#i know she doesn’t mean ‘scan each side individually’ but ‘these are double sided’

[missjanjie]

if you’re an efl person that, when an esl person says something in the ‘wrong’ way even though you clearly know what they meant, make a point of going ‘ohhhh did you mean [x]????’ just know you’re incredibly obnoxious – if you know what they mean, you don’t need to embarrass them.

[marvel-and-mischief]

Chrysanthemum

Part of my Floriography Series

Pairing: Din Djarin x FRIEND GN!Reader  Words: 2800 Warnings: a man gets turned upside down, mention of a wound but not detailed Synopsis: You work in a cantina and make friends with a visiting Mandalorian

Chrysanthemum: you’re a wonderful friend 

💐

The cantina you worked in was probably the only one on the planet that remained upstanding, only inviting the most respectable of individuals. From day one, your boss had stressed the importance of keeping people happy and safe in a galaxy that was far from it. That doesn’t mean you didn’t get the odd suspicious traveller coming in, but as long as they didn’t cause trouble or didn’t make anyone feel uncomfortable, they were more than welcome. 

So when a Mandalorian walked in one day with a small, green creature in his arms you did a double take, sharing a glance with your fellow bartender who gave a shrug and quickly busied herself with clearing a table. The patrons in the cantina were mostly human and had paused in their conversations to scrutinise the new arrivals, you just hoped none of them would make a scene.

“Welcome,” you put on your best smile and offered them a nervous wave, “can I be of assistance?”

The Mandalorian leaned a hip against the bar whilst his small friend happily squealed in your direction.

“Do you have anything he can eat?” he said, voice monotone and to the point as he set the creature on top of the bar. You had never seen anything like him, but he looked friendly enough and you bravely reached out to place your finger in his tiny hand. You saw the Mandalorian stiffen up but he made no move to stop you.

“We have fresh scrimpi, and some jerky if you’re only looking for a snack, or cook made a chowder this morning that I can heat up?”

“Cold chowder will be fine,” the Mandalorian perched himself on a stool and waited whilst you went into the kitchen to grab a bowl.

“What’s he like?” You jumped in surprise as your friend, Lyra, scurried into the kitchen unbeknownst to you.

“You should be out there tending to the patrons,” you scolded her, pouring a ladle of chowder into a bowl.

“I’ve never seen a real Mandalorian before! My father used to tell me stories of Mandalore and their fearsome warriors,” Lyra exclaimed excitedly.

“He doesn’t seem fearsome,” you shrugged, trying to move passed your friend who refused to let you by, “but maybe if he doesn’t get his food he will be.” 

Lyra raised an amused eyebrow, not taking your threat to heart but stepped aside anyway.

“Can’t I take him his food?” she asked hopefully, a pleading, child-like look in her eyes.

“No, do the rounds, make sure anyone seated at a table is a paying patron,” you ordered over your shoulder as you exited the kitchen. Lyra was positively giddy at the thought of being in the same building as a Mandalorian, if you’d allowed her to serve she probably would have done something embarrassing like tripping over her own feet and spilling food in the Mandalorian’s lap. 

When you re-entered the cantina the Mandalorian and his green friend were already sitting at a vacant table near the bar. Placing the bowl in front of the smaller of the two you smiled at the odd pair.

“Can I get you anything? A drink?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” the Mandalorian replied kindly. You were impressed by his manners, this huge, intimidating, armored man was a fierce sight to behold, but he had been nothing but polite and patient with you. 

“Does he have a name?” you asked, gesturing to the creature who was slurping from the bowl, his tiny hands precariously balancing the too large bowl. 

“Grogu,” the Mandalorian sounded unsure with his response, unsure of the name or unsure of telling you, you couldn’t tell. 

“Grogu,” he looked up at his name being called, long ears twisting to listen to you, wide eyes curious like any other child, “have you and Grogu travelled far?”

“A few… parsecs,” the Mandalorian sounded cautious once again, giving away little information. You couldn’t blame him, from the little you knew of Mandalorians, their beskar was probably worth more than what you earned in a year, you supposed it was second nature for a man like him to be careful who he spoke to. 

“Do you have somewhere to stay?”

The shiny helmet tilted down to Grogu who had quickly finished his chowder and was distractedly playing with an insect on the table.

“I only ask because we have a room free upstairs. I could ensure nobody bothers you, so you’ll have complete privacy,” you spoke softly, picking up the empty bowl ready to take away.

“That would be appreciated. My ship is being repaired,” he explained and you grinned, turning away from the table only to hear Lyra shouting from across the room.

The Mandalorian turned swiftly at the commotion, hand automatically going to the blaster at his hip, prepared for a fight if there was one. You waved a hand in the air, gesturing to him that you would handle it and hurried over to your friend.

“Is something the matter?” you asked, raising your eyebrows at Lyra who subtly shook her head.

“She thinks I haven’t paid, but I have!” The man standing at the table next to Lyra wasn’t tall in height or broad in stature, yet he had a bellowing voice that had you internally cringing. It was screechy, and he stomped his foot in a huff that would have made you laugh if you were an observer instead of the mediator. 

“Well, that’s easy to clear up. Everyone who steps through the door to the cantina is automatically scanned and entered into our datapads anonymously, and when you swipe your credit or hand over local currency that too is logged.”

“Y-you can’t do that!” he stuttered, wringing his hands nervously now he knew he was caught.

“It’s all part of upholding a respectable establishment,” your smile was sickly sweet but not cruel. You had the upper hand and you both knew it. “Shall I get my datapad?”

But before you had the chance to stop him, the man had slipped between you and Lyra and was heading straight towards the exit. You were too slow to get a good grip on him and Lyra was too shocked to make any movement at all. 

But there was no need to worry because quick as lightning the Mandalorian had stepped in the path of the thief, grabbed him by the back of his shirt and was hoisting him up in the air for all to see.

“P-put me down! Let- let me go!”

“Pay them, or I will personally see to it that you never walk again.”

The cantina was deadly silent, everybody holding their breaths in awe of the strength of the Mandalorian. Some were in fear of making a noise lest his anger turned on them, others were hoping he would carry through on his threat to see a good show. You just hoped none of this got back to your boss or your job would be on the line. 

When the thief was too scared to say anything, the Mandalorian began shaking him up and down until coins started spilling out of his pockets.

“Is that enough?” It took you a second to realise the Mandalorian was talking to you. You did a quick count of the value of the coins and gave a short, sharp nod.

The man went crashing to the floor after the Mandalorian let him go in mid air, and he scurried out of the cantina as fast as his legs could carry him. 

“Clean up the table and take your break, Lyra,” you said gently, seeing the shock in her eyes you knew she’d need a drink before carrying on with her shift. 

The Mandalorian knelt down to the floor, picked up the coins and handed them to you.

“Let me know if he comes back. I don’t think he will,” the Mandalorian chuckled, it was short and sweet but definitely real. 

“I’ll show you to your room.”

-

Word travelled fast when nothing exciting ever happened in the city you lived in. Local kids hung around on the street outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of the shiny new guy in the area, adults kept their distance not wanting to attract unwanted attention from the fearsome Mandalorian and patrons bugged you with too many questions you couldn’t answer. Didn’t want to answer. 

You had gotten to know Grogu and his guardian, albeit briefly, but long enough to know they could be trusted, they were good and kind and friendly to you and you weren’t going to betray the trust they’d placed in you when the Mandalorian decided to take you up on the offer of staying the night.

But with the good always came the bad, and not everybody could be trusted. Somehow, someone had given away the Mandalorian’s location and now their safety was compromised. And so was yours. 

It was midday when you heard the first lot of blaster fire from your place behind the bar. You hadn’t seen your new friends since you left them in their room the evening before, yet you guessed it had something to do with them.

The patrons in the cantina scrambled over each other to get to the exit but your main concern was Lyra. She was struggling to get through the crowd on the other side of the cantina, looking disorientated as she tried to steady herself against a table. You shouted her name to get her attention and pointed to a gap in the crowd down the side of the room. She followed your gaze and made her way towards you.

“Get to the kitchen, I’ll follow you when I know everybody has gone,” you ordered, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly whilst pushing her in the direction of the door. Once she was gone you peaked over the top of the bar to see the cantina empty. The blaster fire outside began again, grunts of pain reaching your ears but you put it to the back of your mind. There was no use worrying about strangers.

You crawled across the floor to the door that led to the kitchens and pulled down the handle. The door wouldn’t budge. You pressed your shoulder against it and thrust your body as hard as you could but still it didn’t move. You hissed in frustration. You had no choice but to take cover back behind the bar.

You crawled back to where you started, leaning heavily against the shelves under the bar when you heard it. Footsteps. Thud. Thud. Thud. Coming to a stop somewhere on the other side of the bar. Heavy footsteps that could only mean whoever was in the cantina with you was big, heavy built, definitely not a match for you even if you had a weapon on hand.

Scanning your surroundings gave you little hope, spying bottles of alcohol that would be too heavy to lift, dirty bowls that hadn’t made it to the kitchen yet and wouldn’t be much use as weapons, and a squirty plasto bottle with sterilising liquid inside that would pack a punch if it got into someone’s eyes. 

You slowly and silently reached for the bottle and held it in both hands against your chest, fingers on the trigger and nozzle pointing outwards. Carefully you pulled yourself into a crouching position, turning around so you would be facing the stranger and before you could talk yourself out of it you popped up from behind the bar, held the bottle out in front of you and continuously squirted. 

Your eyes were partially closed when you attacked so it took you a second to realise that no one was reacting to your assault, for very good reason. You weren’t squirting cleaning fluid at some low life criminal but at the beskar heavy helmet of the Mandalorian. 

You lifted your fingers off the trigger and slowly lowered your arms. You were mortified at what you’d done and that was clearly written on your face, a deep sigh leaving your lips as you awaited his reaction.

Which was to chuckle. He was laughing at you, quietly, almost to himself, muffled by the helmet. 

 “What exactly was your plan, burc’ya?”

You glanced to the bottle still in your hand and gave a tiny shrug, throwing it uselessly onto the floor. 

“Make a run for it whilst their eyes were bleeding out?” It came out as a question because if you were being honest, you hadn’t thought that far ahead, the adrenaline running through your body overtaking any common sense you had. 

“It may have worked,” he mused. He looked down to his foot, getting distracted by something you couldn’t see from your place behind the bar. When he knelt down you realised in the madness of the situation you had forgotten about Grogu who had toddled into the cantina behind his guardian. 

It was when the Mandalorian stood up, Grogu settled into one arm, that you noticed blood in the crook of his elbow, the fabric ripped and exposing a nasty wound. You swallowed the lump in your throat at not only the thought of him being hurt, but also having to tell the man who never showed a sliver of skin that he was vulnerable in front of you. 

