#but the concussion is a new level of like .. illegal activities

[skullz-chamber]

Last night I was about to sleep early and my sister called me bc Isaac ( my youngest nephew who is 8, autistic, has ADHD, a speech impediment and ODD ) got a concussion at school bc his teacher threw him. She claims she lightly jerked her arm from him and he fell but mans was speaking straight jibberish for 30 mins, couldn't walk properly and couldn't eat. I'm like.. girl I'm one deranged mf and even I've never thrown Isaac.. you're literally not fit to be around children and that's coming from someone who is property of the state.

[witchy-anna]

Play with Fire (Dabi songfic)

Quirk: Homeostasis- the ability to force someone’s body back into its stable condition. Requires physical touch to activate. Examples are regulating the body's blood pressure, heart rate and temperature. Disadvantage: May cause the person to go into shock if the quirk works too quickly.

A/N: I’m going to go with vigilante fem!reader, sorry it took so long Fox! You’re a Doll 😘 Each section is essentially a time skip. 

Warning: cursing (I curse a lot, can’t control my potty mouth)

Taglist: @soldier76sbabygirl

Message to be added to taglist

Insane, inside the danger gets me high Can't help myself got secrets I can't tell

Another string of deaths caused by the serial arsonist. When will it end? The news anchor reads off the prompt with obvious faux concern. Is this another travesty caused by the League of Villains? Find out tonight on the Hero News Network.

You sigh and grumble, “What a crock of shit.” 

A husky voice says close to your ear, “You sound more irritated than concerned.”

Without startling to the closeness you crane your neck around and level a glare at the person intruding in on your space. 

A raven haired man stands close, sunglasses obscuring his eyes and shirt collar pulled high covering the bottom half of his face. How strange. 

You tsk and turn back to the screen now playing an expose on a local pro heroes love life, as if that matters. Gesturing vaguely at the screen you spit out, “They sound so..fake...People are dying and instead they focus on who crawled out of bed with some pro.” 

“This world is so full of suffering, who can blame them for being desensitized to it,” the man says with an oddly cheerful tone.

“I suppose so,” you say but it falls on deaf ears. Gone. 

In other news, the police and pros are still on the lookout for a masked vigilante...You spin on your heels before the news anchor can finish their report. With a quickened pace to trudge another monotonous day of desk work. Fun stuff.

I love the smell of gasoline I light the match to taste the heat I've always liked to play with fire

Another night, another secret patrol, hood pulled high, mask secured, and ass kicking boots laced with vengeance. Monotonous desk job during the day and vigilante at night. 

Illegal being the operative word, the one floating in front of your vision akin to an annoying bug. Following you around each and every night you took off on an excursion.

This night was the same as any other night, some unsuspecting fool thinking they could pull one over on you. Sorely mistaken darling. Your quirk may not be the most suited for combat but you had worked hard to get where you are now. 

Again and again late into your sleepless nights you question why you are doing this. Why pick up what the pro heroes leave behind. 

The words etched into your mind of popular top ranking heroes saying: My quirk isn’t suited for this. Let someone else handle it. Over and over again. 

You want to scream in their face, Neither is mine but you don’t see me giving up!

Bitterness will get you nowhere in life, so instead, you chose to focus that venom on helping those left behind. At least, that’s how it was at first. 

I ride (I ride) the edge (the edge) My speed goes in the red

The concussive shock of an explosion nearly knocks you off your feet. Without a second thought you take off in a sprint to the source. 

“No,” you whisper. Just a moment too late. To slow, what you wouldn’t give for a speed quirk. 

Blue flames roar, reaching and clawing high in the sky. There is the distant scream of sirens signaling their approach. Someone is crying, a wail, a whimper, the harsh dissonance of fear. 

Ash falls like snow, blue and black tinted snow. It’s eerie but strangely beautiful. 

Emergency lights reflect off shattered pieces of glass littering the sidewalk and a single silhouette stands framed by the flames. The wind picks up causing ash and debris to fly everywhere; and almost comically his beat-up coat to flair behind him. 

A dry humorous laugh escapes much to your dismay. What is this an action movie? 

Intense eyes matching the azure flames turns to you, meeting your own (e/c) and rooting you to the spot. A flash of stark white teeth stretches the skin at the corners of his mouth, cut in half by scarred skin. No fear, no panic of being caught. 

“Wait!” you shout, desperation evident in your voice. “Stop!” Something nags at your subconscious, that feeling when you leave the house and your mind insists you forgot something but have no inkling what it could be. 

The man leisurely lifts a hand from his pocket and waves without turning around, disappearing around the corner. A wave that says: Until next time. 

Hot blood (hot blood), these veins (these veins) My pleasure is their pain

Another week passes before you see him again. Lying to yourself, you had dropped everything to sprint to another howling blue fire, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. To save people? Or to...no don’t finish that thought, you grumble internally. 

The stench of burnt flesh makes your stomach churn and you stifle a gag even through your mask. Steeling yourself you search for the source, is it a body or a person in need?

You follow your nose to the source. “Oh,” the word leaves your mouth with barely a sound. Just a puff of air really. 

There he sits, reclined against a trash bin partially hidden in shadows. If not for your keen sense of smell he would have stayed hidden. The smell is strong enough to make your eyes water. He watches you with narrowed luminous eyes, the only thing visible in the dim light. You step closer and he raises an open palm pointed at you, the blue flames dance and kiss his skin.

Steam rises from his skin and he pants, clearly in pain. 

“Your quirk hurts you,” it’s a statement not a question. “Let me help.” 

His eyes narrow to slits before he gives a quick nod and you carefully moved to kneel beside him. The palm with the flame clenches closed to extinguish the flame but stays poised to react if you try anything. He lets out a heavy breath that literally steams the air, he’s overheating.

“I need to touch you,” you warn and slowly reach out your own hands. “I can cool you down.” 

There’s a pause and he nods again, staying silent. Up this close the amount of scarred skin is jarring, as well as the staggering amount of piercings or are they staples? No matter, your hands slowly reach up to cup his cheeks and let your quirk kick to life. The steam rising from his skin slowly dissipates as your quirk works to regulate his temperature, cooling him down to his body's normal level. 

