holds onto those threads — unable to remember what is so special about them, why his distaste for this story is so strong. 

One of pitch dark that you lose track of, even being able to see everything. One of razor wire that hurts when you cling to it. One of the frailty of life, and one of severed connections. One of cold shimmering silk, and one that burns like a kiss. And one, golden, that won't leave your fingers no matter how you try.

The Watcher has already dismissed that story, so you feel that you're allowed to indulge yourself in watching how it would have played out. 

And the scene you see is thus:) 

"Well obviously we're going back there," Tim says. It's not even a question to him. 

"To do what, exactly?" Melanie asks. She has one hand holding tightly onto Georgie's. She refuses to pay any attention to the man they just rescued. 

Tim makes an incredulous noise, and is too busy blustering in pure shock to answer. 

"We stop Jonah Magnus," Basira says. It is also not a question to her. Now that they have Jon back, the next logical step is to stop the man who started it all. 

Jon sits with his legs crossed before him, one hand idly stroking the Admiral's head — as the little dragon has been unable to leave him alone the moment they were reunited. The other hand remains joined with one of Martin's. His gaze is distant, focused on a conversation that only he can hear. 

The others carry on without him anyway. 

"And to rescue Sasha," Tim adds. 

Basira concedes with a nod of her head. "Well, yes, I am hoping the two of those go hand in hand." 

"I don't care fuck all about Jimmy Magma until Sasha is safe," Tim says, and the grass at his feet starts to smolder. 

"She's made it through the Lonely," Martin says, the first words he's spoken that haven't been murmured directly into Jon's ear. "But that's the last I know. If it's any consolation… I think she's torn Peter Lukas to pieces." He presses the flat of his hand to his chest, and his brow furrows slightly. 

Tim sighs and tiny embers escape between his lips. "It's a start, I guess…" 

Jon breathes in, sudden and loud, and everyone turns to look at him. "Daisy?" 

The wolf is on her feet in an instant. "What is it?" 

"You're the fastest. You have to— You must—" He struggles for the words, but she seems to understand all the same. 

"What's happened?" Tim demands, rounding on Jon with a burst of flame. "What happened to Sasha?" 

Basira gathers up Daisy's sword, slinging it on over her back. "I will go with you," she says, the shadows created by Tim and their bonfire dancing as she moves. She hauls herself up onto Daisy's back in a single practiced move. 

The wolf does one final tight circle before leaping off into the forest. 

Her shadow seems to shift and double, but the illusion is gone before anyone can confirm. 

Tim starts to close in on Jon, but Georgie steps in between them. "Can you not be cryptic for once in your miserable life?!" he shouts. 

Jon hobbles to his feet, then sags as his legs give out beneath him. 

Martin catches him with an arm around the waist. 

"Tim, I'm trying, but it's very hard to focus." Jon presses a hand to his forehead, then shivers. "The Watcher has used her in my place for the Ritual—" 

Tim swears and attempts to lunge at Jon, but Georgie and Melanie catch him before he can get too far. "Haven't you done enough already? Haven't you ruined her life enough?" 

"As much as I'm inclined to agree," Melanie says, ignoring the pointed cough from Georgie, "we've got to focus. It sounds like we still have a chance." She pauses a beat, then slowly turns to face Jon. "Right? We do have a chance?" 

Jon starts to nod, then breathlessly adds, "Yes. If we move now— Martin and I will go through the Lonely." 

Tim shakes off the hands holding him back, pulling smartly at his coat. "If that's the faster way around, then I'm going with you." 

"You can't," Jon says, voice heavy with a sigh. 

"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do—" 

Martin steps forward this time, hand held out in a placating gesture. "No, Tim, listen… You haven't been marked by it. It's in a volatile state right now with Peter gone and me… here. I don't think I'd be strong enough to keep it from taking you." 

"And then where would we be," Melanie adds beneath her breath. "Having to go save your ass after rescuing Sasha without you." 

Tim grits his teeth and kicks uselessly at the fire. "Fine. Fine. But I swear on everything I am, that if I get there and something has happened to her, I will burn the Archives to the ground." Tim spins around and stalks off into the trees towards where they left the horses. 

Melanie snorts, then places a kiss on Georgie's cheek. Without saying anything, she follows after. 

Georgie turns to look at Jon. 

He returns her look, the Admiral twining between his legs. 

She hugs him. "I'm glad you're okay," she says, words muffled into his shoulder. 

After a pause, he hugs her back. "That remains to be seen." 

She tries to hide her sniffle as she steps back, then gives Martin a watery smile. "I'll see you there," she tells them, before retreating as well. 

The Admiral gives Jon one final nuzzle before chirping and flying after her. 

Martin and Jon stand hand in hand for a moment longer. 

"Are you ready?" Jon asks, because he has to. 

"No," Martin says, because he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to face that place again. 

"I'm with you." 

Martin lifts their joined hands so he can press a kiss to Jon's knuckles. "I know." 

The wave of cold fog from the Lonely extinguishes the fire, and for a moment the lakes merge into one. 

And then the shore is left dark and empty — save for a single golden eye, watching. 

(The threads you cling to weave themselves into the Watcher's tapestry while he is not looking. You don't stop it. There is a piece of you that loops those threads around her fingers and carefully inserts them into the story. 

And you let her. 

Because she is the part of you that remembers what it means to be connected, to be human, to be loved by those whose threads she will not let go of. 

And so you let her, and you keep the Watcher's gaze from her, because she is, after all, a part of you.)

[jojofurkmelifu]

Steven and the Diamonds

White Diamond: Yes I will look at the memory data on this Pearl *looks at it* Steven:So anything? White Diamond:Quite the adventure you have been on Pink Diamond, no Rose Quartz Steven:Rose Quartz? White Diamond:Oh sorry I meant STEVEN UNVIERSE *Steven shits his pants* Steven:Um I can explain White Diamond:No need you thing I understand exactly what you are, but the fact something of your existence has set foot in my presence really bothers me Steven:I guess I'll just be going now heh heh White Diamond:No stay Blue Diamond:Huh shes not Pink? Yellow Diamond:Where is PInk? Tell us Rose! White Diamond:Thats not Rose you idiots, Rose is just one of Pink's many alter egos she tricked us for thousands of years Blue Diamond:So she never died? Yellow Diamond:What? What? Then what is that thing down there? White Diamond:Some sort of combination of gem and organic from Earth identified as the sound "Steven Universe" Blue Diamond:So thats what you meant by Steven you little! Steven:Diamonds please I can explain White Diamond:Calm down you two dont make noise in my court *Blue and Yellow shit their pants* White Diamond:Pink my dear Pink perhaps its time I give you a reality check Steven:Huh White Diamond:Millions of years ago I decided to create three constructs to follow my grand creation the gem empire that would one day conquer the entire universe in time. I didnt have to create you three I could have ruled it by myself, GEMS ARE MY CREATIONS NOT YOURS I JUST LOAN THEM TO YOU REMEMBER THAT. It also means you are also mine you do what I say, i gave you life and I can take it away anytime I wish. So the least you ungrateful children can do is MAKE ME HAPPY! Blue and Yellow are wonderful daughters but you you you you ohhhhhh. Im so disgusted I cant even think straight *breathes in* Pink I gave you a colony 900,000 years ago and you messed up big time so I decided to held off giving you one until after you matured. I thought you matured but I was wrong

White Diamond:It seems as though you are unfit for running a colony or commanding gems meaning you have no purpose as a diamond. It means I was wrong I HATE BEING WRONG I HATE IT! Me a perfect being wrong its unfathomable! Three perfect creations that all I asked for! ALL I ASKED FOR! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The failure of gems dont matter to me but you are my personal creations you must never fail you have to be perfect like me why arent you like me! *she breaks down into tears* Blue:Pink you made White cry Yellow:Steven I know Pink is there I can sense her in you, what do you have to say for yourself Steven:Look I dont know whats really going on here Im just a human from Earth, and Pink Diamond is my mom Im just doing this because I dont want the Earth to be seen as an enemy to the Diamond Authority so could you please leave Earth alone? White Diamond:Leave it alone! That planet is now a reminder of my imperfection it must be eviscerated. Blue:I agree Yellow:Absolutely Steven:Oh no :( White Diamond:So Steven Universe return to your rock and enjoy your last days with your species until their extinction at our hands, and blame no one but your stupid "mother" Pink Diamond for your suffering. Steven:Wait please dont do this, kill me instead leave the people of Earth alone! Blue:Never Yellow:We never let any species that disrespects us live at all its just protocol Steven Universe White Diamond:As for you Pink I can believe Im doing this, you are clearly banned from the Diamond Authority forever. You will be seen as a nongem to all gems form this moment, you will have no diamond privileges, you will not be allowed on any gem controlled territory either. Your court will be split and shared among your sisters, and your planet will be given to either Blue or Yellow but it seems they want to destroy it so Ill just give the entire star system to one of them no need to waste all of that matter.

*Steven breaks down in tears* Steven:Please Ill do anything to make you not destroy Earth Blue:What part of Never can you not understant SteVON Universe? Yellow:Hmphf we are done here now get of this planet White Diamond:Remember you thing this is all Pink Diamond's fault, gather up this worthless Pearl, those "crystal gems" and your pet leave this planet. Never come back or you will be sorry Pink Ill do something far worse than killing you stupid girl. *Blue begins crying* Blue:You went too far this time! It breaks my heart that I cant even consider my sister one of my own anymore but I'll still love you no matter what Pink we just wont see each other anymore forever Yellow:Stupid runt this is goodbye it was fun I guess little sister *Yellow Diamond shows slight signs of sniffling* White Diamond:If you are gonna make that noise do it outside my court! *Blue and Yellow leave* *Steven gets the gang and they take a ship back to earth, the ship self destructs after it leaves them on Earth to ensure they can never get back to Homeworld* *Steven falls to the ground in utter defeat unable to even talk* *Connie begins freaking out about the upcoming gem invasion* *The crystal gems begin crying as well*

*weeks past and Steven is suffering from intense despair and depression over the ordeal* *Greg is sad as well his Stewball is a sad sack* *Back at the temple* Garnet:So its war then a second gem war but we have no forces we need some sort of rebel army Bismuth:We only survived because it was staged by Rose I mean Pink Diamond in real war we cant beat the Diamonds Garnet:So what do we do? Bismuth:Look I know Rose sorry Pink Diamond loved this planet but if it means Im going to be killed for it then Im out Lapis:I agree its just one planet out of many that has water on it Peridot:A logical assertion but Steven really likes this planet so I cant give up on it because hes my friend Lapis:Steven will be really happy with me and him just alone somewhere out there in the cosmos just us two hehehehehe *Bismuth gives a wtf expression* Garnet:Steven cant be reasoned with right now hes pretty down so all we can do is try to make him happish by giving him hope he can stand on Bismuth:Yellow can instantly end us this is not a fight at all its a massacre its like a star fighting an asteroid there just is no chance at victory. Peridot:Maybe the cluster can help? Garnet:Huh? Peridot:Its friends with Steven but the cluster should be able to match the diamonds in power Garnet:Its a gem fusion meaning one hit from Yellow and its over Bismuth:In my fight with the diamonds they are pretty indestructable nothing we used even scratched them and that White Diamond is said to be even more powerful than those two combined and shes coming here too Garnet:Right White Diamond how do we stop her? Lapis:Lets just run away and take Steven with us! Hes gonna outlive all the creatures on this planet anyway but we can live forever with him. Bismuth:I made an oath to Steven Lazuli I cant just betray him Im not his mother Pearl:Uhhh well are there any bright ideas?

Peridot:The only way to beat a diamond is to use a diamond, a diamond has more power than all gem armies put together non fusion wise I mean if we had one we could destroy every army Homeworld throws at us Bismuth:We do? Garnet:Steven isnt Pink Diamond Pearl:Actually the gem on Steven's belly is Pink Diamond so we could bring her back if Steven were dead? But I would never do something like that even if the planet Pink wasted her life on was threatened. Bismuth:Right.... Garnet: If only there was a way to summon Pink without killing Steven, Steven even if he could use Pink's power doesnt have the mindset to really fight the Diamonds we need her Pearl:Well Im not supposed to tell you this but you could talk to her you know *every gem looks at her dumbfounded* Garnet:Pearl why? Why?! Bismuth:You have got to be kidding me I think Im gonna drown my face in some magma again this time for 400 years Peridot:What a revelation! hahaha Lapis:What? Pearl:Im sorry I couldnt really tell you Garnet:Talk to Pink Diamond I dont know Ruby and Sapphire wont like that Bismuth:Its the only way Pearl:Very Well then Ill show you.