“Err, you’re hurt,” you tentatively motioned to his arm. You heard him suck in a breath as he saw what you were looking at, his whole body going rigid and if you had been a stranger entering the cantina you’d think he was nothing but a statue with how still he became. 

You walked to the other end of the bar where the medical supplies lay and picked up a metal box to rest on the top. It was an unopened medikit, kept in case of emergencies but never used seeing as you never usually had trouble come to this part of the planet.

You picked up a bacta patch and went back over to your friend who was still awkwardly standing there. You thought the best thing you could do was act like everything was normal, that nothing was wrong, that his creed wasn’t being broken and you weren’t looking at his skin. And if he really wasn’t comfortable you would let him stop you.

Ripping open the packaging you pulled out the bacta patch and leaned over the bartop slowly, allowing him time to stop you but he didn’t. You placed the patch inside the gap in his shirt and pressed it over the wound, making sure the edges were stuck to his skin.

Grogu watched every move you made, as though ensuring his guardian was safe in your hands, letting out a tiny squeal of happiness when you finished. You grinned at the strange creature and stroked the tiny hairs atop his head and it was only then you felt the Mandalorian relax. Only slightly, his shoulders lowered from where they were tensed up and where he held Grogu against his chest plate he wriggled his fingers out of their rigidness. It was enough to say ‘I trust you’ but not enough to completely let his guard down. It made you smile and you hoped underneath his helmet he was smiling too.

-

You were cleaning down the tables before you opened up for the morning patrons when you felt his presence behind you. You spun around and grinned at the sight of the Mandalorian, Grogu nestled in the crook of his good elbow.

“How’s the wound?” you asked, it hadn’t been a deep wound but it was big enough to warrant your worry.

“Fully healed. Thank you for helping me,” he replied sincerely, “my ship is fixed so I’ll be leaving now.”

You were aware of your heart dropping in disappointment at his admission. Apart from Lyra you didn’t have many friends, and you had enjoyed the Mandalorian’s company the past two days, his sense of humor was on the same dry, wavelength as yours and his genuine kindness towards you was refreshingly welcome. 

“Will you come back one day?” you asked hopefully, expecting him to say ‘no’.

“You’d want to see me again?” he questioned, confusion marring his voice. 

“I don’t have many friends, and I like Grogu,” your smile was cheeky when you stepped closer to the two of them, reaching out to let Grogu grip onto your finger, just as you’d done the first time you’d met.

“I’m certain I will need to pass through here again someday,” the Mandalorian shifted his weight, careful not to pull Grogu away from you until you were ready. 

“Stay safe, okay?” You looked up into the visor of his helmet, hoping you were staring into his eyes as you pleaded with him.

“I will,” he promised.

You gave a squeeze to Grogu’s tiny hand and stepped back, giving them permission to leave. The Mandalorian nodded, a thank you and a farewell rolled into one, and you waved them goodbye, hoping and preying to see them again. 

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @computeringturtle​ 

[anxiouslyfred]

Time Increases and Falls

Summary: Virgil doesn’t want to meet his soulmate after the things his brother has said since finding his. He doesn’t try to avoid meeting them though, not even by making choices to deliberately increase the countdown to meeting on his wrist.

/\/\

Most people didn't check the timers on their wrists very often. Society thought that chasing the timers obviously was immoral, a sign of impatience and desperation.

Arguing against that, and giving Roman a chance to actually try and find his soulmate had originally started Remus checking his timer regularly, but now it had become a game. How would making decisions in his life change the time it would take to meet his soulmate? Also how many reasons could Remus imagine for unexpected jumps up in the time they had until meeting?

The actual time wasn't really motivating for Remus. He'd meet his soulmate eventually and the timer changed too often for him to try and predict when. It was fun occasionally to make a decision based purely over which had the shortest time to meeting his soulmate, but then again, it was also fun sometimes to change decisions over which would cause the most chaos.

He was certain that his soulmate did pay attention to it though, and often made sure to chose the option that increased how long they'd take to meet. Remus had an entire list of excuses for the commiserating glances people gave if they happened to see his timer jump up, which given timers were on the back of the wrist, rarely covered by sleeves, was quite often.

Virgil didn't want a soulmate. He'd witnessed Patton and Logan meeting and how they now treated each other and something about it made his skin crawl. They'd dote on each other and insist on constantly being together through any possibly difficult situation, to comfort, protect or help. His parents though it was sweet but Virgil just thought it sounded exhausting, like they'd decided to abandon being individual people after meeting despite how different they were.

No he didn't want to lose his identity or spend every waking moment glued to the side just because a timer reached zero when they met. He liked his own space, thank you very much. That didn't mean he was trying to avoid their meeting though, just that he didn't mind each time he learnt later the timer had once again had days added to it.

Honestly his anxiety did seem to be a primary cause of delays to their meeting and that was pretty much the only good thing Virgil could say about the condition. Someone would comment asking if he was excited about meeting them when the counter got to be within a few days, and the surge of fears about what that could mean for his identity would make him back out of some event or other. Even if the event was nowhere close to the time they should be meeting dodging it would increase the time.

Of course there were also times when he'd deliberately try to keep all his appointments, to concerned about Patton and Logan attempting another intervention that he would push himself to keep to the choices he'd made. The timer would still increase, and Virgil couldn't find any explanation for it other than he would have gotten distracted by something along the way that changed their chances of meeting.

His timer had once again gotten to a matter of days before he was meant to meet this soulmate and Virgil was wondering when it would change again, double checking whenever he was alone to see if he'd inadvertently messed up their future meeting again.

His life still needed to be lived though so Virgil was doing a weeks grocery shop and trying to ignore the nosey glances everyone shot to each others wrists. They should be able to cope without knowing if he had a soulmate yet or not, but everyone did it automatically now.

“Oh, are you going to be doing something special for your meeting?” The cashier asked, making no attempt to hide her staring as she scanned all the items.

Normally Virgil would brush comments like that off, except there was something big happening on the day the timer currently indicated. He had a big presentation coming up that would be in front of far too many important people for his career to progress. On top of that stress, the shop had been busier than usual and Patton had called up halfway round to ask if he could get something from right at the front of the store for them. Pushing through the people and making sure he had everything he needed had Virgil clinging onto calm by the thinnest final thread and that question was breaking point.

He'd shaken his head violently, paying by card as quickly as he could before running out of the store, bags in hand, with no glance spared for the timer on his wrist that he'd just felt change. Experience said it would just had extended anyway.

Virgil managed to get the bags shoved into his car before leaning against it, trying to remember any grounding exercise he could to calm down. Nothing was working and he started to turn and walk somewhere, anywhere, just get the excess energy out of his limbs enough that he could drive.

He made it two steps before finding himself on the ground under a complete stranger, a shopping cart rolling further through the car park as they watched. “Dude, what the bloody hell were you doing? Trying to go cart racing with a trolley or something?” Virgil glared up, but froze as the usually unnoticeable movement of his timer vanished.

The man must have felt the same thing as he scrambled back, pulling Virgil back to his feet quickly too. “No but that sounds like an awesome idea if you want to try it. I bet there's something in there I could use to rig up an engine for a trolley too. I'm Remus and you're my soulmate.”

“Virgil and if you're doing crazy shit like that I'm not getting involved.” There was none of the need Patton and Logan had claimed came from being soulmates to stick with Remus and Virgil couldn't be more relieved about that. It still wouldn't convince him to put his life at risk for the maniac.

“Setting boundaries straight off. How long do I have to know you before I can push them?” Remus didn't seem phased by the harsh tone, just nodding along and absently watching his shopping cart as it finally stopped against a curb.

The question was one nobody had asked before, and probably nobody else would ever think of asking, but it made Virgil relax. “At least a few months. If you pull the have to be around each other 24/7 thing my brother pulls with his soulmate make it a few years.”

“I get you, everyone needs their space to do insane stunts on their owns sometimes. Can I have your number to at least stay in touch?” Remus pulled his phone out, pouting as he saw a car swerve to avoid hitting the cart. “Come on! You should've hit it! Charged the supermarket for lack of places to return carts to or something!”

Taking the phone, Virgil snickered at the yell. “Couldn't they just turn that back on you? I mean your shopping is in there.”

“And I'm stood all the way over here where we fell ages ago. Either they shouldn't make their car parks slope enough for the trolley to roll that far or they should give them like auto breaks for when the carts roll to fast.” Remus nodded as though that was entirely logical. “Also so I can test just how good auto breaks would make trolleys at sending me flying. Ro always holds back when trying to make a cart stop.”

“Okay, I'll add that to the million questions this meeting has given me. I've already text myself from your phone so we've got each others number, but I've got frozen stuff to get home before it's dangerous to refreeze it again. And you better be getting that cart back because I am not helping to replace anything you lose in your idiocy.” Virgil decided, finding that somewhere in talking to Remus he'd calmed down properly again.

Remus was chasing through the car park as soon as he'd taken his phone back, promising to call later over his shoulder.

Virgil had never wanted a soulmate, but he could be happy with whatever kind of adventure just talking to Remus was going to be.

[cas-backwards-tie]

Happy To Volunteer

Steve Rogers x Reader (Single Parent AU)

Summary: As the class field trip approaches, you hope more parents will volunteer to chaperone. Thankfully, your hope is fulfilled when Steve Rogers signs up on the permission slip.

Prompt: Single Parent AU

Words: 2,086

Warnings: None.

Beta: @plaidstiel-wormstache  , who I want to thank for being so patient and helpful! She really took her time and honestly looked at every small detail. Thank you! 💖💖💖

Author’s Note: This is for @wxntersoldiers 3k writing challenge! I hope that you guys like it as this is actually my first time writing something for Steve.

Handing out the permission slips to your students, you watch their faces light up at the prospect of their upcoming field trip. “Don’t forget to get a signature from your parents by Thursday.” Reminding the students, you know they all want to go on the field trip this coming Friday. A smile quickly makes its way across your face as you help your students pack up for the day.  

“Does this mean we’ll get to see the tigers, Ms. Y/L/N?” Millie Rogers, a short girl with a mop of blonde hair and wide blue eyes, tugs on your skirt gently with a hopeful look on her adorable face.

You smile down at her sweet face, “Get your Mommy to sign this paper and it's a definite yes.” Knowing the trip will be hard to pull off without chaperones, you hope parents will read through the permission slips and volunteer. The PTA has a few members available, but a few more parents would be helpful. Watching Millie’s face fall, your brows furrow as you place a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?” Kneeling to her height, you listen intently.

“Mommy can’t sign it. I live with Daddy now.” Her words tumble out with disappointment instilled in each syllable. A huff of laughter escapes your nose. Looking at Millie with a happy smile, you encourage her.