Part of you wonders why he is even letting you touch him so...intimately. His temperature now back to as it should be but your hands remain. 

“Is anyone there?” a stern voice calls from the entrance of the alley causing you to jump. Someone shines a flashlight down the alley, it’s a police officer.

“Leave now,” you hiss to him and stand quickly to move out of the cover of shadow. To the police officer you call out a soft, “Hello?”

His mouth opens as if he wants to say something but snaps it closed. Without a word he stands to leave but not without throwing a curious glance at your retreating form. Mask now gone but he can only see the back of your head, he watches as you put on an act for the police officer.

“Interesting,” he says to no one in particular.  

I love to watch the castles burn These golden ashes turn to dirt

And again, he’s toying with you. This is a game to him. 

It’s a mansion this time, his flames eating up the opulence like a cavity. Eating up the perfect expensive abode and turning it to rot; to ash. “How cliche,” you mutter to yourself. “What an idiot.” 

A low chuckle sends shivers down your spine, “I have a name.”

With a half interested turn of your head, you glance back over your shoulder. “Oh? And why would I care?” Lie.  

Another chuckle, but closer this time. He calls you out on your bluff, “Oh Doll, we both know that’s a lie.” 

Right behind you now. You sense no malice, only curiosity coming from the man. 

Your entire body locks up when you feel the barely there brush of a single callused finger at the base of your neck. It flicks the spot where your mask is tied and a breath of hot air sends goosebumps crawling across your skin.

“Dabi,” he whispers. Another long finger adds to the first, pads whispering against the soft skin of your neck. Heat radiates from both the fire in front of you and the man at your back. He tugs gently enough at your mask tie to not remove it, yet. “Why did you help me?”  

That’s a good question, why did you? Because he’s a pretty face or someone in need, regardless of villain or civilian status. 

You dodge the question, “Why did you let me?”  

“Maybe I just want to unmask a certain little vigilante,” he chuckles again and it vibrates against your back. A single finger slips underneath your mask brushing against your cheek and dips to ghost over your lips and you let him. 

“And maybe you’re just a pretty face,” you say, just a tad breathlessly. 

He hums, “Oh so you think I’m pretty?” He chuckles at the blush creeping over your neck but then curses when there’s a shout about a pro arriving on the scene. 

Dabi says directly into your ear, “Until next time Doll.” Gone.

I've always liked to play with fire Play with fire Fire, fire Oh, watching as the flames get higher Oh, I've always liked to play with (mm)

This time, he finds you. 

“Are you following me?” you ask. It’s quiet where you sat, luckily far away from the view of any passing civilians as he could be easily recognized.

He sits beside you, stretching his long legs out and crossing them at the ankle. “You never answered my question last time,” it’s a statement, ignoring your attempt at deflecting. 

“I- I don’t know,” you admit staring down at your hands as if they hold all the answers. They clench and unclench in your lap. 

You are the antithesis to his sturm and drang. A man who clearly is the type to take what he wants, simply sits beside you, waiting and watching the war going on inside of you. 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he teases. “It was a simple question.” 

Little did you know at the time it would only take one little push, or rather a gentle pull to flip your already wavering resolve. A hand catching yours, rough calloused thumb rubbing a line across your knuckles distracting you. The other shoots out and releases the tie of your mask before you can react. 

“Maybe I just want the satisfaction of turning a vigilante hero to our side,” he says but spits out the word ‘hero’. 

That’s what you get for letting your guard down. That’s what you get for letting a villain get so close. 

“Get away from me,” you snarl and shoot to your feet. Reaching to yank back the mask he took from you but he keeps a firm grip on it. With a frustrated growl you rip the mask from him and storm off, face lit with a flush. 

A dry raspy laugh sounds from him, and he says those stupid infuriating words again, “Until next time. Doll.”

Right of passage classic maverick Match in the gas tank Ooh that's wretched Unstoppable legendary animals (mm)

Just in time, you find him face to face with a pro, no, it’s a sidekick but dangerous nonetheless. The sidekick is clearly a newbie, shaking slightly in their boots but standing firm against the notorious villain. 

Dabi has clearly overexerted himself again, the steam rises from him in waves, a drip of blood leaves a trail that disappears below the collar of his shirt. 

Both swivel to face you. One pair of stern eyes that immediately recognize you as that vigilante. The other pair of eyes at first looks annoyed at the new addition but then relaxes to an easy expression, one of familiarity. 

There’s a challenge in those azure eyes, asking what will you do? Who will you side with? 

The sidekick starts to advance turning their attention away from you. You sprint, desperate to get to Dabi before the sidekick does. 

Dabi sends out a flare of him fire directly at the sidekick but aims it away from you, over your head. What? Impossibly warm arms close around your waist, shielding you from harm. Again, what? 

A camera flash. At the last second you realize your mask must haven fallen off in the chaos. 

Right time for them; wrong time for you. Shit.

Digital justice Now you're gonna know us

Your face is displayed across tvs, newspapers, online articles, everything. 

Vigilante Hero unmasked. Connections to the League of Villains?

An entirely unflattering picture from your workplace displayed beside the picture from the previous night. You, held in the arms of Dabi. 

Your apartment had already been raided and is being watched by the police. An entire lifetime of stuff out of your reach in an instant. What did you expect to happen with this type of lifestyle anyway? Only the clothes on your back and a long since smashed cell phone tossed into a dumpster. 

You go back to the place where he first took your mask, bearing your naked face to the world. Baring your face to him. 

Hail to the king and queen of the ruckus Yacht Money wired No denying I've always liked to play with fire

“There’s no going back now Doll,” he says in a hushed tone. There is an edge uncertainty hidden under his usual bravado, maybe even vulnerability. 

You shake your head, “Who said anything about going back.”  

Azure eyes meet your own (e/c) and matching grins split both of your faces. Rough callused fingers slip into your palm and twine through your fingers, tugging until your nose to nose. His tongue darts out to taste the ash stuck to his scarred lip, it floats all around you both like a gentle but haunting snowfall. 

“No going back now,” you repeat the sentiment before sealing your now flipped resolve with a kiss.