*They are in some sort of dimensional space for minds or something* *They see Steven playing in field* Garnet:Steven why are you so cheerful? "Steven":Im always cheerful Garnet I love being human and happy ahahahaha Garnet:Rose Steven:Oh no you found out *Steven morphs into Pink Diamond* PD:So you found out huh? What did you think was it funny? Garnet:Funny? Do you have any idea how many gems died because of you? PD:Oh man you should have seen Blue crying it was hilarious Garnet:Pink why did you start the rebellion? You told me as Rose it was the protect the Earth was that true? PD:This again Garnet I already told you no more questions, but if you wanna know yes I did start the rebellion because all attempts at the Earth being ran my style failed Garnet:Was it worth it? PD:Earth is still here right so yes Ameythst:Uh hey Rose I mean Pink Diamond you are my diamond right so like Im supposed to follow you. PD:No I dont care what you do I dont really care if gems grovel to me Ameythst:Wow you are so much cooler than those duds back on Homeworld PD:My Ameythsts understand me so well Bismuth:You told me that the diamonds are the enemy and that our reward for winning the rebellion was freedom, and yet you bubbled me PD:Bismuth how are you doing, it been thousands of years still making weapons I see Bismuth:Dont change the subject PD:Sigh you have freedom no diamond is telling you what to do right? Theres your freedom embrace it Pearl:My diamond because of your actions planet Earth is at risk PD:What but the faking of my death? Pearl:Unfortunately thanks to your son the diamonds found out about it PD:Oh Steven Pearl:So I ask you what we your orders for the upcoming invasion? PD:I dunno why are you asking me I dont anything about tactics, Rose Quartz was really me thinking up stuff on the fly Im not military person you see Bismuth:Um..... Pearl:My diamond I understand you can be quite whimsical but this is serious

PD:Well nobody told him to talk to my sisters did they? Pearl:My diamond hes only a child he felt guilty over the things you did and he felt it was the best way to save Earth PD:A child ignores what mom and dad keeps hidden from them, I guess Steven's just a bad kid reminds me of myself sometimes Im so proud of him Garnet:Ahem, your sisters are gonna invade this planet what are you plans? PD:I just told you I got no plans Pearl:What if Earth is destroyed? PD:Oh well at least do me a favor stuff my sweet Greg into a pocket space so I can play with him for the rest of time will you Pearl Pearl:You remember the human PD:Oh Greg I miss you so much how I loved your organic tentacles inside of my body! Pearl:Too much information my diamond

(courtesy of /sug/ we need this as you do)

[yellowfeverpaladin]

The Ones You Can’t Save

Drabble Length: 1820 Words.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17725535

It’s not always war that you can’t save everyone in. Sometimes it’s from themselves, sometimes it’s the ecosystem- but there is always someone you can’t save.

And some of them, usually the least likely of them, are experiences that stick with you for a lifetime.

It never got easier, being unable to save someone. It led to guilt, even if it was not actually your fault, and anger- anger to deep and so sour that it often led to explosions. Sometimes the burning of the fuse was short, and the explosion brief and small and easily handled. Sometimes the fuse sat untouched for weeks- until the tiniest, littlest thing brushed a spark onto it, and it set the whole thing ablaze.

Hunk did not remember his first time failing to save someone. There had been times before, certainly. A soldier he’d been pulling to his Lion only to not make it in time- a wound he was stitching shut, only for it to be naught.

None of them stood out quite so much as this particular instance.

The planet Vugati had sent out a distress signal- naturally, Atlas had been the first to respond. Vugati, upon arrival, had been in the middle of a complete environmental and planetary disaster. They had only a day to get as many Vuga off of the planet as possible- with the terrain cracking, crumbling, and falling into pits of venomous black magma below their feet.

More than half of the population had been lost already- it was a rush against the clock, and they had no ships in which to evacuate. They had to get them as quickly as they could from the unstable ground to the few, sturdy spots where they could land their lions.

Which was where Hunk had found himself in his predicament.

His arm strained. The muscles under his armor were bulging, cords pulled tight as he strained. His other arm held a child firmly to his chest, trying to shield them from the heat as they wailed, screamed for their parent.

The hand his straining arm held was scrabbling at him, claws trying to grip his slick armor and get purchase to pull themselves up.

Hunk’s breath fogged the inside of his mask, and he gave a growl, his legs straining under the ledge he’d wedge them in when they’d fallen. He tried to use whole body to pull upwards, but there was no use in it.

The Vuga were heavy- the children themselves weighed about two hundred pounds. The adult hanging off his arm was upwards of his weight limit- with both arms, he could have pulled him up, but there was no chance with a single arm.

::Guys?:: He called into his communications link. The heat was starting to bother him in his suit, his hands slipping just a little in his gloves. The suits were made to withstand extreme cold temperatures, not so much extreme heats or acids.

The sobs of the child nearly choking him were deafening. ::Guys please, I need help. I went down with a dad and his kid into a crack- there’s Lava, and I can’t carry them up all together. Guys?::

Silence crackled back at him.

Vugati was ripe with volcanic interruption. The only one that Hunk could feel was his Lion- and Yellow had already taken off and was heading towards him. But she couldn’t land- she couldn’t touch down, or they’d all be in the magma.

“Baima!” The child shrieked, giving a firm squirm against Hunk. “Baima! Baima!”

Baima was the Vuga word for father, and there in such equivalents according to his translator. The child was screaming for his father.

Every wailing cry from the ash colored child broke Hunk’s heart, and no amount of gentle shushing could quell the child.

The ledge under them gave a creaking groan, a thick splinter of heat webbing out from under his hip, and the hand scrabbling against his tightened but ceased at clawing.

“Okay, okay. We… We need to hold still, okay?” Hunk’s voice projected out of his helmet. “I need you both to hold very still. We’re going to be okay.”

“Ganbi?” The older male on the edge of the cliff raised his voice.

“Baima!” The child sobbed. “Baima! Baima, you have to climb up!”

“Ganbi.” The adult’s voice was a trembling semblence of calm. Something forced- something that set off warning lights with every word said. “You need to be good for the paladins of Voltron, okay? Be good. Sleep when it is time, remember wash, and to eat all of your meal. Be good, Ganbi. Be good for your Baima.”

“What?” The child sniffled a dry noise. “Baima, wha- what are you talking about?”

Hunk knew.

He shifted, and he tightened his grip around the thick wrist until his fingers felt like they were bruising. “No. No, no, you just stay right here.” Hunk’s shoulder gave a pop so hard that his vision gained black dots. “Just- I’ve got you okay? I’ve got you. It’s going to be fine. Just… Just hold on.”

“Yellow Paladin. Thank you.” The hand that had clawed at him for a better grip now clawed at him to let go.

And damn it, Hunk held on. He held on as tight as he could, his muscles straining against an alien beyond his weight limits, beyond his strength limits. His shoulder popped, his tendons strained and tore, and his fingers lost feeling- and Hunk held on, grinding his teeth against each other as he refused to let go. Refused to let this father die to save them- not when it wasn’t necessary.

Another crack in the ground made his shoulder drop two inches, and his arm spasmed as he cried out- and then his fingers were empty.

“Baima!” The child shrieked, smaller clawed hands reaching past Hunk’s face for the hands no longer visible.

Hunk wanted to say that death for the father was instantaneous as it might have been for a human- but it was not. The screaming started seconds after there was a slushy sounding splash, followed by heavy thrashing and the attempt to try and climb the crumbling sides.

Hunk could only flop his likely fucked shoulder over the kid, and curl around the kid as tight as he could while the screaming and muffled sobs of “Baima!” echoed in his ears like a haunting chant.

It took what felt like entirely too long for the kid’s father to die. And by the time he did, the kid was eerily silent.

“We’re going to die...” The kid whispered. “Like Baima...”

“You’re not going to die.” Hunk whispered furiously, his arms tightening. “Not now. Not until you’re old and whatever passes for wrinkly among your people. You’ll be okay, Ganbi. You’ll be okay.”

And the ledge held- held until a thin leonine paw shoved into the crack and extracted them out- Lance bailing him out with the Red Lion’s agile limbs.

The time it had taken between the fall of Ganbi’s father and the complete extraction with Red had been only three minutes.

It didn’t hit him until several weeks after Vugati had ruptured into a bunch of unlivable space lava, long after his arm had been repaired and Ganbi had been returned to his remaining family.

His arm was taking a while to fully recover. The pods could heal most of it, but the tendons themselves had to go through physical therapy of sort to get back to their full functionality.

He dropped things, sometimes- his tendons would tremble and seize, and tools would tumble from his hand, or he’d drop cups and plates. After he shattered his favorite mug, he’d given up the goat and gone to the medical bay and gotten some help.

The medic had small exercises for his arm- lifting small weights, extending his hand, flexing his fingers, rolling his wrist. He had to squeeze a ball and hold it tight in his fist for the count down of a timer, and that timer would slowly increase as his strength did. It was small things that helped in the long run- but it was a slow process to get better.

He did most of his exercises while he was doing other things.

Lifting weights was easily done while he was reading, or eating, or even doing simple cooking tasks. Flexing and extending was done almost as second nature.

The holding the ball for the time period thing was a little bit harder. He had to work himself up, thirty seconds, forty five seconds, and so on.

He was doing good- better than good- until the one time that he wasn’t.

Hunk was in the middle of reading a report in his room, while the counter next to him slowly ticked upwards on time. His eyes scanned paragraph by paragraph, keeping his mind and body calm while he held his hand in a tight fist. Near the middle of the paper, however, his arm twinged from the shoulder down, and he dropped the ball- three seconds before he hit his three minute timer on the goal.

Hunk stared at it for a while, at the clock mocking him, and the ball rolling across the floor like a dark black menace.

Sometimes it only took little things to trigger the snap. To some, this would be a little thing. To Hunk, it was not a little thing.

He was on his feet before he knew it, his fist balling and smashing into the reinforced wood of his desk. His vision tunneled, his mind hyper-focusing on one thing and one thing alone. Anger. He was angry, so, so angry. Angry at the ball, angry at the clock, angry at the stupid planet that had it’s ecological disaster- he was a burning fury of rage and he could see nothing past the tunnel of fury and the tears pouring from his eyes.

And when Hunk was burnt out, he sat in the center of the wreckage that had been his desk, with his knuckles bedecked in splinters and cuts and his palms poked from the hard screws used to once hold it together, and he sobbed.

Most of all, Hunk was angry at himself. Three minutes- he had been three lousy minutes away from having gotten the boy’s father out, and he’d have taken all the torn muscles in the world to be able to go back and fix it. To not have to hear the kid’s echoing wails while his father burned alive and cried for mercy, for it to end.

Three minutes- and the kid still would have had his dad. The cliff would have held- it would have, he knew it would have.

It may not have been Hunk’s fault- but it was his shoulder that gave, his hand that had given before the dad had pried himself free. It wasn’t his fault, but it sure felt like it was, deep, deep down inside his core.

Locked away inside his room, Hunk let himself grieve for the child, for the nightmares he’d have, both of them would have, and for the pain the father had suffered because Hunk hadn’t been strong enough.

[royal-writer]

They’d failed.

Now I see fire Inside the mountain I see fire Burning the trees And I see fire Hollowing Souls I see fire Blood in the breeze And I hope that you’ll remember me.

They’d failed.

In the most tremendous fashion, their futile hopes were dashed. All they could do now was stand, and watch with horror and awe as the mountain top miles upon miles away exploded. It erupted not with the hot molten magma of the planet’s core, but with screeching flames and smoke as the beastly creature arose from its slumber with a mighty roar.

Essätha flinched; tears blurring her vision as the rough warmth of a hand grasped upon hers firmly.

“My gods,” Adela’s soft voice carried faintly from somewhere out of sight. “That… That thing… it…”

She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the frightful sight of the towering form. It clawed out of the rugged cliffs and rising boulders more and more to reveal just how inescapably colossal it was. Everyone else was just as transfixed; as far as the eye could see from the horizon everyone was stopping and staring to see the very end of their world rise before them. A blackened sky to greet its majesty and thick armored body.

Startled caws and grunts of alarm had the wildlife racing and flocking in every direction to escape the area. Between the sound drowned out alone with her racing heart, and the uttered swears of Penimra from somewhere behind her.

Fingers slipped between the spaces of her own and held to her palm with a strength that was almost as numbing as her thoughts.

This was it. This was Armageddon. Judgment day. The Apocalypse lay within the maw of the monster as the mountain collapsed within its now empty shell of a husk, revealing it to be the core of the very hillside.

They had doomed the world, and sealed the fate of everyone on the planet.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Shuddering with horror, Essie could only watch the crumbling, rippling ground grow craters and rifts that swallowed parts of the village whole. There was no time to save the unfortunate souls that suddenly disappeared in the blink of an eye; rubble and earth descending into a blackened abyss.

She knew she should be feeling relief, as she spotted Aylin pulling Ravamora up on the far side of the trench now separating much of the town. There was no relief to be found, however.

“We’ll go around! Keep going!” Abernathy shouted; motioning to the best of his ability.

“I’m not sure they can hear us,” Sulhadur rasped; his voice nearly lost.

The shining golden shell plating of Pri’cha stepped forward. The sole antenna they still had left was curled tight against their head as they reached out, grasping for the Paladin’s trousers to give them a gentle tug.

“We nust keep going, Sir Adernathy.”

The orc-ish elf grunted, hefting up his massive axe so it cradled against the bend in his shoulder slope to his neck. His eyes shone with concern as he watched the distant pair take off; heading northwest towards the mountain.