“Your Daddy can sign it, Millie, you can still go if he does.”  You rub her shoulder for a second before standing again. “See you on Monday, kids!” Waving to the ones already leaving, you watch as the smile returns to Millie’s face, excited again. She mimics the roar of a Lion, fingers curling like claws as she attempts to scare a boy nearby her. This field trip will be fun, you think to yourself.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Walking into school on Monday, excitement bubbles in your heart as you get to see your students again. The weekend was rather quiet as the only thing you did was grade spelling tests. Before stopping at your classroom, you run by the office to make sure things are ready for your class’s field trip on Friday. Soon enough, you arrive at your classroom, prepping activities for the day.

After going over the day’s plans with the children, you leave them to color quietly for half an hour. The classroom filled with the sound of small hands rummaging through bins filled with the kids’ individual supplies. You waited patiently for everyone to be seated and asked them to get their permission slips out. Walking past each table, you collect the signed slips. The classroom fills with the sound of scribbling crayons against paper as you settle at your desk, scanning and sifting through all the forms, making sure they are signed; along with counting the boxes to see if any parents had volunteered to be chaperones.

Quietly sighing to yourself, you notice a handful of parents have volunteered to be chaperones. Grateful, there are now enough chaperones for the field trip. Looking at the top of one of the pages, you see Millie’s name scrawled in her handwriting. Smiling to yourself, your gaze drifts to her Father’s note:

Mrs. Y/L/N,

         The zoo sounds like a fun field trip! Hope you have room for one more? If so, please add me to the list, I’d be happy to help chaperone. Will lunch be provided for the chaperones?

                   Thanks,

                            -Steve Rogers (Millie's Dad)

Writing yourself a reminder on one of the sticky notes on your desk, you need to double-check on the lunches; adding on account of the new chaperones before you leave for the day. Hopeful that this field trip will go swimmingly, you look up at your quiet class, dutifully coloring in the sheets you’d given.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Soon enough Friday rolls around. It’s the perfect day for the zoo; sun shining brightly in the morning sky, clouds slowly float across the sky. Filing everyone off the bus, you ask the students to circle up in front of the zoo’s entrance.

“Okay class, we remember the rules, right?” With a joyful ‘yes’ from the majority, you split the kids into groups of five, calling them off by name, before assigning a parent. Four groups in total. Sending each chaperone off with their group, there is only one parent left behind.

Wearing jeans, a white t-shirt, and navy windbreaker, his dirty blond hair short and tidy. You stare for a few seconds too long, you can't deny he’s quite handsome. The other parents are married or older, and you know from Millie's ramblings and creative work that he is recently divorced. It’s refreshing to see a new face for a change, a single one, at that. You decide to stick with Mr. Rogers considering he’s the only new chaperone.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” you attempt to joke, offering your hand. He takes it, shaking it lightly with a firm yet gentle grip. His gaze meets yours and you notice he has the softest blue eyes. The color reminds you of Robin eggs.

“Steve,” he speaks confidently with a nod of his head.

“Y/F/N. We'll join groups since it’s your first time chaperoning.” You said, before telling him the rules for the kids while you rounded them up and heading into the zoo. “Where should we start?” You ask the group in front of you. The chirping of ideas is loud and insistent, but you want to know what Steve thinks.

“I think we should start on this side so we can walk back this way,” Steve opens the map for you, illustrating his ideas. Nodding your head in agreement, your group’s path is set in motion as you shepherd the kids towards the right. Walking along the east side of the zoo, you’ll loop around to visit the west side briefly before making a circle back at the entrance.

Heading towards the lions and tigers, the first animals on the walk, you listen to the exclamations and murmurs of the kids while admiring the zoo’s layout. Your gaze occasionally drifts to Steve, making you shake your head once you realize you’re staring.

Approaching the viewing area of the ‘Big Cat Enclosure’, you gather the children in front of the floor-to-ceiling observation window, prompting them to point out the cats they can find. You lean against the railing while the children search for the African animals. Steve stands next to you, watching the group for a moment before speaking.“What’s your favorite animal?”

Shaking your head with a light chuckle, you respond, “I’d have to say, Bumblebee,” you silently hope he doesn’t judge your choice.

“That’s interesting. You know it’s an insect though, right?” A blush quickly sweeps across your cheeks at his comment. Smart and handsome, who knew? You think, watching the Lions roam about a good several feet below everyone, the kids squealing in excitement. You hush them, reminding them to use their quiet voices.

“I suppose technically, they are. What’s your favorite animal? What’re you most excited to see?” Awaiting Steve’s answer, he is interrupted right as he opens his mouth to speak.

“Daddy! Look!” Millie tugs on the edge of his jacket, practically jumping for joy as she pointed out the nearby Tigers. He sent a glance your way, you smile in response to be polite. It was cute, the way they interacted with one another; he didn’t undermine her excitement or try to get her to keep it held within. Crouching down to his daughter’s height, he points out two Tigers in the shallow pool playing with one another.

“Elephants have always amazed me,” Steve admits, catching your attention and bringing your focus back to him. He smiles your way and you know he wasn’t trying to ignore you.

Moving onto the Reptile House, the group continuously ‘ooh’ed and ‘aah’ed at every reptile, some of the girls grossed out. You found joy in asking your students to try and find the tiny tree frogs within their enclosure, camouflaged among the leaves. Arriving upon the insect area, you try to avert your gaze from the spiders, disliking them. Instead, focusing on the ladybugs and praying mantis’. “Maybe they’ll have a beehive here,” Steve suggested in a playful tone as he stood next to you, tilting his head while searching for the stick bug within the window in front of him. Smiling, you think he’s cute. “Ah! There he is.” Steve pointed out the stick bug to you, hand resting on your shoulder as he brought you closer to peer into the window. It’s fascinating, the slow, steady movements of the bug.

Nearing the exit of the Reptile House, you inform the group that it’s nearing lunch time. “We should pick a spot,” you suggested to Steve while holding the door open for exiting students. Receiving a nod in response, you pull the map out of your pocket. “Nearby the elephants is a picnic area, it says.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Steve responds happily. Following after the last student out of the Reptile House, you gather your group before announcing where you’re headed next. Trekking back to the bus, you quickly have everyone grab their lunches out of your group’s bin. The quick walk to the picnic area was joyous as the children chattered about their favorite animals and which was ‘cooler’ or would win in a fight. Sitting near the garden bed, you smile at the panda mosaic tiled into the entrance. Sitting your lunch on the table, you’re pleasantly surprised to see Steve sitting across from you. “Is this seat taken?” He was obviously joking, you knew.

Laughing, you shake your head, inviting him to sit. “I’m afraid not. Looks like this is the grown-ups table,” you return his silly attitude before pulling your sandwich out, lying it on top of the brown paper bag. Chips, an apple, and milk are what’s in store. Opening the chip bag, you begin to quietly chomp on them while enjoying the peaceful atmosphere of the zoo.

“I brought you something!” Millie’s voice brings you back to the present as she hands her father a juice box. “Your favorite,” she spoke cheerily. The interaction made you smile, getting a glimpse of their world. Unwrapping the plastic surrounding your sandwich, you dig in.

The day passes much more quickly than you would’ve liked. Shepherding the kids onto the bus, you thank the other parents as they board. Stepping onto the bus last, you overhear the few people in front of you. “Can I sit with you?” It’s Millie’s hopeful voice.

A chuckle rings out, making your heart flutter knowing who it came from. “Mills, you should sit with your friends! You’re not gonna see them for the whole weekend.” Steve’s encouragement made you smile at the way he speaks with his daughter. Watching Millie swiftly agree and walk further back on the bus where her friends were indeed waiting, you look for a seat. Feeling someone’s hand catch your forearm, your brows furrow until you turn to see Steve with a wide grin on his face. “I saved you a seat,” he offered slyly.

“Oh, thank you.” Surprise laces your reply; a small smile makes its way onto your lips, blush coating your cheeks. Sitting beside him, you run your hands along your pants, smoothing them. “It was nice to have you as a chaperone,” you attempt small talk.

“Thanks for having me,” Steve chuckles as his face turns from the window to face you. His smiles seems to brighten his eyes. “I had a great time. Plus, a free lunch!” His face scrunches up for a moment, “well, really there is no such thing as a ‘free lunch’, but that’s beside the point,” he rambles. Noticing you still have his attention, Steve speaks up again. “Would you be open for getting coffee sometime? Or tea, if that’s your thing.”

Your heart flutters at his question. You can’t help but grin widely, nodding your head at his statement. “Yes, I’d love that,” you respond coyly. You weren’t expecting your day to go this way, and yet, you couldn’t help but feel like it was meant to be.

[mybiasisexo]

Hellooooo ❤️❤️❤️ for the drabble game: 61 and 69 with Jongin?😍😍

DRABBLE GAME 🍾

MASTERLIST

Kim Jongin was the whole package. He was smart, caring, sweet, athletic, and ridiculously handsome.

He was also your best friend.

You would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t have any romantic feelings for him. As previously stated: he was the whole package. But he saw you as a younger sister, someone who he was fond of, but didn’t see in that way.

He also had a girlfriend.

You didn’t like her much. Not because she was his girlfriend, although that surely didn’t help, but because she was a bitch. Their relationship was a turbulent one. They seemed to be able to bring the worst out of each other, and after a year and a half it was starting to take a toll on you. You hated the way Jongin acted when it came to her. Constantly having to cater to her every whim and if she was unsatisfied she let him have it, tearing him down until he was a mere shadow of the angelic man you’ve always loved.

She was the reason why he was in your apartment at the moment. The two of them were that stereotypical on-again-off-again couple, and were currently off at the moment. It was fresh, happened earlier that day, and he always ran to you when he needed consoling.

Your new breakup remedy for the night was horror films and wine. It usually worked with your girl friends, so you were sure it would do the same for Jongin. But you underestimated how badly this ‘break up’ hit the poor man. He finished an entire bottle of the red liquid by himself within the first hour of the first movie and continued to chug his glasses down as if his life depended on it.

You were concerned. He had never been this broken over this girl and he was drinking a lot. You should have stopped him after he finished off the third bottle, but you were feeling what little of the wine Jongin let you have and, quite frankly, you were just glad to be able to have him to yourself for once.

You were being selfish.

When the second movie ended, Jongin went up to do his job of changing movies, but stumbled around, barely able to stand straight, let alone, handle a DVD disk. You watched him struggle, giggling at how plastered he was.

He heard and when he finally got the movie in, he returned to the couch you both sat on with a pout.

“Are you drunk?” You sang, giggling again.

“No.” He hiccupped, causing your giggling to grow into full on chortles. “It’s not funny!”