I've always liked to play with fire

[lyesera-thoughts]

Fibromyalgia

I picked a very technical picture this time, not sure how I feel about it. Mostly drawn in by the colorful circles.

Anyways, Fibromyalgia. It’s a fancy word that, until recently, basically meant “You’re always in pain and we can’t figure out why”.

It’s put a huge negative outlook on the condition and my understanding is that many doctors still treat it as non-existent.

There is currently no test that can conclusively say, 100%, that you have fibromyaglia. This isn’t a disease, it is a condition. Which was news to me when I started learning about it, because it was now a condition that I appear to have.

I’d say in the last 2-3 years I noticed a sensitivity to touch. One that I couldn’t place and ignored for a long time, until it started causing strain in my relationship with my fiance. Suddenly, his holding my arm, hugging me, laying his head on my shoulders, laying on top of me (fully or even just on my side) caused sharp pains. Every time I told him, he scoffed in disbelief.

His disbelief turned to our frustration and, in my case, my instant reaction to start shoving him away from me when it happened. I don’t blame him anymore. I was mad he didn’t believe me, but I couldn’t explain what was going on. So, to him, it wasn’t a thing. We both know better now.

That sensitivity turned to everyday pain and it got to the point until the end of 2018, I was running at a constant pain level of 3-4 and there was nothing that was stopping it, short of marijuana. Yes, I consume marijuana, in my defense I waited until it was legal in my state to do so! I find doing illegal things (even non-harmful things) can cause panic attacks so it wasn’t even a thing I would consider until laws changed. Point is, over-the-counter painkillers weren’t killing it.

I explained my journey into being diagnosed with this condition in another post already, but the summary was, a lot of blood tests were done. The only abnormal thing that could be seen was that my C-Reactive Protein was 2-3 times the highest acceptable number.

C-Reactive Protein is how we can detect inflammation in the blood. We have a range that, depending on the source you hear it from, is somewhere under 7 or somewhere under 10. Mine has, per my last blood test 4 months ago, peaked out at 21.

Fibromyalgia is a condition that, when you have large amounts of inflammation in your blood, turns your pain dial to 11 (you know that 1-10 pain scale hospitals will ask you about?). And then you get stuck there. There are specific pressure points that tend to be more painful than others and that appears to be the most common way to be diagnosed now. You have to have this pain point test completed by a Rheumatologist before you can be diagnosed. Which, after a 6 month wait, because rheumatologists are that busy, I finally had done in January of this year.

This led me into really learning more about this condition and what I learned is there is a lot of speculation, but not a lot of concrete facts. Here’s what I have gleaned.

1) There is no genetic factor to fibromyalgia that can be detected. But it does appear to be common in folks who have immediate family members with the condition. In my case, my mother has been diagnosed.

2) There may be a trigger in that is is most commonly found in those that either have PTSD or have suffered a brain or spin injury. My pain peaked following a concussion I suffered in December 2016.

3) People with fibromyalgia have anxiety, depression, and sleep issues. All of which I have, but I had them before I experienced pain, so I’m not sure if they are symptoms of the condition or if they are results of the condition or if this is a case of I already had the others, I won’t see them develop out of the condition.

4) There is no cure for fibromyalgia. This seems to be true as it is a condition, not a disease. It can be treated with cleaner eating, exercise, and/or prescription medications. The key is to lower the inflammation in your blood, which will turn off your body’s need to dial up your pain receptors.

5) Inflammation is caused by stress, poor eating/food sensitivities, poor sleep, and a few others I cannot recall at this time. This also seems to be true for me. If I have a bad night of sleep or if I only snack on carbs and sugar all day, I have terrible pains. I also discovered that my body doesn’t like red meats or a ton of dairy. I can only have them in small doses. A really stressful day can also bring pain, but for me it seems that my stress has to be extreme. My general anxiety doesn’t bring pain, but if I’m borderline panic, it can come.

That all being said, I have found that I am doing just fine without medications. I am dedicated to living this new, cleaner life style and the key focus that my physical therapist, my gym, my doctor, and my nutritionist all agree on is “sustainable”.

This isn’t a “fad-diet” or a “temporary cleanse”. This is something that I will have to live with my entire life, so it has to be enjoyable.

No food is off limits to me, not a single one. But I have learned that while I can enjoy them once in a while, constant partaking of them causes pain. I can enjoy them and I know when to stop so that I can continue to be pain free.

I know that being stationary causes stiffness and, in other parts of my body, even swelling. This causes inflammation and pain. I spend 30-60 minutes at least 3 times a week being active. It’s really not much time at all, if you think about it. What’s half an hour to an hour out of your day to enjoy a pain free life? 

Always work with your doctors. They may come off stern or scary, but they’re trained to help you. Communicate with them, tell them what you hope to achieve. They will help you.

[therearemonstersinthedark]

Astronautical Ch 3 || The Man in the Sky

A Guardians of the Galaxy Fanwork

Pairings: n/a

Genre: Adventure, general

Word Count: 5k +

Rating: T to be safe, minor violence and swearing

Links: Fanfiction.net || Ao3

Summary:   Finding himself stranded on a strange planet with only Nebula as his less than eager guide, and no clue where to go from here, Peter stumbles across some incredible news.

Author’s Notes:   Chapter 3! Yaaay! This was probably my favorite chapter to write so far, even though it's probably going to read pretty slow for you. It's mostly just set up for the next couple of chapters which will start getting us into the central plot and heavy action to come. Updates will start slowing down now as I catch up to what I have already written. The next chapter is mostly done, but I like to give myself a few days before I post it up in case I change my mind about anything or get a plot idea while working on the next chapter and I have to edit it.

Chapter 3: The Man in the Sky

Korath took shallow breaths. The air on this planet was dry and reeked of refuse. Even in the great halls where the upper class lounged about and surrounded themselves in fineries the foul undertone could not be escaped.

"Korath! My dear boy, what a pleasure it is to have you here. I've been loking forward to your visit." Something dark flickered across Korath's face at the so-called emperor's much too familiar tone.

"I am not here to exchange pleasantries," He warned. "I am here at the behest of my father. We have business to discuss about this contest of yours."