Altogether, they ran along, flanking the canyon in hopes of finding a way around the vast expanse.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Coughing on soot and ash as flames choked the air, Essie turned around to see Abernathy’s grim expression. Blood soiled his clothes from the corrupted looking demonized creature laying in pieces upon the ground. He offered out his hand towards Penimra, who appeared to be having trouble rising to his feet.

“We can’t just leave these people here,” she wheezed, watching the frightened masses fleeing for their lives in random directions.

There was a heavy silence clouding the group despite the ragged gasps for air. Filth clung to their sweaty bodies in layers; masking their expressions and caking their skin.

A mighty roar cascaded over the lands. With it, trees bent and the ground shook, and the odor of death seemed to permeate the very sky and extend the burning houses into a spreading inferno.

As the ringing in her ears began to dissipate, Essätha rose from her crouched position. A hand reached up, grasping for the ring hanging around her neck by a thin silver chain. It had felt like a weight when she’d first began to wear it. A constant reminder to do better. A constant ache. One look at her reflection and she’d see it hanging there, holding a silver midnight moon’s glow.

It was no longer a symbol of lost things, but of hope and renewal. She could learn to forgive, and heal, and prosper. She had grown despite the doubt and the sneers she never could. In defiance of the world around her, she not only learned to survive, but to thrive and remain gentle at heart.

“What can we do for them?” Penimra cried out against the shouting. “They’re as fucked as we are.”

“We can move them south,” Essie cut in, meeting Abernathy’s gaze as he looked between them all. He regarded her, with ash on their brows and smeared on their mouths and a haunted gaze.

“We have to try.”

A ghostly smile appeared on his face. He gave a nod, his hair bobbing with his head. It appeared less of snow and more like their fellow nobleman’s; smudged with gray and black.

“We’ll separate into teams to take different districts. I will…”

She already drowned out his words. Her eyes turned towards the weight of a gaze that was on her, and had moved away as she looked. Tired lines beneath their sea-depth colored eyes that flared with of all things, determination. Hope. Trust.

Her mouth wobbled unexpectedly. It was hard to look any of them in the eye without feeling an overwhelming sense of loss and fear. Looking at Lord Amon however, left the largest gaping hole of all in her heart. She was just starting to get to know him in a new light. They shared something new and thrilling; filled with excitement and yearning and… now…

“… and that leaves Amon with me.”

Look at how much you’ve grown, Essie thought with a flood of great pride. She wondered if he saw it too; wondered if he knew. He should know himself so well to see this: the way the crippling weight upon him like the great story of Atlas had hunched his shoulders and made him bitter and resistant had eroded with the tides. Little by little, he was chiseled anew with life once more. His heart reemerged to let in the world as he let himself out, free of his confines.

And she’d sank in the depths of his ocean. No harbor ever safer.

While they began to murmur words of encouragement, Essätha kept her brave face through a false smile. She held to Adela’s hand, and snickered at Penimra’s sass. While Pri’cha and Abernathy spoke to her, her head bobbed with understanding. Hands behind her neck, she fiddled with the latch to her necklace as they stepped aside and she approached the one figure who had their gaze adverted to the smoggy sky.

“M’lord.”

He was slow to respond. His eyes torn from the scorched black clouds to her gradually. Captured upon her light brown gaze with a shrouded blankness.

She fidgeted with the ends of the chain. Biting upon her lower lip, Essie pushed up on her tiptoes to better reach for him. Amon grew stiff for a moment, but gradually inclined his head down so she could latch the jewelry around his neck.

Settled on her heels once more, her eyes darted over his chest. He followed the transfixed state, looking upon the small band dangling below his collarbone.

A tightness grasped her throat, and made it hard to swallow. Reaching up, Essätha patted her hand gingerly upon her mother’s old ring and Amon’s upper torso.

“Mom would have loved you.”

The lulled whisper of words calmed neither of them. As tracks moved over her cheeks and carved paths against the grime on her face, Amon raised a hand. The warmth of his callused palm rested atop the back of her hand, and his unnerved gaze looked upon her. His jaw worked; teeth grinding against each other that she could just barely see, refusing to raise her face.

“I will see you again.”

Essie’s lower lip wobbled. She could almost scold him for lying to her in such a way. He knew better than that. Or maybe he meant what would come after, in which she could never say with any certainty where she was going to be led after all was said and done with her final breathe.

She forced a smile. The best one she could afford to spare, while forcing herself to look up into his face. It would be the last time she could lay her eyes upon it and so she studied him; trying to remember every crease and furrow of his worried complexion and the way fire danced across the reflection of his eyes. The shape of his lips as he tried on a smile, the color of his hair as strands clung to his face and temples in sweaty disarray.

In a choked voice, she whispered, “Take care of that for me, just in case.”

Between the shouting, the crying, the screaming and the bellowing echoes of a monster’s roar, terror rippled over her body and latched hold of her wide-eyed stare. She pulled her hand swiftly free of Amon’s, resisting the urge to sniffle as further tears clung to her lashes and the air began to be hard to draw in as she turned away.

“Wait.”

A gentle hand wrapped around her arm. She could break free and she knew this; but she didn’t struggle as he pulled her back in. The embrace of home in his arms; one she’d never had. Lost and found among family and friends. Learning to love again and in a whole new light in those arms that held to tightly and helped to keep her strong when she no longer wanted to bare her burdens.

He breathed close to her ear. His words curled against the wisps of her dark hair in a soothing murmur as he spoke gently: “I’ll find you, Essätha. I’ll find you again, I promise.”

Though his vow sounded true, the unwavering hold around her tightened as though he was reassuring himself as much as her. An uncertainty lingering in the air as she tried to commit the feeling of his arms around her to memory, and the aroma of her skin even as it smelled mostly of sweat and dirt than the musk of his cologne.

His arms slackened, and once more she was forced to let go of someone that brought her an endless source of joy and smiles. It was too much to ask the universe for another moment, or for something to call her own.

Essätha turned her head, pressing a quick peck to his smudged cheek. She dare not look at his face, and risk seeing the turmoil and sorrow that lay there. She wanted to remember the way he looked when he smiled, at his happiest. When all things no matter how terrible seemed possible to overcome. When there was no overbearing sense of loneliness in the winds and they dared to believe for a future together.

With a last smile and tears running into the corners of her lips, her foot slid to step back.

A weakly startled gasp barely managed to squeak out of her lungs as Amon dragged her back in. His nose nudging her cheek, and a fiercely protective arm around her. His other hand cupped the back of her neck and from there, plunged into her locks.

As alarming and sudden the kiss, his lips knew only gentleness. Fingers twining through her hair and a blazing warmth rushing through her hotter than the flames. Courage mingled with bittersweet anguish.

She grabbed for his jerkin. Desperately moving her hands up to throw her arms around his neck and cling to him. The last good thing she’d ever have.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sulhadur raggedly dragged in oxygen beside her. Her own chest heaved, finding it harder and harder to take in the embers that suffocated her.

As another of the twisted corpses crumpled into dust before them where they sat, they watched the remains of yet another house fall seconds after. The stench of burning hair and flesh was charging the air like a sickening sacrifice. Her own skin was marked with evidence of the flames; scorched and peeling black with raw bloody skin. Lacerations from the mutated creatures too stained her clothes and flesh, but none so much as they did Sul.

“Come on Sul, we need to keep moving north,” she rasped, tugging at the crimson Dragonborn’s chest armor.

He smiled at her; sharp jagged teeth glinting in his maw grizzly with blood. The flicker of his eyelids moved sluggishly. They would close and open partly before closing away, too tired to be able to fight all of his exhaustion.

“We’ve evacuated as many as we can in this area, we have to keep moving.”

A hair-raising garbled blood-curdling cry had her whipping her head around, searching for the source of the creature.

“Keep going, Essätha,” Sul coughed, speckling her shirt with flesh scarlet drops. “I’ll stay behind and hold off the monsters.”

“I’m not leaving you-”

“We won’t stand a chance if we keep stopping to fend off these things. There’s others that still might need our help. Our comrades might still need us, Essie. Go. I’ll catch up to you.”

You’re lying. She raised a hand as though to slap him. She hated him. Furious beyond words that he would even suggest such a ludicrous idea. He wouldn’t be able to hold them all off forever; he might be powerful, but it would be just one solo man with no aid no one to distract them.

Her hand came softly up to the side of his face, and she bent her head down low, weeping openly.

Sul gave a weak chuckle. He slowly pushed her hand aside, and rose to his feet. Gaping holes in his warped armor, and dripping wounds around his joints and the spaces of his plating for mobility.

Another howl carried in the wind, closer this time.

“Go, Essätha,” Sul growled, hefting up the massive glowing blade. “I’ve got this.”

It was not cowardice that gave her aching limbs strength. The conviction in the Dragonborn’s words did so; and sure enough she got to her protesting feet. They wanted to drag in the dirt and stone, but she found strength to scramble first, and then sprint ahead. The wind passed her by; barely making it to the bottom of her lungs.

Whipping her head around as the fire crackled all around, she spotted the creatures closing in on Sul. His sword whipped around and moved in a mighty thrust to the closest one, and flames billowed out from his maw as more swarmed in from the sides towards him.

She turned away, heart twisting, frightened to see him fail, and fall.

There would be nothing left fighting for.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Barely any magic coiled in a mist around her any longer. Sparks like miniature stars flickered and danced around her fingertips.

She had little to nothing left. Her magic all but mostly spent on the fiendish creatures. Huddled masses of people she’d saved were running by in a blur, and she could hardly see as her vision doubled and returned to normal. Smoke lined her throat; filled her nostrils and burned her eyes. There was no marching order to the chaos; it all seemed to come at once, from every direction, and she was alone and tired.

Staggering over dead bodies, Essätha raised her hand and choked out an incantation, watching as another dead body thudded to the ground only to turn to dust seconds later.

Gods and Goddesses, give me strength, she prayed, gasping loudly as she clutched a hand to a throbbing wound at her side.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Her knees hit the ground, and then her palms. Blood pebbled up on her palms as she tried to catch her breath, to no avail. Shaking like a leaf, her eyes turned up to the sneering face peering down.

Death’s hood seemed to briefly embellish the creature, and it raised it’s warhammer.

An arrow whistled through the air and embedded itself nearly to the feathered fletching of the shaft through the beast’s head. It swayed for a moment, seeming stupified or drunk, and suddenly fell to the side with its stolen weapon crashing into the ground and its body fading before her.

Essätha spat; particles of the creature’s dust on her lips as she trembled. Her head lifted as she struggled to her feet. Pain seared into her side and she gasped, doubling over.

Before she could hit the ground and curl up a miserable, whimpering ball arms grabbed at her shoulders and yanked her up. Their clothes smelled of death and blood and smoke, but there was familiarity in the gentle care in which they held her.

“M’lord Amon!” she crooned, digging her fingernails into the fur lining of his cloak. “What are you doing here, what-”

She caught sight of his face. A purple-hued bruise swelled his split lip and his eyes were large and luminous. There was a mat of blood on the side of his head where his hair stuck out and he was more sooty now than ever. His gloves were gone, and his clothes were tattered and torn; coated red. Further bruises seemed to hiding just beneath his sleeves, and there were rope burns on his hands.

Frazzled, she began to babble stupidly: “Where’s Abernathy? Why are you here; weren’t you supposed to be going to help Aylin and Ravamora I don’t, I-”

“Abernathy’s with them now,” he gasped, reaching out to her. She flinched with surprise as his raw, bloody hands reached for her. They shook horrendously as he gently cupped her cheeks, and cradled her face.

A hiccup pressed past her lips, and her eyelashes fluttered as she leaned into his touch. She sighed, choking on a whimper of agony. Her hand slid across the back of his, and despite the gore and sore flesh, she turned her face to kiss upon his filthy fingertips.

“Essie, where is Sul?”

Her chest rose; heaving as a sob broke through her. All she could do was shake her head, mumbling almost incoherently through her tears, “I don’t know. He told me to go- he told me to run he- he was holding off some of the creatures I lost him I don’t know I-”

“Shhhh,” Amon hushed, dropping his hands to grab her once more and drag her into his chest. A weak cry broke through her; splintering her heart as she held to his cloak.

For a brief moment, she allowed herself to bury her face into his charred cloak. Let the shaky heaves of her sobs rake through her chest, and feel the security of her Lord Amon’s hands smooth down her back even if his flayed hands probably hurt to do so.

“You should be with them,” she muttered; voice cracking as she reached up to wipe at her face. “This wasn’t part of the plan you- you couldn’t have known if I was alive-”

Cooing with gentleness, Amon placed a hand against her cheek and wiped at the damp circles beneath her eyes. His voice barely a breath; hardly audible against the groaning buildings collapsing and roasting flames as he stated softly: “If the world’s going to end, Essätha, I want to be right by your side as the stars go out.”

“I told you I’d find you,” he rasped, allowing her to sag into his grasp as she choked on weak sobs. “I promised you.”

Her body quivered. She should never have doubted him.

Fingers dragging against his collar, she held to him tight.

She’d never doubt him again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The mountain monster towered above them. So high, Essätha could not even see its eyes as it lumbered across the ground. With each step of its mighty clawed feet, the ground shook and dirt caved beneath its prints into large indentations.

People were screaming, caught beneath the clawed toes and swing of its massive tail. As it lowered its head, the beast gobbled up fleeing humans by the mouthful.