His pout got deeper and he crossed his arms over his chest like a child. He really resembled one at the moment, mumbling under his breath and kicking his feet in a tiny tantrum.

It was cute.

You told him that and his whining doubled. His lips stuck out and they looked so inviting, you coudln’t help but wonder what they would feel like against your own. Maybe, if you had a little taste to see….

The fluffiness of his petal lips caused your eyes to spring open, locking with Jongin from a distance you had never been before. You could see every fleck of color in his irises, every individual eyelash and knew you had crossed a line.

He was frozen in shock as you pulled back, cringing internally as you racked your brain for a good excuse to kissing your best friend.

But, before you could apologize, his hand was at the back of your neck, dragging you in for more. His lips crashed against your own hungrily, as if this was something he wanted to do for a long time. It took your breath away, leaving you gasping every time your lips briefly separated. You clutched onto his shirt, holding him close as his hands trailed down to your waist, pulling at your curves, asking you to crawl onto his lap, which you obliged.

With legs on either side of his, you deepened the kiss as your hips rolled over his growing bulge. The action dragged out a long deep moan from him that caused you to shiver. The noise leaving his lips drove you crazy, the need for him flooding your system with its urgency.

Now drunk on lust, you both ripped each other’s shirts off, needing to feel skin against skin. You broke the passionate kiss to suck on the hot flesh of his jaw, dragging wet open mouth kisses down his chest and stomach, to his waistband. His hips buckled when you finally tasted him, the surge of pleasure overwhelming his senses, driving him just as crazy as he was making you.

“God, I love this—fuck! I love you!”

His confession hovered in the air, echoing off the walls, causing you to pause.

You blinked up at him, at his dark hooded eyes, disheveled hair, and heaving sweaty chest.

This was your best friend.

“No,” You said, shaking your head before getting up and sitting as far away from him as the couch allowed. You grabbed your shirt from the floor and held it against your chest in an attempt to latch on to what little modesty you had left. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I—”

“No. You don’t.” Your words were stern, sure. Your hands shook as you fought off tears. “You’re drunk, Jongin. And, last time I checked, you have a girlfriend.”

“Had a girlfriend.” He corrected, staring at you with slight despair. “And I may be drunk, but that doesn’t change the way I feel about you. How I always felt about you….”

“If you felt anything for me, why are you with someone else?”

“I….” He scanned the room as if it held the answer before shrugging. “I don’t know….”

You scoffed at his response. “Well, then, there’s your answer.”

His eyebrows furrowed in what you recognized as hurt.

“Do you not want me to love you?” He asked softly and you swore you saw his eyes gloss over and redden.

You didn’t expect that reaction. Maybe he was more drunk than you thought? You wanted to reply, to tell him that you wanted so greatly to have him love you genuinely, but you just didn’t believe him in his current state, but it sat on your tongue, refusing to come out. He took your silence as a different answer and ran his hands over his face, ruffling his hair before letting out a heavy breath.

You watched motionlessly as he got up, snatching his shirt off the floor before making his way to the door.

He paused once he opened the door, turning back to you. “I’m sorry I said anything. This is why I didn’t in the first place.”

With that he left.

You wondered if he would ever come back.

[herocentral]

Voltron Frozen Defender

Written by Alexander Montgomery

Well folks heres the first chapter of my crossover fiction between Frozen and Voltron Legendary Defender. I first came up with this story back when seasons 1&2 were released and was inspired reading the fan fictions of others. And so let us begin.

Frozen © Disney

Voltron Legendary Defender © Dreamworks /netflix.

I do not own any of the characters in this story all belong to their respective owners, any fan characters/monsters in this story are created by me so no one is allowed to copy, trace, steal etc without my permission THIS IS JUST FOR FUN!

Chapter 1: Rift between worlds.

Far away in the cold darkness of space, thousands of lightyears away from Planet Earth an asteroid belt of ice covered asteroids, float quietly in the void. From a distance, a large ship appears with large curved spires on each side glowing blue with energy. This was the great Altean flagship The Castle of Lions, and on the bridge of the vessel are the Paladins of Voltron; Shiro, Kieth, Pidge, Lance and Hunk manning their stations along with Princess Allura and her advisor Coran, the lone survivors of the destroyed Planet Altea and the Altean race. The castle bridge holo screen displays shows a small hexagon shape on the Ice cluster indicating the presence of a signal. 

“According to the castles sensors, the distress call came from this area.” Coran relayed to the team. 

“I don’t like this guys” Kieth said with suspicion in his voice “ doesn’t it seem weird that we just happened to get a distress call just as we’re planning to take down Zarkon?”

“Paranoid much Kieth?” Lance cracked.

 The Paladins, who had been brought together by the discovery of an alien mechanical lion on earth, to find the lone survivors of a race wiped out ten thousand years ago and reassemble the mighty Voltron, Legendary Defender of the Universe. Together they battled an evil war like race known as the Galra who have one intention to capture Voltron and conquer the galaxy. The Defenders of the Universe recently found allies in a secret group of Galra known as the Blade of Marmora and have been working on a plan to defeat the Empire and restore peace. So to receive a distress call at this time would be a dangerous coincidence.  

“He does have a point you know” Pidge agreed “ this iceberg grave yard looks like the perfect place for a trap.”  

“ I realise we have concerns about this” Allura began “ but lets not forget as Paladins of Voltron, we are honour bound to help those in need, no matter the circumstances.” she reminded. 

Shiro, the leader of the Paladins looked at the ice clusters and considered everything that was said before coming to a decision. 

“ Alluras right, so lets get to our lions and take a look, but stay alert just in case.” He decided. 

On the bow of the castle ship, the four spires and the centre spire opened and from them emerge five giant mechanical lions in the colours of red, green, blue, yellow and the largest in black bearing large red and white wings. These were the Lions of Voltron, the five that would unite to form Voltron itself. They fly towards the clusters of ice in formation, red and blue on the right, green and yellow on the left with black in the centre. 

“It looks quiet.” Hunk observed from the durable Yellow Lion, “Yeah too quiet for my liking.” Kieth agreed from the temperamental Red Lion. Shiro in Paladin armour looked around the area from the violet lit cockpit of the Alpha Black Lion and even he could tell something wasn’t right. 

“I’ll scan for Bio rhythms.” Said Pidge from the intellectual and daring Green Lion. The screens and instruments on her dashboard begin scanning the area, but then a red screen with a hexagon shaped cross appears indicating theres nothing in the area.

“That’s odd, theres no sign of life here?” Said Pidge in surprise. Lance looked to his instruments showing the presence of the signal in the compassionate and fun Blue Lion “But we’re getting close to the distress signal maybe we’re not close enough yet.”He assumed. 

“Everyone keep a tight formation but be ready, I have a bad feeling about this.” Shiro said with caution.

As the lions flew deeper into the ice clusters the signal gets stronger, but as a chunk of ice flies by it reveals another chunk with what appeared to be a beacon like device piercing the surface. The lions loom over the device and see no sign of a crashed ship bringing concern among the Paladins. 

“What the cheese?” Exclaimed Lance. “ Its a beacon of some kind.” Said Pidge “and that means….”

Suddenly without warning purple energy blasts bombarded the clusters and the lions. The lions grunted as they looked up and saw above them a fleet of small alien fighters  lead by a giant alien warship with a cannon mounted in the centre, the design of the ships lead to the origin of only one alien race.

 “It’s the Galra! Its an ambush!” Shiro Exclaimed. “Scatter!” 

The lions broke formation as the fighters flew in after them. Onboard the Galra warship the bridge is manned by two lieutenants wearing grey armour with glowing purple alien symbols and helmets to cover their eyes. With them are a battalion of robotic Galra sentries. On the command station stands the fleets commander the most obnoxious and shortest of them all Commander Morvak who stands with a sinister grin on his face. 

“The fools fell into our trap” Morvak laughed “ Now capture those lions for the glory of the Galra Empire! Vrepit sa!” 

The Galra fighters fly through the clusters chasing the lions whilst firing on them but hitting the clusters. The lions try to avoid the blast but whilst the Red Lion flies to avoid them the other lions are struggling to navigate the clusters. “Guys we can’t manoeuvre in these clusters!” Lance shouted. “ We have no choice, we’ll have to get out and face them.” Shiro said” Kieth deal with the fighters in the clusters, Hunk, Lance take the left flank, Pidge take down the fighters on the right I’ll attack the warship head on!” He commanded. 

“Yes sir” Kieth replied, “Rodger that” Responded Pidge “ Lets do this.” Hunk exclaimed “Right behind you!” Exclaimed Lance as the lions separated with Blue, Black, Green and Yellow heading out of the ice clusters whilst Red stays to fight the pursuing fighters. 

The Red lion flies through the clusters avoiding the laser fire using its enhanced speed and agility. The fighters turn a corner round a large chunk of ice only to find their target is no longer present. Suddenly from behind one of the clusters the Red lion flew in fast and an invisible force slices through all the fighters which is the Red Lions jaw blade and the fighters explode behind it leaving Kieth with a grin on his face. 

Outside the cluster the Blue lion is avoiding the blasts from the chasing Galra fighters but suddenly takes a hit, shaking up Lance in the cockpit. “Whoa! things are heating up!” Lance said but then puts on a look of determination. “Time to cool’em down!” He moved the flight sticks and turned the lion around facing the fighters. The lion opens its jaws, and fires a large white beam which upon contact encases the fighters in ice and the immense cold renders them powerless. 

“ Heh heh looks like the Galra have a case of brain freeze!” Lance cracked. 

Meanwhile the Green Lion is outflying the Galra fighters but nearly gets hit with an energy blast, the lion then flies over the fighters then forms a green, grey and black cannon on its back. The cannon then fires a green energy beam at the four fighters. Upon contact without warning vines begin to grow on the fighters which then crush them in a tight grip and explode soon after.  Green emerges from the blast with a victorious roar. 

“Gee who knew the Galra had a green thumb!” Said Pidge with a smirk. 

A fighter was about to fire on the Green Lion until from the left the Yellow Lion charged into its side crushing it. The lion charges and deliberately crashes into three other fighters and tosses them off its face, and into an incoming group of fighters. The Yellow Lion could handle the beating of their laser blasts with its durable armour. 

“Wa-hoo!” Hunk yelled “ Looks like its demolition derby season for Galra fighters!” 

The Galra warship fires all its weapons on its intended target, the Black Lion, which flies to avoid the blasts from the starboard cannons, and begins to charge its Ion Cannon. The lion forms its double jawblade in its mouth and charges forward with the jets in its wings. The Ion cannon fires an enormous blast at the Black lion but it moves to avoid it and targets the cannons main supports using the jaw blade to slice into the support separating the cannon from the ship. The cannon explodes and Black flies away. The lieutenant checks the screen on the bridge and sees that the Ion cannon is destroyed. 