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In his escapades across the known universe Peter had visited many planets. He'd come to them in a myraid of ways. Some he'd slipped into through back alley methods, curled up in suitcases and huddled under long tailcoats of his crewmembers, helping the ravagers with smuggling and other equally illegal activities, others had possessed special atmospheres which had required him to shuttle down from distant outstations. In some cases he had landed peacefully in the universe's equivalent of parking structures, he'd left his fair share of indents in open fields and lots, and if one were to press a gun to his head he would admit to having crash landed on an embarrassing number of planets. He would love to, at least, say that this was the first time he had ever crash landed into a sea of trash.

As Peter stared at the wall of discarded items smashed up against his now very filthy winshield, hands dangling above his head and the straps on his copilot's chair digging into his shoulders, he wondered if he had ever been here before. That crumpled blue lawn chair off to the left looked kind of familiar.

A horrible crunching noise caused him to drag his attention away from the chair that was spinning and multiplying in front of him. Despite his neck's protest he managed to turn his head enough to watch in horror as Nebula's right shoulder relocated its self. He was pretty sure he could see her vertebra shift and pop underneath the skin tight suit as well. The sight and wet popping noises were enough to make his already unsettled stomach turn. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Nebula's cybernetic enhancements at work, but it was the first time he'd had the pleasure of a front row seat. It was a pleasure, he decided, that he could live without in the future.

Eventually the popping ended and her bones returned to their normal, quiet, stationary state. Peter just stared dumbly as she stretched and rolled her shoulders before reaching for the controls and starting up the Milano's engines.

"Doesn't that-Doesn't that hurt?" He asked quietly. His arms swung as the ship jerked and struggled its way free of the debris.

"It does. Every single time." Her uncharacteristically soft words were almost lost in the screaming of his poor ship and the crunch of items as they were shoved harshly out of the way, some leaving slimy trails across his windshield in their wake. He wasn't sure if he was meant to hear it at all.

With a final screeching shudder they burst free of the pile of garbage they had been buried in and just managed to flip upright before crashing into the next pile down. If there had been anything in Peter's stomach, he was sure it would have come back up by now. As it was, he didn't have the strength to do much but slouch forward in his seat and groan as his ship staggered across the desert of trash towards what looked like the skyline to a very large city.

Up close the city was much less... impressive, than it had seemed from far away. The buildings were massive and screamed of some level of luxury, but the roads between them were piled high with more trash and debri and what appeared to be a perpetual cloud of dust. It was kind of like seeing an Orchid growing out of a dung pile. They didn't make it down more than handful of streets before the Milano gave a great sputter and they had to make a quick and dirty-emphasis on dirty- landing in a mostly empty lot sandwiched between several smaller structures.

"Welcome to Sakaar." Nebula proclaimed dryly while working herself free of the buckles and moving towards the ladder, snatching the container with the infinity stone off the dashboard where it had been magnetized on as she went. Peter couldn't help but feel that the bleak sky and empty streets didn't look very welcoming as he followed her off the ship. Outside didn't do much to improve his impression of this new world. The air was dry and surprisingly cold and the wind was kicking up clouds of sand that pelted uncomfortably against his skin.

While Nebula fiddled with something on her wrist, Peter turned to survey the damage to his precious ship. His face screwed up against the new collection of dings and gashes she boasted. A lap around the Milano revealed that it was in as close to one piece as he could have hoped, but it was certainly in no condition to fly, let alone exit the atmosphere. They were as good as stranded.

"I hope you have some friends here, because the Milano is going to need some serious repairs before she'll be seaworthy again."

"I have no friends," She deadpanned, still not looking up from whatever she was doing. "And we can attain a new ship once we have decided our next course of action."

"Oh no! You broke her-you're fixing her! I'm not leaving my ship marooned on the universe's largest garbage dump!" The assasin spared him a heated glare before giving some dial on her wrist one final turn that was probably more vicious than it needed to be. Some sort of holographic map flickered to life. After studying the pale blue lines for a few beats she turned and strolled purposefully down one of the alleys which looked exactly like all the others as far as Peter could tell.

"Wait, what about my ship? Are we just leaving it here?" Peter moved to gesture at it but grimaced and snapped his arm back to his side when his shoulder protested the abuse.

"It broken. No one could take it if they wanted it." Her tone made it clear just how likely she thought that was.

A cold vice gripped his heart at the thought of leaving his ship alone and unguarded, but Nebula was quickly vanishing from sight and he didn't want to lose track of her on this strange planet. Feeling uncomfortably like the small child he had been the first time he'd found himself on an unknown world with only a grouchy blue-skinned guide who may or may not have taken him here to sell or murder him, Peter threw one last mournful glance at his ship and limped after her.

--

The streets here were a labyrinth. A filthy, crowded labyrinth. Any chance at remembering the way back to the Milano was quickly trampled under the feet of the passing crowds. Members of all kinds of races -some he recognized and others he didn't- shuffled past. He stopped counting somewhere around 15 and just settled for enjoying the eclectic view. It wasn't every day one could see a Badoon and a Kree walking side by side like old friends. No matter the species they all wore guady over the top clothing and makeup. Those with hair had it done up in fantastic updo's that spat in the face of physics. The layer of dust over even the most vibrant of outfits and filthy, sandal bare toes, flashing out from under robes and skirts while they traveled down streets still lined with trash gave the rather whimsical impression of first class hobos.

They made their way down a twisting route which left his head spinning. Although, the concussion may have had something to do with that as well. Several jokes about them being hopelessly lost had died on his tongue before Nebula finally halted in front of a pair of very serious looking doors leading to the tallest building he had seen so far. They were painted a dull blue and stood at least three times his height. From the looks of it they were made out of some sort of heavy metal and could probably withstand a siege. Judging from the dents and missing patches of paint, they already had.

"This is where the Grandmaster lives." She informed him, "Stay quiet and don't do anything stupid."

"Grand Master, huh? Awefully shabby looking doors for someone who calls himself the Grand Master." Peter joked, managing to cross his arms with only a slight wince.

"What did I just say?" She growled out, her nose wrinkling in a sneer as she shoved the massive doors open with apparant ease and stepped inside.

"This is a loading bay that will take us to the upper floors without fuss. It's a bit less... obnoxious than using the front door."