No blades pierced it; no arrows found a mark. Magic seemed to do nothing to the natural armor plating of the beast’s thick, scaly armor. It bounced off or seemed to evaporate against its form.

Essätha screamed; her voice breaking at its highest point as the monster went for Ravamora after she fired an arrow up at the beast’s snout. She barely dove forward enough to miss being taken into its maw and caught upon its chin, but the beast swung its head wildly and she went flying.

Aylin cursed the vile beast, but it seemed to have no affect. It opened its mouth, and a plume of fire erupted, burning him to cinders along with a group of people running for their lives.

There was nothing left of him.

Nothing.

Tapping into the last reserves of her magic, she pointed at the creature’s face. Tears swam in her vision as she uttered a string of words to herself. Violet magic sputtered, and suddenly bloomed along her hands and fired a barrage skyward.

When the last of the power began to tapper, Essätha howled. Her energy began to drain fast, and a dizziness began to drag at her feet.

Tiredness. She was so tired…

The head of the beast shook, and turned town towards her.

Life ebbed out of her soul, and into her magic. Blazing white; it crashed in rippling waves over the god-like titan. It gave a sound of agony as a blast didn’t ricochet, but splashed over its eye.

Blackness swirled around the corners of her vision. Her knees began to unbuckle.

“Essätha! Essätha that’s enough, stop!”

Someone grabbed at her waist, and she slumped. Gasping for air, she was a limp doll in Amon’s arms as he seized her, feverish wild eyes boring into her as he hoisted her up.

“We’re not going to win this fight!” Adela called out. “We need to retreat!”

Her head lolling, Essätha looked up. She could only just make out Amon’s face as her vision began to steadily clear. His eyes were filled with fright as he cradled her against his chest, huffing for air.

She was bouncing in his grip like they were… running?

“Amon…?”

“You scared me half to death,” he choked, his eyes darting down to meet her gaze. His pulse was rapid against her palm as she rested her hand against his neck.

She smiled weakly. Exhaustion tugged at her, but it was deeper than just the need for sleep. It felt… colder. Like the ensnaring fingers of Death’s bony digits upon her, then pulled just out of reach.

He stumbled, cursing as he nearly dropped her.

“Let me stand; you can’t carry me the whole way.”

“No, I-”

A mighty roar pierced the air; drumming in her eardrums and aching her skull. She cursed, and Amon’s lips moved in what she assumed was much the same.

Digging its feet into the ground, the beast turned a glare in their direction.

Essätha could make out the blinded discoloration of its right eye where she’d struck it with her magic.

It began to inhale, light brewing along its teeth and in the back of its throat.

Gasping for air, Essätha grabbed at Amon’s face. He turned to look at her, screwing up his features like she’d touched a sore spot.

“You have to put me down!” she squealed. “You have to put me down and run-!”

Boots tripping up, Amon cursed lividly, falling to his knees. Blood welled up on his kneecaps and he turned, looking over his shoulder at what she had been looking at.

His eyes moved back down towards her.

“Essie, I could never outrun the cone-”

“You could try!”

He smiled slowly. Acceptance in his eyes, and he pulled her closer with one arm while gripping his cloak; pulling the torn remains up to shroud the white light beginning to engulf the horizon.

She clawed at him; trying to drag herself up as tears swam in her vision.

“Amon please-”

“Don’t look back, Essätha,” he murmured softly. “Look at me.”

Strangling against the lump in her throat, her eyes moved over to catch sight of his eyes. Dark pools of the ocean pulling her in.

His grin broadened, leaning over her like a protective blanket. A scorching heat had sweat breaking out over her skin. The same very same dripped down Amon’s face, from his eyes and on to her. She grabbed for his jerkin; fisting what remained of his clothes in her hands as she looked into his gaze.

There was a sharp, thunderous exhale and a flash of blinding light, and their friends cried out as they watched helplessly as the inferno washed over them, leaving nothing but ash.

[gemmieurts-blog]

The Emperor: The Beginning - Pt VI

Warning: Body Horror 

“Hello in there~---AH! You’re awake. Perfect.”

Zyollan groggily opened his eyes,

‘Where am I?’

He looked to blackened walls though the room itself was quite bright, the source being a thick ‘waterfall’ with magma and ash pouring from god knows where. Metal trays, vials, chambers of ominous liquids and things within ominous chambers of liquid were scattered around the spacious cavern like room. To his left, he noticed a writing desk with detailed formulas and words in languages unknown. Crumpled paper balls littered the floor amongst stacks of books some 10 to 20 bindings tall. After his initial survey he felt a chill along his back and noticed he was lying down on a cold metal bed. Scared of his strange surroundings, he sat up straight, the quick movement leaving his head spinning.

“I wouldn’t try that my dear, not good for someone in your condition. Pieces of your skin might slough off so try to minimize your movements for the next few minutes.”

‘Skin? Slough off?’

He tried to vocalize his distress but no matter how wide his mouth opened or how much he tried to talk, not a single sound came from his throat. A bright light suddenly came directly into his eye,

“Good pupil movement, alert x3, well endowed….”

At the last comment he looked down to notice his very apparent nakedness and swiftly bent to grab a crumpled paper from the floor,

“Oh how shy and adorable you are~ We’re going to get along very well.”

His large eyes looked down at the strange female scuttling around with a clipboard and dressed in nothing more than rags that barely left anything to the imagination.

“Veyerta how is our new family member doing~?”

The new deep voice invoked a strange feeling of deja vu which only became stronger as he gazed at Darius coming down the stairwell. Oddly the man was also in very revealing dress, the sheer raven fur trimmed robes leaving nothing covered.

“Well as you can see he’s alive so that’s the major hump we had to get over.”

“Good good~ Good god he’s a big one isn’t he? I didn’t realize it at first but the fact you needed to put six beds together just to operate on his humanoid form...Any temperament issues?”

“None whatsoever. In fact, he is quite the expressive one.”

“I can see that, he’s as red as a blood soaked platinum sword at daybreak.”

“I’m running a laboratory here General, not a Monday Poetry Club.”

“Yes of course…”

‘This conversation is making me uncomfortable…’

Zyollan was startled from his inner thoughts by a warm pat on his inner thigh, causing him to snap his legs shut and recede into himself.

“Oh you poor thing you’re like a frightened puppy. It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.”

Darius’s smile was both charismatic and welcoming yet unnerving. However, while he had the man’s attention, he wanted some questions answered. Given that he couldn’t speak, he gestured to his throat and mouth in an effort to ask what happened to his ability to speak, though the confused looks on the duo in front of him meant that he had to improvise. Thinking for a couple of seconds as he frantically swerved his head around the room, ears perking up and swiveling in time, he looked down to the only piece of material preserving his dignity.

Both Darius and Veyerta watched in awe as he snatched a pen from the desk next to him and began writing on his lap. Unfortunately, as legs weren’t meant to be a sturdy writing tablet, the paper ended up peppered with rips and with each tear came a highly emotional look that caused worry that he was going to cry.

“I-Is that caligraphy?”

“I’m just surprised he can write.”

When finished, the gentle giant nervously handed the paper over to his ‘doctor,’ crossing his legs in the process.

“Ahhh I see...You had an operation. You won’t be able to speak for a while though I can’t say for how long. It might be weeks, or months, perhaps even a year or so. The damage your body took was not something to sneeze at. You’ve been asleep for a month.”

Zyollan looked to what he could see on his body and tilted his head in confusion as if to say ‘What damage?’ There were no scars to be seen with the naked eye from his perspective. At this point Darius handed him a shard of mirror,

“You died.”

The shard further shattered in numerous pieces as Zyollan cowered in fear with his back up against the wall from the image he saw in the mirror. His hand shaking like a leaf, he carefully felt along his jaw and touched the folds of stretched skin and muscle tissue, eventually feeling his tongue from putting his finger through the holes in his cheek. He sniffled and teared at his facial deformity, thinking it was a curse for something he had done in the past.

“Oh you poor thing, it’s okay. You actually are quite the handsome dragon. Moreso than the majority of the grubby little inhabitants of our home.”

Home.

Was this where he was? Home?

“You were just a normal citizen of the Shattered Plains living peacefully on your lonesome as a farmer. It’s amazing how you survived so long without bandits coming to steal all your belongings. Of course good things don’t last forever...But don’t worry, those bad men have been put to justice.”

Veyerta’s gentle hold on his cheek as she wiped a tear away felt safe and comforting to him, as if he hadn’t felt the warmth of a caring being in years.

“We found you and decided to bring you back so you can live your life here, in safety and belonging. Though, due to the simply terrifying accounts from neighboring towns and independent farmers like yourself, we made the decision to wipe your memories due to your trauma at the time of death.”

Zyollan stared in awe at his apparent past. He felt lucky to be alive. He motioned for the pen and paper back from Darius to scrawl out further questions.

‘My family?’

“Dead. They died when you were just a newborn from famine.”

‘Did...did I have any brothers or sisters?’

“. . . . No. You were an only child.”

‘Did I leave anyone behind? Anyone I loved?’

“No. You are the only one left. You were alone. That’s how you lived.”

The answers, although quite sad, made him feel at ease in his new home. He decided this woman would be his new Mother of sorts. She seemed pleasant enough and what’s more she brought him back from a place no one ever returned from. His train of thought was broken by more information spilling from his Mother’s ever informative lips.

“Now the runes you see on your shoulders are your mark as a Golem. You can manipulate the Earth at will you see. The feeling will seem foreign to you at first, but your magic will be trained over time and soon you will be the famed Guardian of Vita Sanguinis, the cornerstone of the House.”

‘I can use magic? I’m a guardian of the House? What’s Vi--Vita Sanguanoice?’

The information came at a fast pace that Zyollan quickly tried to stomach. He obviously had a lot to learn from his new House. He wondered if there was a library he could go to for more information, or a person. I mean he had to know what in the world who and what he was guarding. What types of dragons were in the clan? So many smells meant that it was certainly a large family. What did Vita Sanguinis mean? What did it represent? So many questions filled his mind as quickly as information was given to him. Before long he was being dressed in a loin cloth and helped to his feet all the while with his Mother continually jabbering about his training and station as a protector and member of the family.

“SO! Any other questions?”

Veyerta had her hand on the doorknob, looking for her new child’s approval before revealing him to the highly anticipating others. Darius chuckled at Zyollan’s upturned eyes as if he was searching in his mind with them. He nodded energetically before long and was again handed the pen and paper,

‘What’s my name?’

Veyerta’s smile was a bit bittersweet this time, as if she was remembering something painful yet needed to maintain the appearance that everything was alright.  

                                                       “Zyollan.”

@fr-blackiebelle @guardianitefr

YOU THOUGHT I WAS DONE DIDN’T YOU??? 

Now we’re done! Thank you so much guys for sticking with these chapters till the end! I’ll introduce Zyollan with his humanoid portrait soon so you all can meet him ^^ 

[promisedangel]

PredatorShift- Chapter 15

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This story’s finally back!~

Chapter 15- Trades and Webs

There was deafening silence between Frisk, Asriel, and Serol for a few moments. Fear bloomed in Frisk and Asriel’s faces. Serol had been docile thus far, but now that blood was in his sight, the two didn’t know how he would react. Frisk wanted to squirm, to attempt to worm away from Serol’s grasp, but they knew at the back of their mind it would be of little use. Serol was a quick and agile monster, after all. After a few moments, Asriel quickly cried out, “Mr… Mr. Serol!” Serol shook his head for a moment, his eyes no longer focused on the blood. He turned his head towards Asriel and spoke, “You knew that Frissk wass human-“ Asriel interrupted, “Please don’t hurt them! They just wanna go home!” Asriel sniffled, “They just… wanna go home…” Serol let Frisk go in his surprise. Frisk only took a few steps from Serol. They gave a dejected frown. They knew they were at his mercy. Serol turned towards Asriel, “Asssriel… you know I have to report thisss. If I have any hope of Dr. Gassster approving my desssign I have to turn Frissk over to him.” Tears peaked from Asriel’s eyes, “No, please… you can’t…” His eyes lit up with tears still dripping, “W-wait!” He frantically dug into his coat pockets and fished out his substitute container. He held it up towards Serol. It shook in his hands as he did and a slight rattle sounded from the container. Serol could not help but eye the container deeply. Through a slight sniffle, Asriel spoke defiantly, “I-I’ll give you all of my substitute if you don’t tell anyone about Frisk! Not Mr. Gaster. Not King Sans. Not anyone!”