“Sir, the Black lions destroyed the Ion cannon and our fighters are destroyed. Shall we retreat?” He said.  

Morvak was about to answer until. “We shall not retreat.” Another voice answered for him, a voice that sent a shiver down his very spine. He turned to see a hooded individual who’s cloak covered half her face with glowing yellow eyes and blue skin with red marks on her face. It was Haggar high priestess of the Galra Empire. 

“If you are too incompetent to capture the lions Morvak. I shall handle this, personally.” She said with a hint of venom in her voice. Outside the Lions had defeated the remaining fighters as the Black lion flies towards them. “Team report.” Shiro called “Fighters are down Shiro.” Kieth replied “ Then lets take down that warship.” Shiro ordered knowing what to do next. “Everyone get ready to form…” Suddenly Shiro cries in pain as he begins to feel a surge of power striking him and his lion. “GAAAAAAAA!” 

“Shiro!” Exclaimed Kieth. “Look” Pidge pointed the other Paladins to the source of the dark energy striking the Black Lion. It was coming from the warship emanating from the hands of Haggar. “It’s the witch!” Lance exclaimed “ We can’t let her get the Black Lion, TAKE HER DOWN!!” Kieth ordered as the four lions fired energy blasts from their mouths and at the warship to blast the witch. She moves quickly to avoid the energy blasts almost like a black blur. Haggar fires a dark blast at the lions which they are quick to avoid before returning fire. 

The Red Lion looks back to see the Black Lion floating lifeless in space. “Shiro, you okay?! Shiro!”Kieth called but got no response until Kieth hears a groan over the comms. In the lions cockpit Shiro is recovering from the blast he took. “I… I’m okay” He breathed as he tried to reboot his lion by moving the flight sticks but theres no response.”But my lions not responding.”He said. The Lions continued to stand their ground against Haggar, who is about to fire another blast until an incoming blast from the starboard side of the warship knocks her off balance taking her by surprise. She turns and glares at the source of the blast. The Castle of Lions. 

“Coran focus fire on the warship!” Allura exclaimed from the bridge “Rodger that Princess!” Coran replied firing on the Galra ship. Using the opportunity the lions group up towards their alpha. Though Haggar tries to defend herself from the castle she sees the lions grouped together in one place and decides to strike, giving a yell as she generates a massive orb of dark energy and fires it at her prey. In the Blue Lion, Lance caught sight of a dark glow from behind them and sees the energy blast coming towards them. 

“LOOK OUT!” Lance shouted as he quickly turns his lion to face the energy blast and fires a blast from its mouth, colliding with the witches dark magic. The energy builds up and an orb begins to form. Pidge looks at the energy readings coming from it and realises the collision is causing something to happen. “Lance stop it!….” Suddenly the orb explodes and engulfs everything in a bright light blinding The Paladins, Haggar, Allura, and Coran. The light soon fades, the Galra Warship has been reduced powerless and Haggar is unconscious. In the Castle of Lions, Allura and Coran are also rendered unconscious. However, there is one party not present and that was the Voltron Lions almost as if they’d simply vanished. 

Elsewhere

High in the cool night sky, the Northern Lights shine, whip and flicker in the silence of the night. Far below this vibrant majestic sight was the kingdom of Arendelle, its populace were all sound asleep in their homes. High in the hills close to the snowy mountain five individuals sat on the grass covered ground near the forest.  These were the royals of the kingdom, Queen Elsa and her sister Princess Anna with the Kingdoms Ice master and deliverer Kristof, his reindeer companion Sven and Olaf the little snowman who was created by Elsa. They all sat in front of a large rock and the evergreens around them had small traces of snow on the ground. They looked up at the night sky waiting for something. 

“Ohhh how much longer do we need to wait?!” Anna said excitedly “Relax Anna, you won’t have to wait much longer.” Chuckled her boyfriend in assurance. “I can tell why your excited” Said Elsa putting her hand on her sisters shoulder.” Its only once every three years that millions of shooting stars appear in the sky above Arendelle.” “Yeah I’ll bet its the most amazing thing ever.” Said Olaf with a smile.

A month had passed since Arendelle had been thawed from an eternal winter accidentally caused by Elsa during her coronation. However, thanks to her sister the kingdom was saved and the two sisters were reunited after years of being apart. Sven then notices something in the sky and nudges Kristofs shoulder with his large nose getting his attention. Kristof sees what his friend is seeing and points it out to Anna and Elsa. As they look up to the sky they saw an amazing sight, millions of shooting stars soar across the sky through the Northern lights harmonsing with the very colours of the sky itself. This vibrant display reflected in their eyes and Anna all but marvelled at this display.

Although a beautiful sight, Anna looked to her elder sister and noticed a mild look of sadness on her face. “Elsa?” getting her sisters attention. 

“Its nights like this that make me think of when Mom and Dad took us to see this when we were kids.”Said Elsa sadly. Annas expression turned to sympathy as she too remembered how their parents brought them to this very spot years ago. She placed her hand on her sisters shoulder, 

“ I know”she said” I wish they were here too.” making her elder sister smile a little. “ Hey look there.” Called Kristof bringing their attention to the sky. They looked to see five stars shooting across the sky in colours of violet, red, green, blue, and yellow. 

“Ooo pretty.” Awed Olaf, whilst Anna and Elsa looked up in amazement. A notion then popped into their heads and so they closed their eyes, as its said that making a wish on a shooting star before it disappears the wish would come true. Elsa took a moment to think about what to wish for, and out of everything she could think of only one thing came to mind.

” I…I wish… for someone to bring me happiness” she whispered quietly so that even Anna couldn’t hear her, but its said we must be careful what we wish for.

High above, the stars are actually the Voltron Lions crashing down from the sky. Inside the powerless Black Lion, Shiro who is finding it hard to stay conscious is trying to guide his lion down to the ground. Black begins to fall away from the rest of the group, and inside the other four lions Kieth, Lance, Hunk and Pidge are doing the best they can guide their lions into a controlled crash. 

“Come on come on!” Kieth growls trying to pull his lion out of the crash. “ Yellow come on work for me!” Hunk tried.”Come on Blue anytime now!!” Lance panicked. Pidge looked outside and saw they were drawing ever closer to the ground. “Theres no time!” She cried “ EVERYONE BRACE YOURSELVES!” Shiro shouted. 

As they braced themselves for the crash and the ground drawing ever closer Lance could only say one thing. “ Oh Quiznak!” The Lions crashed to the ground knocking down trees and leaving a trail of drag marks behind them sliding on the ground, building up a mound of dirt and rocks in front of them eventually bringing them to a halt. Steam poured from the lions as they cooled down. 

Inside his lion Shiro begins to stir groaning as he did. He could see his lion was depowered, and the cockpit was completely dark. He emerges from the Black lion via the escape hatch located in the top of its head. He looks around his surroundings and sees he’s crashed in the middle of a forest at night. Shiro climbs down from his lion, but upon touching the ground he feels weak and dizzy realising he hasn’t fully recovered from his attack, but never the less, fights to stay awake. 

“Princess. Come in.” Said Shiro activating the com channel in his helmet, but can’t get any response.”Coran respond please.” still no answer. “ Anyone.” There was only one sound static. He walks through the forest to find where his teammates crashed. He begins to climb a steep hill looking to see the Black Lion a distance behind him. 

He feels tired and exhausted but forces himself to stay awake.

“…Shiro…re…..ou…re?….” Suddenly he heard a weak transmission coming through and he recognised the voice. “Kieth, is that you? Can you hear me?” Shiro answered back but there was no answer. He guessed it was due to the dense forest so he heads higher up the hill. 

“Shiro, Come in are you there?” The signal got stronger. “Kieth, I’m here you guys okay?” 

Not too far away the other Lions had crashed and their Paladins had just climbed out of their lions, and Lance anime style fell face first to the ground.

 “Shiro, you made it are you okay?” Kieth said in relief that his friend was okay. “Yeah I’m okay how about you?” Shiro asked “ We’re a little battered but alive.” Kieth answered “Speak for yourself.” Groaned Lance as he got up.” The last time I got a headache like this there’d better be a simulator involved” “Oh no Lance” Said Pidge looking around the crash site “ this turned out a lot worse than the last time you crashed a simulator.” Suddenly they heard the sound of someone hurling and they all knew who it was Hunk as he was being sick after falling from space. 

“ Sorry so sorry” he breathed before vomiting again much to the teams disgust “Hey you have to admit, thats a new record he’s never gone that long before” Pidge observed tilting her glasses. “So where are you?” Kieth asked.

In the hills deep in the forest

Shiro looks around to get his bearings.”I’m not too far from you, but I’m not sure where…” Shiro then groaned slightly and leaned against a tree. “Shiro, Shiro you still there?!” Kieth called “ Ngh, I’m fine” Shiro groaned “I just…” “You don’t sound fine, your probably still beat up from the blast you took.” Pidge interrupted. Suddenly they were startled by a howling sound echoing through the forest which spooks Lance and Hunk.

 “W… Was that a wolf!” Lance said in surprise. Shiro could hear this too, and he activated the torch light on his gauntlet and shined it towards the trees. He looked closely and in the darkness he could see something disturbing, it was white eyes with growling. He wasn’t alone. 

“Shiro, whats going on?!” Kieth said over the com Shiro moved his right hand and it began to glow purple and tried to stand his ground as the wolves emerged from the shadows growling and staring at their prey. Shiro soon realised he was too weak to fight and so there was only one choice. Run. He scurried down the hill with the wolves close behind, Shiro uses his cyber prosthetic hand to slice down a tree to try and slow them down but the wolves jumped over it. 

“Shiro whats going on SHIRO!” Kieth shouted over the com Shiro couldn’t answer as he was trying to evade the wolves. One was getting very close to him and tried to leap onto him but he was able to swat it away with his prosthetic hand. Suddenly he saw the edge of a cliff he could see the jump was too far but he had no choice, he activated his armours jet pack which gives him a powered jump across the gap. 

Suddenly the jet pack over heats mid way across, Shiro can see he won’t make it so he thrusts his prosthetic hand into the rock and screamed in pain as he dangles from the cliff edge. The wolves stop at the cliff edge and bark at their escaped prey as he climbed back up onto the ledge and rolls on his back in exhaustion. Later , he continues walking down hill but he’s tired and exhausted and begins to see double vision. In doing so he doesn’t see where he’s going and trips on a rock sending him rolling down hill hitting some rocks, loses his helmet and finally hits the ground and loses consciousness. “Shiro, are you there, Shiro, Shiro!” Echoed Kieth on the helmets com. 