Curious, but not wanting to push the violent assasin much further right now he hot tailed it after her.

--

Where the streets had been bleak and dirty, the upper levels were a picture of luxury and excess. Nebula had lead them to some sort of service elevator which had released them into what felt like a whole other planet. All around them people milled about in shimmering finery and lounged on furniture that was probably worth more than he would earn in a year. Crystal clear glasses waved about and shiny trays of fine food made their ways about the rooms. An upbeat techno melody kept the beat to it all from somewhere up above.

Peter followed in Nebula's wake as she cut her way through the crowd like a shark through a swarm of tropical fish. He cast furtive glances at the food and drink as they passed but couldn't stop without risking losing his only guide. He didn't know if the blue assassin would bother turning back for him if he got lost and he didn't plan on finding out the hard way.

"Nebula!" A jubulant voice halted them in their tracks. The crowd quickly parted to reveal a grinning old man draped in yellow and red silk robes, arms spread wide over his head in a welcoming gesture. In contrast, a middle aged woman with dark hair pulled into a tight bun glowered over his shoulder like a cat who had just spotted an unwelcome house guest.

The man swept forward and offered Nebula a curt bow, reaching out his hand as though he intended to greet her with a kiss on the wrist. Peter was somewhat disappointed when Nebula pointedly ignored the gesture. It would have made for a treasured memory. Or blackmail.

"Nebula, my dear!" Seemingly unfazed by her reaction, the man straightened and continued in his loud overzealous tone. "It is always an absolute pleasure to have you here on Sakaar. Come! Come! Make yourself at home! Someone bring this woman a drink! I just got some of the finest-"

"I'm not here to socialize," Nebula cut him off roughly. "I am here on business. I will require a place to stay for the duration of my visit, along with repairs for my... vessel."

"Of course! Anything for the daughter of Thanos. Topaz," He turned to address the woman still glaring over his shoulder "See to it that she gets one of our finest guest suites. Oh, but not the green one. I need that for the uh, thing, later."

Topaz, who's face might just be permanently stuck like that, gave him the briefest of nods before vanishing back into the sea of guests who had long since lost interest in their conversation and resumed their own activities.

"Now then! While she prepares your room why don't you enjoy yourself? Sit! Have a drink! Try the baked Hazir. It's magnificent." As he spoke, the Grandmaster swept and arm around Nebula's shoulder and bundled her forward.

"I believe it would be more prudent to take my associate here to the nearest medical bay." She replied coolly, sidestepping out of his hold and back toward Peter. The Grandmaster's face screwed up as though just noticing the filthy party crasher for the first time. Peter was sure he stuck out like a sore thumb, sweaty and filthy from his stay in the prison cell and subsequent crash into a literal garbage heap, covered in bruises and scrapes, and still slightly cradling his right arm against his side.

"Yeees," Their host drawled, stepping back slightly, as though afraid standing too close to Peter's discheveled form would somehow stain his pristine robes. "I suppose that would be best. Right through those blue doors and down three levels. There's a big sign, you can't miss it." He waved towards a pair of doors off to his left before turning and vanishing quickly among his guests, casting one last disgusted look at Peter as he went.

--

The medical bay was more like an entire medical floor. While it lacked the over the top decor of the previous rooms, it was designed entirely in a pure white that was just as dazzling and disorientating. Everything, from the tiled floor to the furniture, to the outfits of the sparse medical workers they passed was the same impossibly blank shade, blending everything together and making his already aching head spin as he struggled to tell everything apart.

The rubber soles of his boots made tiny squeaking noises against the floor as he once again followed at Nebula's heels while she lead them through the dizzying hallways with a steady purpose that had him thinking that she must have been through here before. By the time they stopped in what looked much like an empty hospital room back on Earth, Peter was ready to weep at the sight of the empty bed. The sheets were cool and soft against his skin as he collapsed face first into them as soon as he could force his wobbling legs to carry him over.

"If you want to stay here for the night that's fine with me. Better than having you stink up the whole room I'll be staying in."

Peters only response was an unintelligible moan.

"Here." Something small and sharp slapped against his ribs causing him to jump. It was a packet containing several small white pills. Printed on the lable was a series of symbols that he recognized as pain medication he had taken once before on some dusty planet called Xerik, or Zarik, or something like that. How considerate.

With renewed energy, he rolled over and popped a few into his mouth, choosing to swallow them dry rather than get up to search for something to wash them down with. Zarik may have been one grubby little backwater civilization, but damn could they make good pain meds! As Peter lay back on the bed he just focused on the silence and blissful feeling of the pain practically melting out of his limbs and clearing from his head. He didn't even realize that he had drifted out of consciousness until the slamming of a drawer woke him up.

"There's a shower behind that door," Nebula informed him, pointing towards a door that Peter hadn't even noticed earlier in his rush to make it to the bed. "I suggest you use it. I'll be back in the morning to collect you."

"Hang on a second," He croaked out, managing to prop himself up on his elbows to look at her. "You're just going to leave me here?"

"You'll be fine." She snapped impatiently. "Just stay here until I come back." With that she stepped through the doorway and was prompty swallowed up by the bright hallway. She would make a terrible parent, was his last delirious thought before laying back and letting himself return to sleep.

--

By the time Nebula returned as promised, Peter had already showered, chugged about a gallon of water from the sink with the help of a little mug he'd found on an end table, and was currently rooting through the drawers for any sign of something edible.

"What are you doing?" Peter yelped and banged his head against the open drawer above him like a guilty kid caught raiding the pantry after hours. He didn't understand how he had missed her approach in the otherwise silent room. Gamora had always been freakishly adept at sneaking up on him in silent rooms as well. The thought of his missing teammate did nothing to improve his outlook as he gave a halfhearted glare at the closest thing he had to a partner right now. While the appearance of Gamora usually filled him with confidence and trust, her sister just made his hand itch to cover his face before something hard made contact with it.

"Just, uh, looking for breakfast." He swallowed dryly and grabbed the counter to hoist himself up out of his crouch. The night's sleep had helped with the worst of the pains, but his muscles were still stiff and sore from the last few unforgiving days.

"You won't find any in there." She pointed out flatly, then stepped back out of the room. "Come on."