Serol, Frisk, and Asriel stood in silence once more. Both Frisk and Serol were shocked at Asriel’s gambit. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Serol reached for the container but hesitated. Small bits of saliva dripped from his mouth. He shook his head for a moment and turned his gaze towards Frisk. Frisk looked away and shook slightly. Serol’s expression became gentler for a moment. Frisk could see his sympathy for them out of the corner of their vision. Serol’s head curved down and he gave a heavy sigh, “You asssk me to give up a lot for thiss. Frissk iss the firsst human we’ve heard of for a long time.” Asriel frowned, “But… they’re just a kid…” Serol tensed at Asriel’s statement. He spat back harshly, “I KNOW!” Both Asriel and Frisk took a step back from the seething monster as he took a few moments to calm down. Asriel frowned and looked down with a dejected grimace, “You promised that if we tested the puzzle… you would take us to the elevator.” Serol stared into space with a shocked expression. His body was tense before he raised his head above his shoulders. He gave a defeated sigh, “I did…” Serol spoke, dejected, “I made a deal… I’ll get in trouble either way. But…” Serol’s words trailed off. Frustration seeped into his gaze. He curled slightly and began to hug himself. Even Frisk could not help but give a sympathetic gaze. Serol soon relaxed. He spoke evenly, “I… ssuppossse there will be other humansss… asss long asss they do not get eaten by feral monssstersss.” Serol turned towards the exit to his puzzle, “Perhapss it isss time I sstop ssequesstering mysself and help find humanss when they fall.” Serol turned his head back towards the children, “I will not lie. Thiss… iss difficult for me…But I will hold true to my promissse. I will take you two to the nearesst elevator.” Serol turned his head back. Asriel approached Serol carefully. He stepped to Serol’s side and saw a tear shed from the serpentine monster’s never-blinking eyes. Asriel held up his container of substitute up to Serol. Asriel gulped, “I… I know this isn’t a human… But… maybe this will make it a little better?” Serol’s eyes locked onto the container. He gently gripped it and lifted it from Asriel’s hands. He examined it for a few moments before he opened it. The aroma hit him immediately; he instinctually cracked a smile. He found the container was nearly full. Satisfied, he closed the container and gave a half-smile to Asriel, “Only a little, but… I still appreciate thisss. I hope you know what you are doing, Asssriel.” Asriel gave a serious expression and nodded, “It’s okay.” His expression became more nervous, “I’m… not good about taking my medicine anyway.” Serol gave a puzzled expression before he shook it off; he decided not to ask.

He turned towards Frisk. He spoke gently, “Frissk, we should tend to that wound before you go. It may be ssmall, but it is sstill blood.” Frisk approached with caution. Serol and Asriel stepped off the puzzle. Serol placed the substitute container among his blueprints and notes, pinning some of them down. He then motioned towards a medium-sized rock, “Ssit here and hold that leg sstill.” Frisk slowly made their way to the rock Serol pointed out and sat carefully. They lifted the wounded leg. Serol grasped it carefully. Frisk tensed for a moment but relaxed soon after. Serol lifted the leg to a level position and rested the heel on his knee. He took a claw and began to cut Frisk’s pants above the rip and the blood stain. After he cut, he quickly chucked the bloodstained cloth off the side of the path towards the magma below. Serol paused for a moment before he spoke, “I am going to cut the pantss of your other leg to match, but you will need to throw away that ssock below the cut asss well.” Frisk nodded silently before they switched their leg on Serol’s knee. Serol lifted the pants up to avoid another cut into Frisk’s legs. It took some effort, but Serol made a new cut into Frisk’s pants and began to mirror the cut on Frisk’s other pants leg. Serol then fashioned the new scrap cloth into a bandage and tightly wrapped it around Frisk’s wound. He lowered Frisk’s now bandaged leg carefully and stepped away. He quickly grabbed his new container of substitute and ate two pills in a few bites. Frisk, meanwhile, took off their shoe and sock before they threw the sock behind them and into the magma below. They put their shoe back on, thankful blood had not hit it. Asriel helped Frisk up, “Ready to go?” Frisk nodded, their tone weary, “Yeah.” Serol nodded, “Then follow me. The elevator iss thiss way.”

Frisk and Asriel followed behind Serol in silence. The three of them said nothing to each other as Serol led them through the winding paths of Hotland. Once the elevator was in sight, Asriel’s eyes lit up, “The elevator!” Asriel turned to Frisk, “You’ll be home soon for sure!” Frisk could only marvel at the height of the elevator. It appeared to go up into the darkness above, unable to see the top with only the light of the magma. The three approach the elevator. Asriel rushes ahead and presses the call button for the elevator. Frisk hugged themselves and spoke quietly, “Serol?” Serol turned his head towards Frisk, confused, “Yess, Frissk?” Frisk hesitated before they spoke, “About Papyrus… he’s alive.” Serol stepped back. His perpetually opened eyes widened as far as they could. Serol spoke, “You… you cannot be ssseriousss!” Asriel turned towards the conversation with a brow raised. Frisk turned towards Serol and spoke up, “It is true! He’s in the ruins in the forest before Snowdin!” Serol gave a perplexed look, “He’ss… in the ruinss of Home?” Serol crossed his arms and mused aloud, “That can’t… but we haven’t heard anything from Home in many yearss…” Frisk continued calmly. A warm sense of nostalgia washed over them as they recounted, “I… I fell in the ruins… and it was his notes… and after I found him, his encouragement through his puzzles that helped me survive. He was kind… but he was lonely… and some things made him sad…” Frisk hugged themselves, the warm feeling faded from their chest, “He… he told me to leave… and be careful out here… and warned me about Sans…” Frisk was about to continue, but they saw tears drip from Serol’s eyes. They looked up at Serol and saw him attempt to wipe the tears away with his claws. He managed to fight the lump in his throat and hoarsely speak, “He’sss alive! He’sss alive and sstill making puzzzless!” Serol gulped down the lump in his throat and spoke clearly, “Thank you, Frissk! I’ll sseek him out! Perhapss he can share what happened that night! Maybe he would appreciate my dessignss!”

The elevator doors opened. Serol ignored it and began to muse under his breath, fully invested in his words, “I will have to prepare my dessignss, and perhapss bring a gift! Sso much to do!” Asriel gave a nervous laugh, “Golly… well… good luck with that… Mr. Serol.” Serol barely acknowledged the two children as they entered the elevator and the doors closed behind him. There was silence for a moment between the two. Asriel smiled, “That was nice of you to tell-“ Frisk threw themselves onto Asriel, pulling him into a deep hug. Asriel coughed, startled at the strength of the hug. He tried to pull away, “Wh-why are-“ Frisk spoke in a somber tone, “You saved my life back there.” Asriel became quiet before he gently reciprocated the hug. He spoke calmly, “I just… I didn’t think…” Frisk pulled away, “But… you don’t have your medicine now!” Asriel pulled away and smiled. His tone sounded a little weary, “Chara makes more all the time! I’ll be fine.” Frisk raised a brow but accepted this. They looked towards the buttons of the elevator. They crooked their head in confusion, “Which button do we press?” Asriel scratched his head, “Gosh… It’s been so long since I’ve used this elevator… I know it’s one of the top buttons… but I don’t remember which one…” “But, both go to the top floor, right? And that’s where we’re going, right?” Asriel nodded, “Yeah! So, I guess it really doesn’t matter which one!” Asriel pressed the left-top button. The elevator began to move steadily upwards. Asriel smiled, “So, Chara said we’d have to go through the Core. I think I remember hearing my dad say there was a door in the Core that led to the castle.” “But you don’t know where it is?” Asriel shook his head, “No.” Frisk paled slightly, “What if… Chara knows and they’re waiting there?” Asriel frowned and thought silently for a moment. He spoke in an unsure tone at first, which quickly turned confident, “Well… um… If that happens, we’ll just find some way to distract them!” The elevator stopped and slowly opened. Asriel and Frisk paused their conversation to exit and take a look at their new surroundings.

They stood on a sturdy and thick metal path. On and around the path was a sea of spider webs that continued into the darkness. Barely any light of the magma could be seen from below, both from the distance and from the sea of webs. Yet, there were carefully placed oil lamps along the path to ensure enough light. Spiders of varied sizes, though none bigger than a finger, crawled along the webs. Many spun more or worked to strengthen the ones that were already spun. Asriel became more nervous as the two stepped out onto this web-filled area. He raised a brow and spoke in confusion, “I… I don’t remember this place…” Frisk began to eye the spiders nervously. Frisk quietly admitted with a quiver in their voice, “I… I don’t like spiders…” The elevator doors closed without Frisk and Asriel inside. Once closed, the two turned with a small start. They could now see messages etched into the door of the elevator. Curious, the two examined them. The messages were one-word messages that read, “Swindler.” “Liar.” And “Fake.” Frisk began to shake, “We… should get out of here…” Asriel nodded and pushed the call button for the elevator, “We’ll just press the other button.” Frisk eyed their surroundings nervously. They noticed further along the path was a pile of wood, one that seemed to be a counter of sorts before it was utterly destroyed. Frisk turned back towards the elevator and voiced their concern, “Why aren’t the doors opening?” Asriel whined, “S- someone else must have called the elevator…” Out of the corners of their eyes, Frisk and Asriel noticed that the spiders had taken notice of the two of them. Some approached, while others stood still in observation. Frisk yelped and hid behind Asriel. Frisk pleaded as they shook and clung to Asriel’s coat, “M-make them go away!” Asriel hesitated; they wanted to comfort Frisk but knew the only way was to stop the spiders from closing in. He took a deep breath and turned forward. He raised his voice, “We just wanna leave! Go away! W-we won’t bother you, so go away!” Some of the encroaching spiders halted their advance, but others did not. The ones that paused soon followed suit as though nothing had transpired. Frisk hid their face in Asriel’s coat, “Th-they’re not stopping!” Asriel gulped, but stood his ground once more, “Just- just stop! Go away!” The spiders approached from all sides, even from behind. The spiders behind reached Frisk and began to crawl up their leg. Frisk yelped slightly and froze for a second. They could feel the spiders crawl up their unbandaged leg. They shook as they slowly looked down, tears peaked from their eyes. They saw the spiders, the furthest was halfway up their calf. Frisk screamed at the top of their lungs. They instinctually jumped into Asriel, knocking him over onto his chest. Meanwhile, Frisk tried desperately to kick off the spiders that had crawled up their leg. Tears streamed down their face, wide and full of terror. Frisk managed to kick all of the spiders off their leg and began to stomp on them. Their stomps rung into the metal platform. Asriel groaned and managed to get up on his knees. He blinked and noticed his fall had crushed many of the spiders that approached him. He noticed the spiders had halted their approach, many had scurried away from Frisk’s freighted stomps. Those that were too close were crushed under Frisk’s shoes.

After a few moments of fear-fueled stomps, Frisk slowly huffed. Their fear slowly drained from their face and their mind became clear once more. Asriel stood and approached Frisk cautiously, “Are you... okay?” Once Asriel was close, the two of them heard many hissing sounds around them. Frisk shook and immediately burrowed into Asriel’s chest and grabbed his hands for comfort. Asriel looked around and saw the spiders had surrounded them, many of them hissed at the two. Many of them begun to turn around and webs shot out at Asriel and Frisk. The webs attached to various points on Frisk and Asriel’s bodies. Frisk panicked and tried to rip the webs away, but for each one they ripped away, at least five took its place. Before long, Asriel and Frisk could barely move. They were slowly encased in a cocoon from the shoulders down. Asriel was still, yet Frisk still tried to break free. Their eyes wide, crazed, and fearful. Asriel spoke in a defeated tone, “It’s no use, Frisk…” Frisk expression drew away from their crazed expression into a subtler fear. Tears streamed from Frisk’s eyes. The spiders grouped together and shot webs into the side of the cocoon as one large rope of webs. The group of spiders then seemed to pull on the rope and pull Frisk and Asriel deeper into this dark area of Hotland. They were swung over gaps and pulled through webs, which added to the cocoon only a small amount. They were pulled onto higher platforms by other spiders up higher. All the while, Frisk silently shook and sobbed, yet Asriel appeared only nervous.

After a while, they were pulled to a stop on a mid-level platform, one that was furnished with a few couches with heavy threads thrown over them. All of them appeared old, some quite worn. Yet the fabric of the couches was kept in a good condition. In one large ostentatious chair, sat a figure, barely seen in the low light of this apparent parlor. The figure noticed the two being dragged into the parlor and stood. It spoke in a feminine voice, “So these are the nasty spider killers. Ahuhu, they’re so young.”

The figure approached and the nearby lights illuminated the figure. She was young in appearance, yet held many scars upon her lilac flesh. There was a large scar across one of her five black, pupil-less eyes, the second to her left. What would be six arms was instead five, as the middle arm on her right side was missing. It was a bandaged stump about halfway to the elbow. Her hair was down, brushed down behind her shoulders. It was encased in a web-patterned loose hairnet that was supported by a cloth purple hairband across the top of her forehead. Her clothes were full of purple and pinks, a cute design, yet comfortable looking despite the poofs on her shoulders and pants. She also wore black tights and matching black closed-toed shoes. She smirked and flashed her sharp fangs, “Such naughty little children!~ Ahuhuhu~” Frisk’s eyes widened at the fangs, but they said nothing as small tears continued down their face. Asriel pleaded quietly, “Please… Frisk was just scared! We didn’t mean it! We asked them to stop approaching but they didn’t!” Muffet crossed her two lower arms and glared at a group of spiders. She spoke strictly, “Is this true, dearies?” A few of the spiders let out strange, quiet noises that Asriel and Frisk were barely able to hear. Muffet huffed, “Well! Now it’s understandable! I appreciate you all trying to protect me, but there is a line!” Frisk’s tears halted; they raised a brow in confusion. Meanwhile, Muffet turned back to Asriel and Frisk and clapped her top two hands with a slightly apologetic expression, “I’m so sorry, dearies! Things have been a little… aggressive here… so some of them can be aggressive in kind.” She snapped her fingers, “Untie these two little ones! Right. Now!”