Nearby the Arendelle royals, Icemaster and snowman were riding back to the kingdom on Kristofs sled pulled by Sven going down the hill slopes. As they rode along Sven smelled something in the air and then out of the corner of his eye he saw something near the forest. He stops rather suddenly to the surprise of the passengers. 

“H-hey whats up Sven? Why’d you stop?” Asked Kristof, Sven began snorting trying to point them to something but they couldn’t understand what. “Buddy I can’t understand you when you talk like that.” Said Kristof, Sven frowned and moved his head to the right. 

“ I think he’s seen something.” Anna guessed so they looked to the right to see what it was the reindeer had seen. Olaf then saw something. 

“Hey guys, not sure this is going to help but theres someone lying down over there.” He said directing their attention. They looked and Elsa could see what looked like a man lying down on the ground.

 “ Oh no!” Said Elsa who immediately dismounted from the sled in concern she Anna, Kristof, and Olaf ran over to where the man was. 

They came up and saw the man was wearing black and white armour with some glowing blue lines and an arrow like shape on the chest plate. He had black hair with a white forelock and on his face he had a large scar across the bridge of his nose. The sisters knelt down and turned him on his back and saw he was rather beaten up.

 “Is he…” Anna asked “No he’s alive, just unconscious” Kristof said checking for a pulse. “What happened to him?” Anna asked her sister” I don’t know” Elsa answered “ but right now he needs help lets get him back to the castle.” With that Kristof picked up the man and carried him to his sled and loaded him onto the cargo area. However Elsa couldn’t help but wonder who was he?

Elsewhere:

Far in the darkest corners of space, stood a large alien fortress surrounded by fleets of warships in the centre of the star system surrounded by gas planets. The sight of the fortress sends fear down the spines of even the bravest of warriors for this was the stronghold of the Paladins of Voltron’s most hated enemy. On the bridge of this warship, Haggar silently enters the room aproaching the throne in the centre of the room and knelling before her master, the most vile of all the Galra race Emperor Zarkon.

“Sire” Said Haggar eerily “I regret to inform you our ambush has failed, and the Voltron Lions have… disappeared.” Zarkon sat on his throne tightly clenching its arms in anger.” How” he spoke.” I attempted to render the lions powerless,” Haggar began “ but the Blue Lion intercepted my dark magic with its own blast of energy, the collision of which caused an explosion. What happened to the Paladins after that I regrettably don’t know.” She finished awaiting her emperors response.

“Do not despair Haggar.”Zarkon began with darkness in his voice “ There is nowhere in this universe that they can hide from my visions reach. We will find them, we shall wipe the Paladins of the face of the universe forever and claim Voltron once and for all.” Zarkons eyes glowed with purple energy as the hunt for his quarry had begun. 

Chapter 1 done folks chapter 2 will come soon.

[myssthyss]

Drawn

Sequel to (Re)Birth

The ground crunches gently beneath the tall Awoken’s feet, her newly found redwood walking staff adding a third thump to her gait. The trek to this “City” will be long and arduous, especially with limited aerospace centers in proximity to where her Ghost found her. Luckily, it seems she landed on the correct side of the mountain. 

As in, the side closer to a ship. 

Her Ghost had estimated a two to three week trek to the nearest Golden Age Aeroport and, hopefully, the Fallen hadn’t retreated there and picked it clean after the SIVA Crisis.

God, she was so clueless about all of this.

“So, what’s that ‘Traveler’ you mentioned earlier?” Myss asks her Ghost, who somehow dematerialized and is living inside her head now. 

He insists he lives in her backpack, but she’s not wearing a backpack, and she can hear him in her head. This is all so disorienting, and she’s stopped questioning her companion’s personal shenanigans to save her sanity somewhat.

[No one knows exactly what the Traveler is,] 

Really helpful, Ghost. 

[...some would refer to it and its Light as a God and a Blessing respectively, and the Ghosts and their Guardians - as children of the Traveler and its Light - as demigods.] 

Myss’ eyes widen slightly at that. Her, a demigod? No pressure, right?

[However, it’s simplest to call it a terraformer, as that is primarily what it did while it was alive.]

“It’s dead?”

[Yes. That’s why I exist. I, as well as every other Ghost, was born the moment the Traveler died, with the express purpose of finding you - our Guardian.]

“Aww, you’re gonna make me blush.”

[Let me try harder. I’d wandered the Sol System for hundreds of years, oversaw many battles - The Faction Wars, Six Fronts, The Great Disaster, Twilight Gap, the SIVA Crisis - I’d been to Luna, Mars, Venus, and Mercury, and not one fallen individual had called to me.] Her Ghost materializes in front of her. [Until yesterday.]

She feels the water-like light ripples on her face congregate on her cheeks. “--You got me. I’m blushing.”

Her Ghost laughs, and disappears again.

Over the next few days of travel, her questions are gradually answered. 

After the Traveler had blessed many a race with its Light, and subsequently abandoned them when the Darkness came for it, it decided to make its final stand to protect humanity. 

The City - The Last Safe City - is the last place on planet Earth that is truly secure for humanity, sitting in the shadow of the dead Traveler. 

The City is run by the Speaker, the Consensus, and the Vanguard. The three Vanguard leaders each represent one Guardian Order. 

Her Ghost says he knows which Order she’ll fit in with best, but he wants it to be a surprise for her. That’s no fun.

There’s a variety of enemies they’ll face, but the Fallen are the ones they’ll run into the most. They were the last species the Traveler blessed, and the last it abandoned.

Myss learns more about the Fallen in a less-than-pleasant manner. She’s sniped at by a Vandal from a hundred feet up, Marauders slice at her out of nowhere, and Dregs take aim at range. 

She’s able to fend them off successfully using her redwood walking stick and one of the Marauder’s blades, but not without taking a substantial amount of damage.

“I... I need a moment...” She says breathlessly, supporting herself against a tree.

[No rush. I’ve got you.] Her Ghost soothes. His beams run over her fresh wounds, leaving no trace they existed as they heal. Then, he freezes, and abruptly disappears into her backpack. [Actually maybe some rush. Did you hear that?]

“Hear wh--”

//E ZER ET HUS//

She turns abruptly towards the guttural voice, and meets the glowing eyes of--

[A Captain. No doubt this gang’s leader. And we just killed them all.]

“What do we do?! He’s huge!” Her stillness and chatter seems to upset the Fallen Captain because--

//SHE DA HUR ET//

[I’d grab one of the Dregs’ shock pistols. Quickly!]

Myss does so, takes aim, and fires. The Captain dodges her shot and disappears briefly, reappearing about ten feet away from where he was. 

This repeats for several minutes, firing, dodging, firing again, until she gets impatient and just runs up to punch the Captain. Unfortunately, the Captain has two feet on her, and two more arms than she does. It’s easy for him to thwart her attack, grabbing her neck as she swings, then holds her up against a tree while his blades draw dangerously close to her torso.

//RA SHA HA//

Logically, she knows this won’t matter. She knows she’ll be back in a moment’s time. Dying still sucks, though. It’s still painful. It’s still defeat. She doesn’t want to lose. She doesn’t want to die again.

And - as if her pleas had been heard - a deafening gunshot rings through the air. The next thing she knows, the Captain disintegrates into a million burning embers, and she falls to the ground.

“What?” Myss breathes a heavy sigh of relief, resting a hand on her neck. “What happened?”

“I just saved your life’s what happened!”

A female figure in a violet hooded cloak - bathed in fire and wielding a flaming pistol - jogs up to her and offers her unarmed hand. Just as Myss goes to take the offered hand, the stranger’s gun and flames vanish.

This just added like ten questions to Myss’ list.

“Thanks! What the hell was that?!” She asks incredulously of the stranger. “That was... You really saved me the trouble of dying again.”

[You mean saved me the trouble?] Her Ghost says, appearing over her shoulder.

“Hey! Dying hurts. It’s trouble for me, too.”

The stranger gasps. “You’re a Guardian, too!” Her helmet’s removed to reveal hair, lips, markings, and glowing eyes that match the flames that engulfed her just moments ago. “Lumo, you can come out, you know.”

{I know! I was just making sure the coast was clear.} The Ghost expands and reveals its sphere of Light, scanning the area. {Looks like that Captain was the last of them. Good job, you two.}

The two Awoken and the other Ghost all thank Lumo, and do a double take between each other before laughing over the confusion.

“I like you.” The orange-eyed Awoken says with a smile, offering her hand again. “Name’s Seraph Vim, and that’s Lumo.”

“Myss Thyss, and that’s...” Myss looks to her Ghost, who looks back expectantly. She hadn’t known she had to - and therefore hadn’t planned on -giving him a name. But-- “...Casper.”

Casper looks befuddled, and simultaneously delighted.

{Lovely to meet the both of you.} Lumo says, performing as much of a bow or curtsy as a Ghost could manage. {You’re on your way to The City as well?}

[That we are.]

“Well why don’t we travel together?” Myss suggests to the group. “We’ll be safer that way, having someone to watch our backs.”

“You just want me to stick around so I can save you again.” Seraph teases with a smile and a nudge. “Don’t worry, I’d be happy to save you anytime, Myss.”

That got her to blush again. “Thanks. I’ll probably need it.” She sighs, looking over to her Gh... Casper. “Which way now? That fight got me turned around.”

[That-a-way!] Casper replies, facing his shell in the requested direction. The group heads off, Ghosts disappearing to the safety of their Guardians’ backpacks.

“How long have you and Lumo been traveling?” Myss asks after a lengthy silence.

Seraph tilts her head, looking absently upwards. “About a week or so, I’d say.” She replies. “He found me in a ship halfway up the mountain range, still strapped into my seat.”

Myss blinks. “Wait... a ship?” Her hand goes to her chest, ghosting over the jewel that sat below the fabric. “What do you remember about it?”

“The glass was shattered, the seat was purple at one point, and there was some sort of large flag in there.” Seraph turns so her back faced Myss, showing off the large emblem on her cloak. It’s made up of three yellow diamonds and two white triangles. Almost looks like a crown.  “It was cold up there, so I used this to warm up and I’ve decided to keep it.”

Myss nods thoughtfully, slightly envious of how stylish Seraph’s cloak is. “Mine was similar, believe it or not. Though, I think I was on the floor of the ship, far below the seat. And I was at the top of the mountain.”

“Really?” Seraph asks, incredulous. “How’d you get down here so fast?”

“Well...”

[She fell.]

“No. You didn’t.”

[She was mere minutes old, had just figured out her name, and she slipped and fell two miles down the mountain.]

Lumo bursts into laughter, forcing his Guardian to laugh as well.

The liquid light on Myss’ cheeks flares. “Shut up! The snow was loose! I lost my footing.”

“Oh my god, Myss. That’s fantastic. Looks like you will need me to save you.” Seraph wipes her eyes as her giggles subside.  “So... did you choose your name, or...?”