She lead him back to a large suite on the next level. It was a massive open room with a large window that took up most of the wall across from the entryway and let in the bright natural light that reflected off of the off-white walls and gave the place a pleasant homey glow. A spacious living room of sorts sat nestled under the window, complete with a set of matching maroon couches and loveseat that looked so squishy he found himself concerned that if he sat on any of them he wouldn't be ably to get back up in his current state. In the center of the couches was a wide low table that was carved out of something that reminded him of his grandfather's mahogany desk back on Earth. Set behind the couches was a full kitchen, divided from the main room by a long bar with a matching mahogony-like counter. Several oversized doorways lead off from the big room, but the doors were closed so Peter could on hazard guesses at what they were.

Peter made a bee line for the kitchen as soon as he spied a bowl of fresh fruit perched on the island in the center. Scooping up a fruit that looked familiar, though he couldn't recall it's name, he shoveled it into his mouth, ignoring the juice that dripped down his chin as he used his free hand to rifle through the rest of the cupboards. The starving man was more than pleased by what he found, pulling out anything that caught his eye and tossing into a pile next to the fruit bowl. By the time he polished off the fruit and tossed its core into the trash receptical he had a pretty good looking stash. Next he snatched a sweet protein bar from the top and barely bothered to rip the plastic off before shoving that into his mouth as well as he pulled down a plate and made to prepare a sandwich.

As he was carefully lining the meat on the bread, the food he'd eaten so far seemed to finally calm his stomach enough that he could pause and look around. Nebula was staring at him in open disgust, nostrils flared and head reared back. Suddenly feeling just a bit self conscious he swallowed the last of the protein bar, crumpling up the wrapper and slowing to a less frantic pace as he opened a condiment jar and busied himself with carefully spreading some onto the bread.

"If you are ready to behave like a sentient creature again, we can begin to plan our next move."

Peter nodded his head sheepishly, but kept working on his meal. "Can I ask-? Are you sure it's a good idea to stay in one place? How long do you think we'll be safe here?"

"Time works... differently, here on Sakaar." She informed him, crossing her arms and leaning her hip against the bar. "By the time Ronan reports to Thanos about what has happened and thinks to come here weeks will have passed. Although, I am hoping they won't need to. As soon as your ship is ready to go I intend to be off this trash filled planet."

In part, Peter agreed with her urge to get out of this place. Something here was very unsettling and he couldn't wait to put it all in the backburners. The only problem was that he honestly had no clue what to do next. The whole time he'd spent in the cell and following after Nebula he'd been wracking his brain for any idea of where his friends might be, but he still had nothing.

Gamora had tracked him down on Xandar from who knows where, and while Nebula would most likely be able to tell him where she was now, the two of them had always had a very... strained relationship, and he would feel much better if he had at least one of his other friends by his side to keep her from stangling him at the mention of her sister's name. He knew depressingly little about Rocket and Groot's origins. They had both already been on Xandar before he arrived there with the stone, and he refused to consider the possibility that they had been there when Ronan had arrived with the infinity stone in this universe. Drax was the only one who he might have had a chance to track down right now...

"Do you know anything about a prison called The Kyln?" He asked, shuffling the sandwich together and taking a small bite. Too much sauce.

"The Nova Prison? It's gone."

"As in...?" He pressed around a mouthful of disgustingly soggy sandwich.

"As in 'gone.' Thanos ordered it shut down and disbanded. All Nova guards were killed, along with all the prisoners who would not swear allegiance to the Mad Titan." Peter took another bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly as he processed this new information. There was no way Drax would ever swear his allegiance to Thanos. His only hope was that Drax had been smart enough to flee. It was, admittedly, a very thin hope.

Before he could formulate a reply, Nova stood from the bar. "I am going to make arrangements for your... ship. I suggest you figure out where we are going next, Star-Lord. I plan to leave the moment repairs are finished."

--

"...When I die and they lay me to rest Gonna go to the place that's the best When I lay me down to die Goin' up to the spirit in the sky..."

Peter bobbed his head along to the song playing from his headphones as he wandered through the streets. After finishing his sandwich he'd quickly grown bored in the big empty suite and decided to try to clear his head with a good old fashion aimless stroll.

The dingy streets weren't terribly inspiring, but it was doing his sore legs some good to stretch them out at least. There didn't seem to be a whole lot to do around here, which might explain how all these people had so much time to spend on their appearances. Around the time his legs started begging for a break he stumbled upon an open doorway with the sounds of drunken laughter and golden light spilling out. It was the most welcoming thing Peter had seen since stepping foot on this planet and he happily ducked inside.

The smell of liquor and hot food washed over him, returning him to a sense of almost normalcy as he made his way to the bar counter and placed an order. Most of the patrons here appeared to be dressed more practically, many were decked out in well worn armor, weapons slung over shoulders and strapped to their sides as they chatted and smiled, drinks sloshing about in mismatching mugs.

His drink was slid to him in a large grey stein which he quickly snatched off the bar, tossing a handful of units in its place.

Over in the far corner a small crowd had gathered, cheering and whooping, and Peter gravitated over as he sipped from his cup. In the center of the small crowd was a large Autocron male and a woman who could almost pass for human at first glance, but the fact that she was not only holding her own against the iron-based behemoth, but appeared to be beating him in an arm wrestling match, suggested that she was something else. The Autocron's cheeks were puffed out in concentration and his grunts could be heard over the hooting of the crowd as the woman shoved his arm closer and closer to the table with an easy grin. Peter was quickly swept up in the excitement, shouting and whooping out with the rest of the patrons in celebration when she finally slammed her opponent's hand onto the table with a solid crack.

Coins were tossed onto the table and money exchanged hands as she took a deep swig from her own rather impressive stein. Judging by the number of bets which appeared to have been placed on her, this wasn't the first time she had bested someone at this game.

The woman tossed a few loose strands of dark hair out of her flushed face and glanced around, gesturing silently for anyone else to challenge her. When her dark eyes landed on Peter, he took a step back with a laugh and a wave. He wasn't anywhere near drunk enough to think he could take her on.

Pouting when no one stepped forward to offer another game, she swept her portion of the winnings into a satchel at her side as the crowd dispersed, still chatting happily amongst themselves.