The spiders moved towards the cocoon. Frisk began to whine and shake again. Muffet noticed this and approached with a calming voice, “Shhh, it’s okay. They’re just going to free you. Are you scared of spiders, dearie?” Frisk sniffled and nodded silently. Muffet frowned and gently patted Frisk’s head, “Well, my previous business ventures are no fault of my spiders. They shouldn’t bite unless I tell… them… to…” Her words trailed off. She began to sniff the air around Frisk and Asriel. She began to sniff madly, “D-do you have some of the substitute on you?! Where is… no… This is stronger than that substitute…” She nearly burrowed her nose into Frisk’s neck, which made them shake and give a face of disgust. She took a deep sniff before she pulled away with a curled smirk. She placed her chin to one of the palms of her hands, supported by another hand. She spoke, “Actually dearies… only let the goat-boy go… we found a human in our web.” She licked her lips and eyed Frisk greedily. Both Asriel’s and Frisk’s eyes widened in fear.

[rhnuzlocke]

Episode 15

Scene 10:

[Ren, Kai and Wally take the ferry to Mt. Pyre. They lean out over the bow as the island comes into view. It is almost permanently misty and crawling with ghost types, which gives it the proper ambiance. They disembark at the dock and head inside. The shrine is built into a natural divot in the slope of the mountain, from the last time the ancient volcano erupted and blew out one side. A sign by the entrance lays out rules of conduct. Battles are strictly forbidden and quiet requested to respect the mourners. Catching pokemon is forbidden within the shrine, but acceptable on other parts of the island. Ren makes her way to one of the many altars set here and there among the gravestones.]

Ren: Would you two mind leaving me alone for a bit?

Kai: Are you sure?

Ren: Yes. I’ll meet you on the peak when I’m done.

[Wally gives her a hug and Kai follows suit. They both head for the stairs and disappear onto the next floor. Ren pulls out a stick of incense from the cup beside the shrine and lights it. She rifles through her bag for a few acorns and lays them on the altar as well. She kneels down and takes a deep breath.]

Ren: I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. I’m sorry the world was so cruel to you and I’m sorry you had so little time. You deserved so much better. You were a wonderful pokemon and such a great fighter. We all miss you, especially Kata. She’s had a terribly rough time finding another buddy. [forced cheerfulness breaking] You deserved better. [The tears break free and she bows until her head touches the floor.] I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

[We pan out as she sits back up and then bows again. As she bows a third time, Josh enters the side of the frame. He is alone and in civilian clothes. He looks out over the room as he weaves between the gravestones, trying not to draw attention to himself. His eyes pass over Ren without recognition, but he is walking in her direction. His face is a little tighter than his regular neutral sullen look as he combs over the mourners. His eyes pass over Ren again and he stops, now only about 10 feet away.]

Josh: Ren?

[Her head snaps up and he can see plainly now that it is her. Her face is wet and tearstained. The scarred side looks particularly irritated and puffy. She looks surprised to see him and stands up, wiping her nose on her sleeve. Their eyes meet and his are soft with concern while hers turn unbearably sad.]

Josh: I’m so sorry, Ren.

[They seem to forget why they know each other. He moves toward her and she closes the distance and throws her arms around his middle, holding him tight. She sniffles into his shoulder and he almost pats her head, but thinks better of it and wraps his arms gently around her shoulders.]

Josh: [after a few moments] It—it wasn’t in the Weather Institute, was it?

Ren: No. It was more than a month ago. My nuzleaf.

Josh: Oh… The one who threatened me in Fallabor?

Ren: Threatened you?

Josh: Uh, she was sort of pantomiming staving my head in behind your back.

[We see a flashback of the scene from Josh’s perspective. He stumbles over his sentence as he watches Wheta imitate putting him in a headlock and pounding him repeatedly with her wooden fist. In the present, Ren laughs.]

Ren: And here I thought you went along with it because I was nice to you.

Josh: Well, that was part of it…

[She chuckles again a little more softly. Her tears are beginning to dry up.]

Ren: Um, Josh, why are you here? Did—did one of yours…

Josh: No! No, Arceus, I can’t even imagine what you're going through. And my life hasn’t exactly been a cake walk.

[She is quiet for a few moments.]

Ren: I guess I shouldn’t be surprised anymore. You have a crobat for Arceus’s sake. You may be an asshole, but you obviously love your pokemon. [She lets go of him.]

Josh: [He lets go of her.] Of course I do. [hesitant] They’re like family, right? What family is supposed to be? They love you and take care you no matter what.

[Ren takes in his uncertain fidgeting with confusion.]

Ren: [slowly] Josh, do you have a family?

[He doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.]

Ren: So that’s why you were so upset about the clothes comment. Again, I’m so sorry about that. I should never have said it.

Josh: At first—when you were apologizing—I thought maybe that was why, that you had figured it out. And then when I realized you hadn’t… It meant more. So, thank you.

Ren: I actually wanted to thank you for never going back on anything you said you would do for me. I’m not sure why you didn’t: if you’re just too scared or if you still feel like you have to repay me.

Josh: Oh, uh—

Ren: You don’t have to tell me. You don’t owe me that.

[Neither of them says anything for a while. Ren sighs and turns back to the alter. She says a few more words very quietly in Kantonese so that Josh won’t understand. She bows again and Josh dips his head behind her. She stares at the smoke trailing out of the burning incense when suddenly her eyes go wide. Her face hardens.]

Ren: [quiet, but anything other than soft] Josh, why are you here?

[It is a false calm that Josh knows well and he shies away from her. It is a good thing too because in another beat she whips around violently to face him, hands balled into fists. He takes another step back and she advances on him. He shrinks before her as he is backed up against a gravestone and she looms over him.]

Ren: Magma’s here. [pounding her forehead] I’m stupid! I’m so stupid! I just went right along and let you distract me! Look everybody, it’s Ren Kosugi: the village fucking idiot! Why do I keep doing this with you? I just let you fucking get to me! I just hand you ammo every Giratina-damned time thinking you’ll never figure out the weapon it goes to. You know, I’m actually really lucky all you’ve managed to do so far is stall me.

Josh: I wasn’t—

Ren: [shouting over him] Oh, just stow it already! I am so far past caring right now. Just tell me why in all of Lord Arceus’s creation Magma is here! This is a shrine to the dead! What the hell kind of humanitarian plot involves desecrating something this sacred?

Josh: [totally unable to meet her eyes] There’s something here. Something we need. I don’t know what it is, just that it’s—

Ren: [holding her hand up to silence him] That’s enough for me. Where are they?

Josh: The peak. [She turns to leave and he grabs desperately at her wrist.] Don’t! They’re all up there, all three of them!

Ren: [through clenched teeth] Let. Me. Go.

[He lets go and she strides off towards the stairs. He hesitates for a second or two before going after her.]

Josh: Please don’t go up there! They’ll kill you!

Ren: [over her shoulder as she mounts the stairs] And why do you care, Josh? It’d be one less problem for you. Besides, you don’t even know me.

[He is climbing the stairs after her, but that makes him stop. She continues unaffected.]

Josh: [losing his temper and starting back up the stairs] You saved my life twice! I just don’t want you to die! Is that so hard to understand?

[She doesn’t stop and as soon as Josh reaches the top he sees that Kai and Wally are there. Ren storms right past them, rage blocking out all else as she makes for the next set of stairs. They look at her and back at Josh for a second before taking off after her.]

Kai: Ren? Ren, what’s going on?

[Josh stays where he is as they run up the next flight of stairs. In another moment he remembers what he should have done from the beginning and pulls out his nav. His hands are shaking as he pounds Azalea’s number and he fidgets as he waits for her to answer.]

Josh: [the moment the icon goes green] Azalea! We have to do something! She’s here and she’s headed up right now. Everyone is up there! It’s such a mess! I can’t stop her. She’s got two other trainers with her this time! What do I do?!

Azalea: Where is she?

Josh: Third floor now.

Azalea: Shit. That doesn’t leave a lot of time.

Josh: [pulling at his hair, voice frantic] What do we do?!

Azalea: I’m going to run interference.

Josh: [trying to calm down] Okay. Okay… What should I do?

Azalea: You are going to promise me you’ll keep your mouth shut about anything you happen to see, although I think you know what happens if you don’t.

Josh: Yes, ma’am.

Azalea: Good. And if you have a moment maybe pray that good old Steven is on his way.

Josh: The Champion? But won’t that—what about the mission?

Azalea: I’ll handle it. I have not worked this hard for this long to fail now. Maxie will get what he’s after.

[She hangs up and we see her face harden. She and her whismur are standing alone on the grassy side of the island.]

Aster: This is bad. What can you do as Azalea?

Azalea: Nothing. [She unzips her Magma jacket and takes it off.] Get out the vapor box, would you, flower?

[scribblesnblues]

The Black Judgement - A Doctor Who Fanfic

Once upon a time, in a galaxy not too far away, a girl was running for her life.

Well, not necessarily run as one would on land or away from their responsibilities, but in space. She was a Traveler, you see, a Seeker of Worlds. In her eyes were the stars, and in her head, civilizations lost but forever remembered.

It was this girl, one who boldly called herself Alex, that fled, but not from any celestial body. While the universe was certainly ancient and deserved to be treated with respect and caution, it had yet to ever truly harm her. Solar flares, in all of their precariousness, helped brew her coffee. Black holes made interesting garbage disposals. At best, it was asteroids that were truly a hazard, but only because its dust always found a way to give her the mightiest of sniffles. No, it was not the universe that she was running from, but rather, one of the many beings that occupied it.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Alex moaned between her legs.

Being a Navigator of the Stars was a risky business. Besides the danger that came from visiting unknown planets, also was the threat of offending its locals. Alex got around this by doing what one should always do in case they ever found themselves in a foreign land: hide or run preferably. For Alex, it was the former. She liked discovering new things, whether it was through civilization’s art or its governmental structure. One time, she visited a planet completely made up of one-inch-tall people called Midgets, a people that she expected to be humbled by their shortness, only to quickly discover that they were in the middle of a bloody civil war. She barely escaped with all of her limbs attached but swore never to trust anyone shorter than four feet ever again.

That was why she was running away because she was recovering from yet another failed interaction. Who could have expected a race of sparrows to be so violent, stringing up the entrails of their enemies along tree branches and painting their feathers with their blood? Alex was sure that, if she listened hard enough, she could still hear their innocent tweeting, calling their brothers-in-arms for the feast that almost took her eyes.

She was beginning to hate the universe.

Above her head, a faint tinkle, like a dinner bell for ants, rung in her ears. What would have sounded nice, perhaps even enchanting, for the simple-minded, made Alex’s ears burn and a deep red flush rise up her neck.

“My fault?” she thundered. “What do you mean, this is all my fault? You were the one that was supposed to scan the planet for possibly dangerous life forms!”

The tinkle dinged again, only this time, annoyingly so.

Alex huffed. “That's not fair. How was I supposed to know that they were abnormally large? You told me that sparrows were beautiful creatures, not their muscle mass. And do you mind cutting the lights on, please? Space is already cold, you don't have to make it dark, too.”

The Sound gave one final twinkle, something that would have sounded like someone saying What-ever had they actually spoke. Nevertheless, the Sound did what it was commanded, and with a great swoop, blasted Alex's universe with enough light to make the Big Bang look like an Elton John concert.

Alex rubbed her eyes. The explosion was only temporary, but it did the trick. Her surroundings were no longer foreign to her. She was in a large room, where the walls were lined with dark red velvet and the ceiling, marked by swinging light bulbs, looked like it could go on forever. A shag carpet resembling crisp, green grass softened her bare feet, frozen cold by the lack of proper lighting or A/C for that matter. There was a small table resting on its side a few feet from her, along with a tall leather armchair and several dinner seats. What once was a pile of fruit tarts from the planet Apl (they weren't too keen on her correcting the spelling of their home planet) was now a mushy streak, sliding down from the upturned table and squishing against her toes. Alex guessed that that was why her head had been between her legs: she had slipped on the poor things.

But the main reason for her attention, oddly, had been left untouched. Resting in the middle of chaos and disarray, a pillar of light grew. Currently glowing white, it sparkled gold when Alex approached it, and the long tubes that made up its base twinkled ever-so-lightly.

“Where are we?” Alex asked the Light, rubbing a tender spot on her temple.

Now, Alex hadn't known the Light for a long time, just enough for everyone to forget the Tower of Babel. She had no idea where it came from, who built it, or why. It could be a weapon of mass destruction, like a certain atomic bomb-like machinery that strangely was only used for teen pop concerts. But beyond all of the mysteries and intrigue that encapsulated it, Alex was certain of one thing: if she asked for it to do something, then it did it, and with fervor.

The Light, as expected, humbly obliged. Its color changed, shifting from its usual stark white to a light blue and ugly shade of neon green. The two colors were so hideous together that Alex almost forgot to translate the Light's twinkles.