Myss knows what Seraph’s getting at with how her question trailed off, and she pulls out her jewel by the chain.

Seraph immediately does the same, though hers is a much lighter shade of purple. They speak almost in unison.

“Myss Thyss. Iris Commander.”

“Seraph Vim. Orchid Commander.”

There’s a pause as the pair absorb this new information.

Myss speaks first, quietly. “No way.” 

“Were we part of the same fleet?” Seraph adds in awe.

“I wonder if we knew each other.”

Seraph smiles and tuts. “I’m sure we did. We were both Commanders! We probably sat in a war room together at least once.”

[You’d be right. There have been two conflicts that the Awoken were directly involved in.]

{And considering your ages, you were probably present for both of them.}

The two Awoken look at each other, the weight of the information fully resting on their shoulders. 

Decades of history had likely occurred between them, and it was all lost when they crashed into that mountain. Now here they were, united again, with no recollection of any of it. They both felt slightly emptier than they had previously, but also more whole.

“Maybe that’s why I felt drawn to you.” Seraph almost whispers, keeping her eyes angled forward, avoiding Myss’ gaze. “Maybe knowing each other in our past lives helped us connect in our new lives.”

“Maybe,” Myss smiles softly, laying her arm over Seraph’s shoulder. “...but now we have eternity to make new memories with each other. We’ll make up for what we lost a hundred fold.”

Now it was Seraph’s turn to blush, her ripples resembling tiny flames on her cheeks. She smiles, which only makes those little flames brighter.

“Sounds like a plan.”

[akhkharuthefacelessone-blog]

Hell - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 It was what felt like months later when the former human jolted sharply awake to find a pair of glaring crimson eyes staring at her. The intruding demon was surrounded in a dull yellow aura, which she knew all to well. "What do you want, Bierihn?" Valen grumbled, keeping her head down. The yellow demon had a volatile temper, and the last thing she wanted was to pick a fight. "My nest is being searched tomorrow, so you're gonna hide something for me. Got it, Abralia?" Crooked, uneven yellow fangs were bared in threat. The younger demon frowned, raising her head to glare back at him. "What? Now way!" A low snarl rose from Bierihn's chest, and the stunted bat wings marking his back were spread threateningly. "Do it, or I'll gut you and hide it in your pathetic corpse." Rising from the mound of furs which served as her bed, Valen snarled back, baring her own teeth as her tail lashed, bone-white plates clacking against the walls. "I said no, Bierihn!" She didn't want to fight him, but she wanted to fight Merrum even less. Narrowing his eyes, the elder demon swiped for the weaker scaled hide of her stomach with deadly claws. Valen stumbled backward, minimizing the damage to shallow scratches as she pressed herself against the back wall of her nest, her opponent advancing with bared teeth. Just then, the curtain of fur was wrenched aside, the dim emerald light of Kye's aura proclaiming her presence. The hooved demoness frowned, glaring at Valen's attacker. "Bierihn! Cornering a hatchling in her own nest. Not have the guts to fight for real?" She growled, taunting him. The yellow demon whirled toward her, furious. "This doesn't concern you, Kye! Leave, unless you're here to join her!" Kye's eyes narrowed. "You've been a nuisance since you arrived. I'd be more than happy to put you in your place." With a roar of rage, Bierihn lunged for Kye, the demoness easily bounding back out of range. With both now in the hall, Valen struggled to calm her breathing as she crept toward the curtain, peering out to observe the battle. Kye's hooves clacked noisily against the floor as she dodged another swipe. Sweeping out an arm, her aura flared brighter as the dark stone of the hall floor shifted, spreading and stretching toward her until it solidified in the form of a thin gray sword, gripped firmly in short claws. Valen's eyes widened. Kye could summon swords? That was amazing! She watched as the green demoness stabbed for her opponent's side, blade sinking deep through gold fur. Bierihn hissed, stumbling back as blood ran from the wound. Some of the other servants began to emerge from their nests, trickling into the hallway bit by bit. The many colors of their auras smudged together in Valen's sight, the many demons so close together making it difficult to distinguish individuals. Turning her attention back to the fight, the young demoness watched at Bierihn lunged, claws tearing through Kye's shoulder, only for him to be forced back as his opponent's weapon struck for his thigh. Grinning, the blade's wielder ducked a swipe from claws wrapped in golden light, dancing back from a flurry of punches and bringing her sword up. The blade easily pierced the vital arteries of her target's throat, and the battle was over just like that. Bierihn's aura faded as he slumped to the stone floor, limp and unmoving. Kye straightened, her summoned weapon melding with the floor again, as though the blade had never existed at all. She hesitated, nudging her fallen opponent's arm with a hoof before turning toward Valen and offering a simple nod. Merrum stormed through the crowd of onlookers just as the victor raised a hand to cover her bleeding shoulder. The blue demon frowned, narrowing his eyes at Bierihn's body before shifting his gaze to the assembled servants. "Back to your nests, all of you!" He snarled, already turning back toward Kye instead. "I trust you'll still be reporting to work in a few hours?" He asked, as the other demons slowly returned to their nests. Kye nodded, her short clawed fingers tightening around her wound. "Of course." "Good." Merrum turned his back, scarlet eyes landing briefly on the young demon still peering out past her curtain. "Back to your nest, Abralia." The child glanced momentarily at the injured demoness before she ducked back, letting the curtain fall back to hide the hall from view once more. She slowly sank down into the fur heap, an unpleasant numbness spreading through her mind. Kye had just killed someone. Killed him, and no one even batted an eye. How was she going to survive here? The image of the green demoness's sword rose to the front of her mind. Could she do that too? Maybe Kye would teach her. Valen nodded to herself, lying down amidst the furs. Yes, that was what she would do. She would ask Kye tomorrow. ****** The young demoness awoke a few hours later to the sound of some of the other servants shuffling past her nest. Yawning, she hurriedly exited her small home and ducked past the slower moving adults to reach the kitchens. A handful of demons were already scattered about the space, busily at work with their various tasks. Merrum was in his usual spot at teh end of the firepit, sapphire aura a little brighter than usual. He must be in a bad mood. She'd noted that abnormally bright auras usually signified anger. Valen slowed her pace, scanning the room. No sign of Kye's rich emerald aura. The only green in the entire room was the lime demon. Nelzolin she thought his name was. "Abralia." Merrum's rough growl dragged her attention away from her search for the other demoness. "Yes?" Her voice trembled a bit when she spoke, praying he wasn't mad at her. "Lord Caymrus has a visitor arriving soon. You're to meet them at the door, and assist them in navigating the manor, understood?" The child demon nodded. "Yes Merrum." The elder demon turned away, snapping a command at one of the others. Valen sighed, heading for the maze of halls she knew would eventually take her to the front hall. A frown set itself onto her features, scales shifting around each other as her brow furrowed. She hoped Kye was alright. Her shoulder had looked pretty bad. But besides that, who was this visitor? Caymrus never had guests, and she understood why. The demonic lord had a vile temper, and according to Kye, had claimed ownership of this manor and the surrounding land after killing the three other demons who'd been fighting over it. Who would want to visit him? These thoughts clouded her mind, even as her claws clicked against the smooth, polished, burgundy marble of the front hall. The room was honestly a bit intimidating. A massive space, columns of stone as dark as the night rising up to the ceiling far above. Gargoyles guarded the base of twin staircases leading to the second floor, though halls concealed behind the stairs led to both a dining area, and a sort of living room, complete with fireplace. Towering double doors served as the barrier between this room and the world outside, a world Valen had only glimpsed through the manor's windows. The young demoness paused, tail flicking to the side with uncertainty. She was just supposed to wait until whoever this guest was arrived? How long would that be? She didn't want to just stand around. Four crimson eyes scanned the room a few times, before she at last settled on a place beside one of the gargoyles. Oddly, the permanent snarl etched into its stone face seemed more protective than threatening. She raised a clawed hand to pat one of its folded wings. She actually kind of liked the statues. They made much better companions than many of the manor's other occupants. Soft humming eventually freed her of her boredom, only to disappoint her again as she realized it was just one of the other servants upstairs, her purple feathered back turned to the child as she dusted the towering statue of a dragon which guarded the landing. Valen sighed, letting her gaze linger momentarily on the open maw of the stone dragon, before she settled on counting the rough gray bricks which made up the walls. She had counted two hundred and seventy six when a knock finally echoed from the doors. The young demoness took a deep breath, hoping silently that whatever soul had come to visit Caymrus wouldn't be mean, before she crossed the room to pull open one heavy door. A lone figure stood on the top step, flanked by towering pillars. A male demon, framed by golden light. Horns of a much darker gold than his aura curved from the top of his head, bending down and toward each other until the pointed tips almost met at the back of his neck. The rest of his hide was sharp diamond shaped scales, ebony black with a few dark golden patches. A long tail swayed patiently behind him, thin pointed spines running the full length of the limb, and most likely all the way up his spine. The thing which caught her gaze the most, however, was his eyes. Four calm crimson orbs, gazing down at his observer with the faintest glimmer of amusement. "Well, well, nice to see that Lord Caymrus sent out a welcoming party for me. I assume you're to guide me about the manor, little one?" Valen hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Erm... yes, sir." A low chuckle rose from the elder demon's chest. "Well then, aren't you going to let me inside?" "Oh!" She scrambled back, keeping her clawed grip on the edge of the wood to prevent it swinging closed. "Sorry!" Another chuckle. "Ah, don't apologize. We'll just say you were making sure it was me, if anyone asks." He stepped past her, allowing her to close the door behind him. "So. What is your name? Or should I call you Guide?" She shook her head, the thin tendrils of her hair folding themselves behind pointed ears. "Abralia." The thought of her new name still brought a pang of sorrow to her heart, despite her best efforts to bury the emotions, the memories. She might be young, but she knew enough to know that these monsters would kill her if given a reason. And that fear was enough for her to suffer through. "My name's Abralia." "Abralia, hmm?" His expression seemed skeptical. "You don't sound very sure of that." She shrugged, praying he would simply drop the subject. "Hmm." A slight smile curved onto ebony and gold scales. "How about you tell me the whole story while you lead me to my quarter, hmm?" The smile crooked ever so faintly wider. "I promise, I won't tell a soul." "I... um..." This odd demon laughed, tidy symmetrical fangs flashing in the light. "I jest little one. I will listen if you wish to share, but the decision is yours." An elegant gesture and a half bow. "Now please, lead on." Valen nodded, starting the climb to the second floor in silence. This strange visitor was beyond odd. Turning her head just slightly, she snuck a glance at the black and gold demon. He smirked, noticing her gaze, before returning to observe the decor around them. "Um... Are you friends with Lord Caymrus?" He shook his head. "Oh my, no. Your Lord Caymrus has requested I complete a job for him. I'm just here to settle out the details. I'll be gone before you know it." "Oh..." A feeling akin to disappointment rose in her chest. This guest may be strange, but he seemed nice enough. As though noticing her reaction, he chuckled. "So little red, can you pull any of Lord Caymrus's tricks?" "Wha?" Valen paused, the two of them standing in the middle of the long hallway Kye had once told her were guest quarters. The doors lining both sides of the hall were all closed,  with the notable exception of one near the end of the hall. This door was left open, the flickering glow of candlelight making it clear this was the room which had been prepared for their guest. "Of course not." Another quiet laugh, ruby eyes glinting with amusement. "You should try though. Your auras are similar enough, who knows. Maybe you could even figure out something he's never done." He raised his head, noting the open door. "Ah, thank you. I'll let you be on your way now." Lowering his gaze back to his companion, he grinned. "After all, you've got lots of practice to start on." And with that, he disappeared into the rom, leaving Valen alone in the hall to puzzle over their unusual conversation. The child sighed as she turned to return to her nest. Maybe Kye could tell her what he'd meant. At least this hadn't taken long. She'd have plenty of time to search for the other demoness.