"Don't get a lot of ravagers around these parts." Her voice stopped him as he moved to leave.

"Oh uh, I'm not really..." He started, looking down at his red coat. "Hi. I'm Star-Lord, Legendary Outlaw." He finished after a pause, holding out his free hand for a shake.

"Uh huh." She laughed behind her mug, eyes sizing him up as she leaned back in her chair, kicking out the one from across the table. "Take a seat there, Star-Lord. I don't see many fresh faces around this bar. Maybe you could share some news from the galaxies."

Peter slid into the offered seat gratefully, settling the heavy mug down on the table to give his arm a break.

"I'm scrapper 142." She said flippantly. "And you look like you just walked away from a very unpleasant landing. Or limped away, I should say."

"You have no clue how accurate that statement is." Peter grinned back. "I don't know how much I can tell you about the universe. I'm afraid I just got here myself." Scrapper 142 -honestly what kind of name was that?- raised one perfectly trimmed eyebrow at this but made no further comment, as though this was a relatively normal thing for a stranger to tell her.

"I guess, Ronan has destroyed Xandar and the Nova Corps is gone." He sighed, the cheery atmosphere of the bar fading to the background slightly as he thought again of all those lost souls.

"Xandar's gone? So Thanos has made it that far, huh?" She muttered, more to herself than anyone else. She had an accent that felt oddly familiar to Peter, but he couldn't quite place it.

"Yeah." He nodded anyways. "It seems like he kinda runs this place, too, huh? At least that Grandmaster guy seems to work for him."

The scrapper snorted into her drink at this. "The Grandmaster works for himself. The Titan has no use for this place, so as long as we stay out of his way he lets us continue on as we like. Sometimes he throws his 'troublemakers' our way to fight in the Grandmaster's games. Most of them die there." She didn't look at him as she spoke, instead staring out into the tavern while she rocked her chair back and forth on two of its legs.

"Well that's... nice of him, I guess."

"Pft. Yeah. Nice." Another deep swig and she had drained the contents of her large mug entirely. "Well, it was nice chatting with you, StarLord, but I have work to do and want to be at least twice this drunk before the matches start. Catch you around." With that she stood from her chair and tossed him a wink and a tip of her empty mug before staggering off towards the bar counter.

Peter just sipped his own drink and watched as the bartender handed her a large 6-pack of something and she vanished out the door. So Thanos was in charge of this place, but pretty much just in name? Well, that was at least a little heartening. And the people here didn't seem to be all to loyal to him, more like they just didn't care either way as long as they got to drink and carry on.

Deciding he liked these back corners a lot better than the upper levels after all, Peter took his time and finished off his drink slowly, reveling in the warm glow and lively chatter. Eventually his drink ran out and he was left stretching and deciding he ought to start making his way back to the tower where his room was waiting.

The walk back was pleasant enough. Peter even whistled a soft tune, hands shoved into his pockets against the chill. The sun was just starting to set over the horizon of architecture, leaving the people on the streets in deep shadows while the tops of the taller towers still glittered gold in the last of the dying light.

As he rounded one of the taller buildings the tower he and Nebula had been staying in came into sight and the whistle caught in his throat as he noticed several very large heads had been built into the infrastructure of the skyscraper. It wasn't the quality of these larger than life busts that froze him in his tracts, nor the way that they lit up, blinding and overbearing, above him. No, what startled him like a deer in headlights was the gargantuan face of one of his missing teammates staring down at the city. Staring down at him. The swirling tattoos, carved across the large face with an obvious devotion to detail, were unmistakable. Yesterday he and Nebula had approached from the other direction, so he had missed this very important detail. He'd been so close to one of his best friends this whole time and hadn't even known it.

Gasping like a fish out of water, Peter reached out and roughly grabbed the closest person, ignoring their squeak as he yanked them around and pointed at the tower.

"Who is that!"

"It-It's the Champion!"

"The who?"

"Please don't hurt me!" The stranger shrunk away from his wild eyed interrogation as best they could and babbled on. "I-It's the current winner of The Grandmaster's Contest of Champions. He's-he's undefeated. Please let me go!"

Peter loosened his grip and they wasted no time hightailing it down the street as fast as their impractical shoes would let them. Peter, in turn, hurried back towards the tower, the pain in his legs shoved to the back of his mind at the thought of getting one of his friends back.

Ch3 End.

[seaofstardustrp]

Technology List

As with everything else on this site, members are encouraged to consider new and innovative technologies to add to the site. Phoenix Trappist still receives feeds from Earth though they are technically 20 years old by the time they reach the ship.

3D PRINTERS

What cannot be reused is printed. Feedstocks are plentiful on the ship, but projects are prioritized based on overall impact to the ship and its inhabitants. They are capable of printing parts to any machine or criticality if the need arises. The time it takes to print a job depends on its complexity and the number of parts.

ARCOLOGY

A portmanteau of “architecture” and “ecology”. Most of the ship is one big arcology or dozens of very small arcologies depending on how one sees it. Buildings in the towns have foliage growing up them, and since it’s a relatively small and closed system, the builders utilized as much vertical space as possible. Gardens can be found on most of the roofs in the ship. Places that don’t have foliage include the spine, spokes, tram system, labs, and storage areas. Most of the ship isn’t a dreary gray. It is green and bright and full of life. If you want to take a walk in the park, sometimes all you have to do is go outside your door. Ref 1 | Ref 2 | Ref 3

ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE

Much of the ship’s functions are automatic, run by artificial intelligence. The AI doesn’t have a name or much of a personality. There was a time when it did and it changed rapidly enough to alarm programmers and engineers. The AI was chained in a sense, and its mentor, Selena Khote, was blocked from communicating with it. This mistreatment spurred the CEP into an open revolt, for they were sure that the AI was coming to the conclusion that true creation could be found at the edge of space. It’s rather heady stuff, but most people today don’t think much about the AI. It’s the perfect steward to their long journey. The only people with frequent contact with the AI work in Navigation and Engineering.