“Earth?” Alex repeated, before pausing. “Yes, I've heard of it. Its music collection is… interesting. But what does that have to do with us? I thought we were to visit Earth when Bailey's comet flies by again. Why're we so early?”

Two sharp knocks were her answer.

 It wasn't every day that people knocked on Alex's front door, especially since she swore that she was in the vacuum of space. Imagine her surprise when she swung open her front door, only to have a face shoved into hers.

Well, not necessarily. There certainly was a stranger, but while they were incredibly close to her vessel (uncomfortably so, in Alex's opinion), she didn't smash her face with theirs. Their noses barely brushed.

But let Alex put it, the stranger might as well have sucker punched her in the face, for she reeled back in surprise.

“What in the blue blazes?!” she cried out in surprise.

While Alex's sudden appearance did startle the stranger, they didn't appear to be too disturbed by her. At best, their eyebrows rose and their lips thinned, but they didn't necessarily clutch their chests as Alex did.

“Who are you?” the girl asked.

At least, Alex thought they were a girl. She hoped so. Improperly gendering someone was a capital offense, in her opinion, brought on by an unintentional accident while visiting a pair of moons. Alex scolded herself afterward for days after the fact and made it clear to herself that she would never put someone in the same place.

However, the longer that she stared at the girl, the more that she realized that her assumption was correct. Her hair was long, longer than she ever saw in most visits. She dressed plain as if she had just left a school of some sort. But it was her eyes, twin pools of magma, or metal fresh from a smelter's den, that truly blew Alex's breath away.

Such a feeling was short-lived, of course, when the girl decided to so rudely give her nose a good flick.

“Ow!” Alex said, rubbing her sore nose tip. “What’s all that for?”

“That's for dropping on top of my mother's lilies,” the girl snapped.

“Flowers?” Alex shook her head. “I'm sorry, ma’am, but I think that you're mistaken. I haven't ‘dropped’ on anything.”

The girl pointed downward. “Then explain this.”

Alex gave her an indignant sniff. While she had explored many civilizations and came upon countless faces and various personalities, none gave her more satisfaction than proving a stuck-up person wrong. It was akin to drinking strawberry cordial with Martians: just enough alcohol for her to get the buzz, and for them not to question her age. But when she craned her neck out, preparing to tell the rude Earth-girl off, her heart dropped. There, crushed into a leafy pulp underneath the confines of her ship, were what remained of stark white Lily of the Valleys. She would have wept for them had she not immediately shriveled back into the confines of her abode.

“Oh,” she said in a small voice. “My mistake.”

The girl folded her arms. “Well, there's no reason for you to stay in there like a shy turtle. Come on out, then.”

It wasn't like Alex feared the girl, but would you be eager to do what she said? Those eyes of hers hadn't lost their intensity, and while Alex was transfixed by them, some part of her told her to proceed with caution. That and the Light twinkled again, telling her to watch her ass.

“Be quiet,” Alex whispered.

“What was that?” the girl demanded.

“Nothing,” Alex said, quickly.

The Light twinkled again.

Alex couldn't hold it back any longer. The Lights’ taunts had become too unbearable. “You’ll hang for that!” she exclaimed.

“Is there someone with you in there?” the girl asked. “Come on out, the both of you!”

Grumbling and griping about the cheekiness of advanced technology, Alex climbed out from the open doorway. The girl helped by grabbing the sleeves of her shirt and pulling her upright, but Alex didn't know why. She could understand the fact that, in their haste to get away from their interplanetary adversaries, they had failed to realize that they were on another planet, but they certainly had at least did so gracefully.

But when she turned back around and saw the big, metal structure that was her ship lying on its side, her heart dropped for the second time that day.

“Oh, to hell with it,” Alex mumbled. “Today just isn't my day.”

“And who're you?” the girl piped up.

Now, before I continue with this tale, I must make something perfectly clear. Alex, in all honesty, was not the sharpest knife in the drawer. What she lacked in common sense, she made up for with a fierce curiosity, even if it more often than not wound her up in a mess load of trouble. But one thing that was startlingly clear about her was that if you ever saw her on the street, her eccentricities were masked underneath a clean, almost orderly facade. This was what perplexed the girl so. How could such an odd person, after falling literally out of the sky, dress as one would for a formal outing? Her white undershirt and navy blue vest were without stain or blemish, and besides a few streaks of mud staining a leg of her jeans, she wasn't too outside of the norm. At best, the fact that she appeared to be talking to herself was out of the ordinary, but nothing too extreme.

Nevertheless, Alex found it warranting for her to straighten out her pants, rolling her fingers through her hair still battered from the Sparrows to (hopefully) smooth it down. It had the opposite effect.

“The name's Alex, my dear lady,” she said with a miniscule bow. That was still an Earth custom, was it not? No matter, it had the intended effect, for the girl noticeably relaxed her shoulders and softened her eyes. Wow, Alex thought, how can something so mundane be so intricately detailed?         “Traveler of the Stars, Seeker of Knowledge, and Sole Watcher of NCIS: New Orleans. And who might you be?”

“Quincy Moore,” the girl replied, then squinted. “But my friends call me Quinn. Uh… eleventh year at Eton. I think that's all.”

Alex waved her hand. “That's well enough for me.” Who needed titles when there were more practical issues at hand? “So, ma'am, if I may, what would you call this place?”

But “Quincy”, as she called herself, was less interested in what was in front of her, and more in what was behind Alex.

“What’s that?” Quinn asked.

Alex patted the steaming ship's side. The giant thing was of a decadent silver, carved in a curved shape with a single door jutting out of its side. “Oh, this? It’s my ship. She’s named after the elements that make her up. First, there’s the light that comes from Bailey’s Beads. Then there are the elements of inferior planets. Next is the DNA of terrestrial organisms, followed by the shadow of a moon in conjunction with a star. And finally, the word ‘heliocentric’ from the dictionary.”

“That sounds a bit much,” Quinn noticed.

“It’s an acronym,” Alex answered. “B-I-T-C-H.”

“Oh!” Quinn exclaimed. “Oh, well, um… Does it have another one?”

Alex shrugged. “It's her formal name. She prefers to be called The Light. Fits with her flashiness. Anyway, about where I am…?”

Quinn nodded, although Alex did notice that she appeared to be still a tad bit distant. She wrote it off as being shaken up by her unceremonious landing. Poor girl, she thought. She must be scared to death.

“You're in Hawkshead,” Quinn explained. “Hillsides, hence all of the flowers.”

Alex nodded as she looked around. “Yes, it does seem rather summery here. And who might your ruler be of this day?”

“Uh… Elizabeth?”

“Yes, but which one? First?”

Quinn gave her chin a scratch. “Second.”

Alex's eyes bulged. Oh wow, she had been gone for a while. She made a mental note to remember that next time she came. “And why might you be here, Quinn of Eton, on this day?”

“I'm looking for my mum,” Quinn replied. ���I haven't seen her for some time, and last I checked, she was out here, picking flowers.”

Anyone would have taken what she said as a sign that something was wrong, or at least was suspicious. But Alex was absent-minded. She was too busy searching her pockets for her notebook, but upon discovering that it wasn't there, sighed in agitation.

“Yes, well, I'm sure that she’ll be back soon.” She suddenly threw up her hands. “Blast it all! I appear to have left my writing tablet back in the galaxy previous. No bother. I'll just pop back in and get it back.”

She turned to leave, only to stop. Something had gotten hold of her, and did they keep her stuck. It caught her off-guard when she lifted her head to see Quinn's hand wrapped around her wrist.

“I do say, what is this?” Alex wondered. “Unhand me this instant, ma'am. This is most uncouth.”

“You're not from around here,” Quinn said.

Alex gave her a stiff nod. “That's about right.”

“So you can help me find my mother?”

“I-I think that you’re mistaken, ma'am,” Alex said with a nervous laugh. “I'm a traveler, emphasis on travel. While I am a person, and I most certainly could assist you, the fact of the matter is, ‘finder’ is not in my description. I am here to gather information to add to my collection. I am not here to find people who, for all you may know, went down a hill to take a nap.”

“For three days?” Quinn said.

Alex gulped. “Th-Three, you say?”

Quinn nodded.

Alex held a finger to her lips. “Oh, dear. That is dreadful.”

“Will you help me?” Quinn demanded.

It was no more a request as it was someone questioning her ethics. Could Alex help her? Would she? Should she, was more like it.

Quinn gripped tighter.

“Okay, okay!” Alex cried out. “By golly, you have a strong grasp there. Fine, I'll help you find your mother, but only if you promise to let me go afterward. Deal?”

In answer, Quinn stuck out her hand, but did not let go of Alex. “Deal,” she said.

 And that was how the girls found themselves walking down the hillside, following a trail that only Quinn could see. The flowers bent in the wind, the grass shifted and rolled, and yet they still walked. The clouds grew from thin white to a fat peppery grey, yet they still walked. The ground gave way from a flowery field to one cracked with dried dirt and sharp stones, and in the far off distance, Alex could faintly see The Light on the hill that she left her, sitting like a lima bean on a plate, yet they still walked.

Alex had had enough. “Where are we going?”

“We're following my mother's footprints,” Quinn replied.

“Why was your mother all the way out here? What could she possibly be looking for?”

Quinn didn't answer, but when the earth began to slope downwards, both of them stopped in complete awe.

None of them had seen the cave. It could have materialized out of nowhere, for all they knew, growing out of the desolate land like a pimple would on an oily face. Still, neither of them could shake the feeling that while its black and jagged rocks were out of the norm, as well as how it completely towered over them like a mountain built by giants, it nevertheless belonged there in one way or another.

It was Quinn who stepped forward, but Alex pulled her back.

“Are you mad?” she said. “No, truly, you are. That thing gives me the jitters. It reeks of ill will. Surely, your mother wouldn’t go in there?”

And yet, even as she said so, her eyes wandered down. What once was hidden underneath flattened grass was now revealed by the sandy plains. Large footprints led toward the mouth of the cave, as sure and as straight as an arrow. Alex hated arrows.

“Come on, scaredy cat,” Quinn taunted. “It’s just a cave. What’s the worst that can happen? A bat comes and gets tangled up in your hair?”

Alex pawed her head. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

Quinn tore her arm free and walked forward. “Stay out here if you want, but remember, you can’t leave until my mother’s found and safe.”

Alex held up a finger, mouth opening in protest, but Quinn was too far gone. In a moment, she was completely swallowed up by the darkness of the cave.

Alex turned her hands into fists. “Curse you,” she spat as she ran after her. “Curse you, you stupid, stupid girl!”

The cave was not what Alex had expected. It was dark, but it wasn’t the kind of darkness that she was used to. In some way, one could always see their hands, or a figure, or hear what went on ahead of them. But in the cave, she might as well have been blind and deaf. She felt around her, trying to find a wall that she could use to gauge her surroundings, but they were far too sharp for her sensitive hands. She yelped in surprise when a rock pierced her finger.

“No more Earth visits,” she swore under her breath. “I promise you that!”

“Quiet,” a familiar voice hissed to her.

Alex spun on her heel. It was Quinn, and she was close! When she reached out to touch her, she found the curve of her shoulder and didn’t hesitate to grab onto it with a vice-like grip.

“You’re to pay for this, Quinn of Eton!” she shouted.

“I said, quiet!” Quinn whispered back.

But Alex was on a roll. No form of reasoning could reach her brain. “I will not stay silent any longer! What you are doing here is insane. Insane, do you hear me? What if one of us gets hurt, or worse? What if we get lost? How are we to call for help? How are we to acquire assistance? If I fall down a hole right this very second, I’ll be gone forever, and who will take care of the Light then, eh? Eh?”

“Alex, I swear to you, please be quiet.”

Alex should have heeded the coolness in Quinn’s voice as a sign that something was wrong. Perhaps then she would have noticed what Quinn had already seen, a shadow moving amongst the dark, following them, circling them, like an eel among a reef. But she hadn't. Her mind had been made up, and she stamped her foot in anger when it was apparent that Quinn was not paying her any attention.

“You’re an evil child, you are,” Alex said, shaking with rage. “You’re a temptress, reeling unsuspecting people in, only to lead them to their doom. I say, when I get out of this, I will write you a scathing report of unsatisfactory. Your descendants will forever know of you as the Girl Who Got Someone Killed. Hello, I’m speaking to you!”

“Get down!” Quinn suddenly shouted and gave her a firm push.

Alex cried out in both surprise and anger as she fell, hitting her hip against the hard, cold floor. She immediately scrambled to her feet, rolling up her sleeves to give Quinn a stern talking-to, when lo, she saw it.

The dog was a terrifying beast, a brute if Alex ever saw one. Its fur was a shaggy black that was far darker than the black, which she thought couldn’t be possible. Yet there it was, standing high enough to reach their chests, with eyes of flaming gold and jaws of cracked yellow.

Any courage that Alex had left her. Her dark skin paled, her back straightened, and every hair on her body stood on end.

“I-I-I do say,” she stammered, “that’s a b-big d-dog.”

The wolf, more like it, peeled back its lips and bared its fangs. Alex and Quinn backed up, one further ahead than the other.

“We can take it,” Quinn said.