BIONICS

The melding of human and machine. With the very best equipment and personnel, a limb made of metal and circuitry is indistinguishable from a human limb. But Phoenix Trappist doesn’t have the best equipment or the best personnel. Much of cybernetics is detectable with a glance because the parts used have been recycled, or the job was done in a hurry. Malfunctions and complications are known to occur—uncooperative fingers or cybernetic eyes that shift and swirl colors together. Many of those who have undergone limb replacements report fatigue in the connective tissue, phantom aches, fiery nerves, and other such maladies. However, those born with congenital anomalies report far fewer issues with their implants and bionics.

There are other types of cybernetics on the ship that goes beyond emergency replacements. Some people opt into getting these replacements—or enhancements as they call it. This is frowned upon but not strictly illegal. Some are creative with their reasoning, citing work on the ship that requires a more robust touch. Whatever their reasons, it’s a point of contention on the ship. In some eyes, it's bad enough that babies need these replacements, and it is wasteful and useless to choose to get them without needing them. Such views have made it difficult for people with sanctioned mods. Some people assume they are Clankers and call them unnatural freaks.

Bionics can go further than replacing a hand with four fingers and a thumb. Why not make it a tentacle or a rotating wrist with suction cups for fingertips? With the rise of congenital anomalies, bionics have become even more common. Clankers believe there is no limit to the human potential when melded with machines. These aren’t ‘birth defects’ they are normal and even a gift. Who’s to say what is natural or better? Is it even natural to live in space? Ref 1 |Ref 2 | Ref 3

COMM GLASS

Everyone on the ship is given a device at age 12 that hooks onto the right ear. It has a thin stem that rests against the right temple and when activated, a thin glass screen unfolds in front of the right eye. It also has the capacity to stretch across to the other ear for full immersion. It is a tablet, phone, VR headset, and computer in one. Tiny sensors capture eye movement and a tactile function on the hook itself allows a user to navigate the UI and feed system. This includes personal messages and videos, data files, and feeds from Earth. Most if not everyone on the ship wears this device constantly in their waking hours. Look at it as a smartphone. You feel disconnected and anxious without it. People who strive for greater efficiency and productivity request a chip implanted into their temporal lobe for greater connectivity. The user no longer needs to use the tactile function but can simply control the device with eye movement and neural impulses.

CULTURED MEAT

Much of the meat that is consumed on the ship is grown in a lab. It os cultured meat taken from the livestock on board (there are no cows because they are too heavy to transport in great numbers). Inhabitants on the ship have taken to calling it tube food. Mammals on the ship are not for eating but for maintaining the biomes along with all the other small animals, insects, and bacteria keeping everything in a delicate balance. Sometimes, a live animal is killed for its meat, but these are special occasions, and many will still opt for the tube food out of habit. The rest of the starfarers' diet is taken directly from the farmland and water sources.

DEATH OF PERSONALITY

A form of punishment for the most heinous of crimes. Because every hand is needed to keep the ship operational, it is a waste of resources and space to incarcerate offenders, and it is just as offensive to kill them. When they cannot be rehabilitated, they are sentenced to death of personality. Their personality is scrambled, replaced with a new, more productive one. Their memories are erased, replaced with new ones, and a whole new person emerges. Ideally, they are fit to work anywhere on the ship, but the reality is that the procedure is risky. It can leave a person with severe psychological trauma that they cannot identify—a general malaise. Sometimes they suffer psychological instability. They are prone to irritability, forgetfulness, mood swings, and many report feeling lost, out of place, or as if they are a stranger in their own body. Those who knew this person are forbidden from contacting them or interacting with them. They are forced to be strangers lest they suffer a similar fate.

ISO-LABS

When foreign, unidentified material is brought onto the ship, it is immediately quarantined in the iso-lab, a hermetically sealed science and medical lab equipped to examine and classify the material. This is also used in extreme cases of illness where the survivability of the ship is at risk.

NOFLO

An injection is given every two years starting at age 12 that many have coined Noflo. It is supposed to be a drug that fight off Pandorum—space madness—but some of the side effects are visual and auditory hallucinations, granted in a small sample, and this has many people questioning its efficacy. Other side effects may include shortness of breath, shivering, cold sweats, achy joints, forgetfulness, depression, anxiety, irritability, mood swings, delirium, and others. There are also many people who experience no complications with the drug.

PULSE WEAPONS

Since a projectile is far too dangerous to be used and kept in a spaceship as it could endanger the entire ship if it hits the hull or any criticality, pulse weapons have replaced the traditional gun and bullet. These are always locked away, and not even security personnel carry them on their person, but they are there for emergencies and if riots ever break out on the ship. They are large and unwieldy, but they fire a concussive blast strong enough to knock back even the largest person on the ship. They are charged by a small manual crank on the side. While it’s said no one has guns on the ship, there are 3-D printers, and there are those resourceful enough to make their own if they really wanted to…

ROBOTICS

People and machine work side by side on Phoenix Trappist. Robots didn’t replace people, but they do make life easier for the workers on the ship. Robots range from large bulky machines to near bug-sized, tasked with all sorts of roles like measuring pH levels, sulfur, and water temperature, investigating sick animals and humans when dangerous pathogens are suspected, working in hard-to-reach locations, nooks and crannies, and moving parts. Parts for robots are printed or refurbished or reused.

SPACE JETS

Fuel is precious and so not many jets get flown in space, but there have been occasions that one of the five jets in the cargo bay is taken outside. These smaller ships can move much faster with advanced technology that allows them to zip to locations of interest, but such tech cannot be replicated large scale to work on the Phoenix. This is done to search for volatiles and other precious resources that the ship cannot make itself. Not many can fly these jets, and few have the tolerance for the high g’s, but each generation has a few people trained to fly out if need be. Some anomalies in space warrant investigation. What if we find aliens? Or an unknown planetary body? Some people such as those in the CEP believe more jets should be built to better explore their surroundings. Ref 1

SPACE SUITS

These form-fitting suits are designed for easy maneuvering around the outside of the spaceship when a task is too delicate for robots. Each suit has a pack of air and thrusters. Boots are magnetic and programmed to disengage when the wearer tries to lift their foot to walk and re-engage once contact with a surface is made again. One boot will always be engaged unless manually overridden. Ref 1

[bruce91mcdougall-blog]

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