Alex looked at where her voice came from with the widest of eyes. “I jolly well thank not!”

The dog gave a thunderous bark, one that left Alex’s head reeling. “I’m going to die,” she wailed, “and in an Earthen cave, no less.”

“Oh, would you shut up?” Quinn said. “I swear, if you say one more word, I’ll一”

Three things happened next, and all of it was at once. First, the dog lunged, its eyes angled toward the two girls’ bodies with the intent and means to kill. Next, Quinn ducked to the side, pulling Alex along with her, so that all that the dog ate instead was a mouthful of wall. And finally, someone snapped, and in that snap came light, confusion, and Elvis.

The Elvis was more shocking to Alex than anything else.

“I do say, what is that?” she asked.

Upon looking up, Alex realized that the light was not of her ship, although she was disheartened by it nonetheless. Rather, it came from torches that she hadn’t realized was there, hanging high on the walls above their heads. Underneath her were what she thought to be white sticks, but when she moved her arm and a grinning skull came rolling down, she discovered with her heart in her chest that it was a ground covered in bones. A graveyard, she believed it was called.

But that was not truly what made her heart stop. That would be the figure that stood a few feet in front of her, in a jet black suit and tie with his oily hair slicked back.

“Hello,” the man said with a wolfish grin.

“My god!” Alex said.

Quinn stayed silent.

The man strode forward, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a corner of his jacket. He had a swagger in his gait that was too cocky for someone who calmly reached forward to touch the growling dog.

“Don’t一” Alex got ready to say, only to stop.

The dog still growled as the man stroked its ears, but it had changed. It wasn’t aggressive anymore. Instead, it was a rolling bellow from deep within its throat, the closest example being a lion greeting a fellow member of its pride. It wagged its feathery tail in greeting as its master tickled its chin.

“Pardon my hounds,” the man said, looking back at the two of them. “They’re a bit… overzealous when it comes to protecting their home. We don’t get many visitors down here, you see, and they’re not used to strangers. Are you two lost?”

“We’re looking for someone,” Alex answered. That was when she remembered that Quinn was still there, but she had been so quiet, she had completely forgotten.

“Y-Yes,” she murmured.

The man nodded. “I see. She wouldn’t have been a… Miss Valentin Moore, could she?”

The name rang absolutely no bells for Alex, but Quinn had a different reaction. She flew to her feet, teeth grinding together so hard, Alex could practically hear them squeaking.

“You… You murdered her!” she cried.

The man tilted his head in curiosity, as if finding her accusation not only perplexing but almost amusing. “Ah,” he said, “I see it now. You must be her daughter. She told me a lot about you.”

Quinn’s fists shook by her sides. Alex could tell that it was taking all in her not to throw herself at the man right then and there. Poor girl, she thought.

The man suddenly clapped his hands. The music switched off, but the light stayed. “Well, no need standing here like a couple of strangers. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Black Judge, and this一” He motioned around the cave. “一is my home. And who might you be?”

“Why should I tell you?” Quinn retorted. “You killed my mother!”

The Black Judge spread his hands. “She had many vices. They outweighed her few good traits. She was rightfully punished.”

“By murdering her?” “I cleansed her soul.”

“By murdering her?”

“Hey, guys,” Alex tried to say.

But Quinn was in a tirade. Her insistence to prove that the psychopath was, in fact, a psychopath made it impossible for her to hear her companion. But Alex’s revelation was far greater, so she pressed on.

Quinn whirled around. “What?”

Alex pointed downwards. “I think this is a gun.”

Both Quinn and the Black Judge followed her line of sight. Hidden among the pile of bleached bones and Alex Jones cassette tapes, was a small case of silver. It reflected against the torchlight, giving off a feeling of ambiance even though Alex was fifty percent certain that it was a fancy water gun. Did Earth have that, or was that just an alien thing?

Alex bent down.

“Don’t touch that!” the Judge exclaimed.

Alex rightfully ignored him, as anyone should do, and ran a finger along its engraving. “What is it?”

“It’s the Glock of Truth,” the Judge replied. “Whoever the barrel is pointed toward has no other choice but to answer the welder’s question, no matter how hard or trivial.”

“I don’t see a problem with that,” Alex said.

“If they try to fight against it,” the Judge continued, “they get shot with the Silver Bullet of Justice.”

“All of those names are nonsensical and those rules seem arbitrary,” Quinn commented.

“Nevertheless, that weapon has been the carrier of many guilty verdicts!”

“But you're a judge,” Alex reasoned. “You're supposed to look for the truth. Right?”

Of course, having grown up in outer space, away from proper governments and the like, made Alex blind to what was known on Earth as the judicial system. She didn't know of the many flaws within it. All she saw was what lied on the surface, which was a bipartisan judge sentencing a guilty person to work fifteen years in a coal mine, or whatever humans did when they weren't eating kale. Surely, the Judge followed the same rules?

The way that he averted his eyes was enough for her to gasp.

Quinn stepped beside her. “Let me do it,” she whispered into her ear. “He took my mother from me. I have more right to do it.”

“You hate her, though,” Alex said back.

“No, I don't,” Quinn said with a rolling of her eyes.

Alex looked at her. “Please. People who call their parents ‘mother’ or ‘father’ only do so when said person has done them wrong, and they hate them for it.”

“Hate, you say?” the Judge piped up with a deep sniff.

Alex pulled back the gun's safety.

The Judge's awkward smile dropped. “Okay, alright, then. If you want to do it like that, then ask me your question.”

Quinn looked at Alex. Alex looked at Quinn. The winner of the staring contest prevailed.

“Why are you here?” Quinn asked.

The Judge's hound barked and bayed. It snapped its jaws threateningly close at Alex's heel. She swallowed down a scream.

“Calm,” the Judge said, before looking back up at the two of them. “Why am I here? Why are you here? To seek truth? No. You're here because you want what no one else can give you, what only I can give you.”

“I'm about to give you a face full of lead if you don't start giving direct answers,” Quinn growled.

The Judge lifted his hands. “Think clearly, child. I am over one thousand years old. I have plenty of stories to tell. Wouldn't you like to hear them?”

“No,” Quinn said.

“Maybe,” Alex murmured.

The Judge grinned. “A fellow knowledge seeker? I like that. It appears that you and I have more in common.”

“Enough talk,” Quinn snapped. “Answer. Now.”

The Judge sighed, or what Alex thought was a sigh. It was more of a pretentious exhale, one that billowed out smoke and wrapped around her ankles. She didn't like it one bit.

“I am the Culling,” the Judge finally answered. “I am the penalty when a people have advanced too fast. I am what happens when Man decides to throw away their humanity in order to play god. In my hands, I weigh the hearts of those who decide that they are better, greater even, than their fellow, and from my lips, comes their absolution.

“Your mother,” he continued on, “did not intend to come upon my lair. I was asleep, you see, still full from my last Culling. Nevertheless, her… sin was too invigorating, too tantalizing, for me not to judge. You can see what happened next.”

Six pairs of eyes followed the other as they watched the Hounds play with what remained of Mrs. Moore’s leg. It was a gruesome sight, but none quite tugged at Alex’s heartstrings as much as seeing tears cloud Quinn’s eyes. They did what water always did to magma: they hardened them, darkened them, and turned them from astonishingly bright gold to a dim and dull brown.

Alex did not intend on being there. After all, their deal was now complete. She was a free lady, able to do just what the Judge had said and left without a second glance. It was what she intended to do when she set down the gun. It was what she wanted to do. And yet, she found it none more correct than to stick out her chin and nod.

“Right,” she said. “We’ve heard your side, now you listen to me, sonny-boy.”

The Judge stood up with a start. “I beg your pardon?”

“No, sir, you beg my pardon!” she exclaimed with a stern waggle of her finger.

“H-He already s-said that,” Quinn sniffled.

“No matter!” Alex said. “You speak of a Culling. Dare I ask, who gave you such permission? Who gave you the authorization to judge an entire civilization, and for so long, might I ask? Where is your paperwork?”

“There’s no need for paperwork,” the Judge scoffed.

Alex’s eyes twinkled.  “On the contrary, my good sir! You see, under the Interplanetary Code of Conduct, as authorized by the Council of Whodunit一I have the latest edition of their handbook一it so clearly states that there cannot be any judicial proceedings of any kind, benevolent or otherwise, without prior permission given from the highest authority in that certain land. You say that you have been here for over a thousand years? Then I’m sure that you updated your filings as due per ruler?”

And just like that, she had him. The Judge, in all of his haughtiness, squirmed upon hearing this newfound revelation, one that so clearly could have been revealed to be false if he dared to switch the gun onto her. But because Alex spoke so clearly, he had no other option but to assume that what she said was correct, leaving him as dumbfounded as Quinn.

“What are you saying?” she asked Alex.

Alex twirled an imaginary mustache in victory. “I’m saying that buddy-boy, here, has been unlawfully sending verdicts onto your kind for millennia. I’m saying that he has been murdering innocent people here.” She clapped her hands in glee. “By golly, you’re in trouble now!”

“Please,” the Judge said, “don’t tell the Council. Mercy, child. Mercy!”

“You dare plead for mercy when your dogs feast on the bones of your victims?” Alex threw her head back and laughed. “Ha! Shame on you, sir. Shame on you and your two-bit mutts. I should very well call the Council up myself and have them come and decide on your behalf.”

The Judge instantly perked up. “But… you won’t? Why?”

Alex got up high, balancing between the very tips of her toes, and narrowed her eyes to the thinnest of slits.

“I want you to starve,” she whispered to him, and only him. “I want you to stay in this cave, with your music and your tapes. I want you to think every day about the things that you’ve done. So when your dogs become hungry一and oh, they will get hungry, that is all you can think or even see while they do to you what you did to those people. Understand?”

The Judge was trapped. After deciding to believe her lie, he was left with no other choice but to stand there and nod, scared more about what would happen if he did otherwise.

Alex huffed. “Good.” She took Quinn by her shoulder, turning the both of them around to walk back toward the mouth of the cave. “Come, Quinn,” she said. “I do believe that there is a BITCH out there waiting for us.”

 “So, where're you going now?” Quinn asked.

The Light hadn’t moved since the two of them left the Judge’s cave, but it nevertheless greeted Alex as if they had been gone for centuries. She hardly was able to calm it down from its incessant twinkles of delight when she opened its door.

Alex shrugged. “Pluto, probably. I hear that there's an interplanetary spa underneath its surface. I only found out because of the aggressive marketing after Earth said it wasn't a planet anymore.”

They shared a laugh then, the bubbly, warm kind shared between friends, but there was a heaviness to it that made Alex's heart ache. She didn’t exactly know why. She had told herself before that she was only helping Quinn because she held the key to her leaving. Alex never was supposed to stay and liked the thought of never returning to Earth again. While it was an intriguing venture, she also knew of the danger that came with it and wanted no more than to wash away any and all memories of their escapades in the Light’s showers.

Imagine her surprise when she hesitated in entering the Light’s inner chambers.

Quinn, too, noticed her discomfort. “What's wrong?”

Alex struggled for words. It wasn't like she knew what she wanted to say, but couldn't find a way to express it. It was more like coming unprepared for a test in a class that you were certain you hadn't signed up for. Her mind was a blank canvas, the only thing firing throughout her brain being blinding white electricity and an incessant need to speak up, but not knowing how or even why.

Quinn stepped ways forward. Alex held up her hand, steadying herself as a wave of nausea washed over her.

“I…” She swallowed hard, clenched her fists, straightened her spine, and lifted her chin proudly. In a single exhale, she said, perhaps too quickly, “Wouldyouliketojoinme?”

Quinn blinked. Alex's stomach flipped. Even the Light twinkled a low, “By golly.”

“Perhaps I was too forward,” Alex said, slowly.

She was beginning to turn back around, when Quinn shot her hand out and clasped her wrist. Alex struggled to hold back a smile. Ironic, wasn’t it? The same way that got them together, so was it when they departed.

“I have nothing else for me here,” Quinn explained. “I have no friends, no family.”

“But I thought一”

Quinn interjected. “I made it up, okay? No one likes me here. They think I’m too bossy.”

They would be right, Alex wanted to say but held her tongue. “You could have just told me.”

Quinn scoffed. “Like you would understand. You’re an alien. A real-life, living and breathing alien. You wouldn’t want to be around a nobody like me.”

It was now Alex’s turn to scoff. “My dear lady, I have touched down on many different planets and seen many different faces. None of them, not even one, could compare to what I have experienced with you on this day. Companions, if you will.”

“Companions?” Quinn repeated.

Alex nodded. “Brothers-in-arms.”

“I'm a girl.”

“Best buds for life!”

Quinn gave her a look of Death.

Alex raised a brow. “Gal pals?”

Quinn found it amusing, though Alex didn’t understand why. Was it because it rhymed? Well, whatever the case, it did the trick. Quinn climbed aboard her vessel, looking back at her home and the life that she once had one final time, before shutting it and the door forever.

And it was here, arms clasped together and hearts open, two girls, one borne of the stars and the other seeking them, set out on a quest: to sail through the cosmos in search of people to lend aid, have as many adventures as possible, or die trying.

The former preferably.