[gigleden]

I Stole The Last Laugh

My king has suggested I should write a story too! So I guess, here I go ^~^

It’s been a very worrying week for everyone in the kingdom of Giglyden. Everyone in the kingdom had started to lock their doors and get more security, and getting a bit secretive and reserved from each other. The reason seemed to be that there was a thief on the loose! There’s been lots of things disappearing from shops and houses; someone’s old Feather Flowers, A tiny statue of the king with a secret compartment, a stuffed Octokit plushie, Thee Futuristic Double Bladed Spears, and a bunch of other important items. Many people had dub this thief “The Joy Thief”, as they seem to swipe away many popular things that had make people happy. The victims of this thief had grown sad to this, mourning over their loss of a precious item. Many had started to lose trust of others. The king was very worried for his kingdom, and had decided that the thief’s punishment must be brutal, if they could find the thief that is. He and his merry workforce had searched everywhere for the thief, and had nearly lost any track of him, until the very faithful day the thief had finally been caught.

It was a pretty chilly morning, fog was dancing across the open fields of the kingdom, gray clouds looming above. The king and his workforce had just woken up, preparing for their next search of this “Joy Thief”. The king, Cam and the maid, Kitty had looked through the security cameras for the hundredth time this week, eyes seeming to be reddish due to the lack of sleep this thief has stolen. The storyteller, Scarlet, was scanning from the castles. She wished she could see better though, using her telescope, but the thief had seemed to have stolen that too. The Judge Fetishfeetlova and Interrogator Lapis had gone outside to look for the thief. The judge explored around the area, scanning to see if she had saw the thief. The interrogator went around the town, asking anyone if they had seen the thief. Sadly, they all had got no results or answers to this problem at all. It was tracking to a dead end.

“Oh yes! I had seen the Joy Thief! Of course he would be walking around town just holding a bag of stolen items- OF COURSE I HAVEN’T SEEN HIM YOU DUMMY! I WOULD HAVE CALLED THE KING!” The man yelled at Lapis, who had shutted her eyes and gritted her teeth. Spit was being sputtered out like a rainfall. The person then just groaned, before slamming the door shut. Lapis could hear distant footsteps as the person seemed to exit to his upstairs room.

"Jeez, I guess they got grumpy too…” She thought. Ever since people’s precious items got stolen, they’ve grown into grumpy meanies overtime. “We need to find that darn thief..and fast…” Lapis groaned. She walked off the porch of the man who she talked to earlier, and went off into the forest to try and find her friend, fetishfeetlova.

The forest was covered in vines and dense trees, making it hard for Lapis to really see where she’s going. She was pretty nervous going in there, as she had once felt vines that were alive had started to tickle her wildly, but that was a whole other story.Suddenly, she got the lead to the thief the team had been looking for. There was a quiet rustle above her, nearly not making sounds loud enough for Lapis to hear. At first, Lapis didn’t really thought much of it until she had saw something fall from the trees. It was definitely not a leaf, as it had fallen way quicker than one. It landed somewhere in the patches of leaves right across from her, leaving a hole in some of the leaves. She went over to investigate, and saw it; the missing statue with the secret compartment! She was very shocked, her pupils turning small with confusion.

“W-What the heck?!” She says out loud to herself. The girl went closer to the leaf patch, grabbing the statue quickly. She was going to put it in her bag, before suddenly, she felt several jabs to the side that caused her to shriek, dropping the statue. Before she had time to really react, she saw a man in a yellow hoodie with a blue lantern hanging from the shoulder of his hoodie. He had spiky silver hair and blue eyes, wearing a t-shirt and shorts. The man was hanging from a tree, legs hooked onto a branch, and reaching out for the statue before stealing it and disappearing to the trees once more.

"HEY! GET BACK HERE!” Lapis yelled, her surprised trance over. She hurried over to the trees, climbing one of them with difficulty. She hasn’t climbed a tree before. The man in the yellow hoodie was jumping from one branch to another before Lapis had crawled over to a nearby branch, and jumped after him. The two chased each other for a while, the man in the hoodie going really fast as he had obviously had experience for this as Lapis was going slowly, nervous to fall. Suddenly, during the chase, the man in the hoodie slipped from running on a slippery tree branch, and falling headfirst downwards. Lapis was terrified to see the man fall from the trees, and tried to reach for him, before the man had been caught by a vine. The vine coiled around him, leaving his feet exposed. The backpack that was on him had been dropped down to the ground.

By the time Lapis caught up to him, she was tired. She panted for a few minutes, until she finally shouted;

“I….CAUGHT….YOU….THIEF!” The accused man groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Yea yea, I’m the thief. SO WHAT!?” The man responded.

“YOU STOLE…ALL….THE PRECIOUS….JOY ITEMS!” Lapis yelled back.

"TO HELL WITH ME! I DON’T GIVE A DANG ABOUT THESE JOY ITEMS!” He shouted.

"THEN WHY WOULD….YOU STEAL THEM!?” Lapis screeched.

"I HAD TO! I JUST HAD TO!” The thief roared.“AND THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT!”

The girl had to just stop right there, for both her voice was getting hoarse and that the boy just gave her an idea. She was surprised that no one has heard them yet. She gave the boy a wicked smile, raising an eyebrow in confidence.“Nothing? Nothing I can…do about it?” Lapis lowers her voice. She played with her bunny hood, twirling it.“YEA! NOTHING!” The thief boomed.Lapis cringed at the loud noise. “Nothing huh?” Lapis responded, lowering herself to the ground.The man nodded, his lantern flickering a silver flame, instead of a blue flame.

"SHUT UP!” The thief growled.

"Yeesh! Quite the tiger, am I right?” She smirks, crawling her fingers close to his exposed feet.

"YA YA, WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO PLAY KI- GEHEHEH! WHAHAT THE HEHEHELL!?” The thief broke into sudden giggles, wiggling his toes in desperation to escape this sudden sensation. Lapis was merely tapping her fingers on the wrinkles of his toes. She was looking up innocently at the sky, trying to not snicker at the “tiger’s” reaction.

"Man, I love all games you know..” Lapis responded, playing along.

"Mario..” she taps her fingers closer to his toes.

"Sonic..” she goes closer to his toes.

"TICKLING GAMES…” suddenly, she starts scribbling her fingers all across his feet, dancing around like a happy birthday party had just happened. The man boomed with laughter, squirming in his vines.

"What’s the matter tiger? A little tickle tickle shouldn’t be affecting a big guy like you!” Lapis cooed. She started scratching at the balls of his feet, making him go ballistic. His mouth was outstretched in a big smile, eyes shutted tight with tears forming in his eyes.

"How adorable, this big, giant little thief is just a cute ticklish boy! Coochie coochie coo, little thief~!” She teased.The man had suddenly grew a bit red, groaning at the fact that actually made him blush.

"YOHOHOHOHOU CRAHAHAHAP FAHAHAHACE! IHIM GOHOHOHOING TOHOHOHO DEHEHESTROHOHOY YOHOHOU!” The man guffawed.“If you mean destroy me with your adorable laughter, that’s a yes~!” Lapis responded, having fun playing with his feet.She slowly moved her free hand over to his toes, wiggling at each individual toe. The other hand was skittering all over the other foot.

"This cutie doesn’t seem to be a thief! But I’m suspecting these wittle toes here..is it…YOU!?” She attacks the big toe, scratching under it and just tickling it in general.The man seemed to scream with laughter, trying to say stop it but stuttering in his adorable giggles.

"YOHOHOHOU FUHUHUDGING SHUHUHUHUT UHUP!” He curls his big toe instinctively, as Lapis sighs playfully.

"Nope! this guy is ticklish too! On to the next one!” This system goes on for hours, feeling like an eternity for the poor victim, until the Judge had finally heard the loud commotion coming from a part of the forest. The judge rushes off to go and get the king, as all of them finally come over to a panting thief coiled up in vines and a smirking Lapis sitting on the tree branch. She climbs down, before walking over to the panting victim.

"Guess I got the last steal.” Lapis whispered to the man, before she walked off to let the guards take him off.

[inadarkdarkroom]

I Told You So

In the late ‘80’s I moved to a small town called Mercer Island just outside of Seattle to live with my aunt and her three daughters. I had just gotten out of one of those “troubled kids” institutions that I still blithely refer to as a reform school, and needed to enough credits to graduate.

I was totally cool with it. My aunt is a lovely woman and I did not want to go back to England where my dysfunctional immediate family lived. Fuck Margaret Thatcher, you feel me? I’d gotten used to living in the states after spending my entire life as an ex-pat.

When I first moved in with my aunt she’d been living in Winthrop, Washington, a small town in a county the size of Rhode Island but with only one stop light. But my aunt was getting her degree at the University of Washington, and Mercer Island has one of the best high schools in the state and she wanted to make sure her kids had a better chance of getting into the colleges of their choice, so we moved there soon after I moved in with her.

Mercer Island was, and is to this day, a very insular, wealthy, and tony community. And the people who lived there(not all of them, but most), were very pleased with themselves that they lived in a little John Hughes movie-type neighborhood. Which meant that there was fuck all for the local kids to do.

There had been bowling alleys and video arcades and an all-ages venue, but the parents had complained that these places were not in the Mercer Island spirit of making sure their kids were staying at home and hitting the books and making them proud. So pressure was placed, letters were written, complaints were filed, and one by one all these places went out of business. Then the parents would loudly bitch and moan and wonder why all their kids were dying in drunk driving accidents on the floating bridge coming back from keg parties held in Seattle eight miles away. It’s amazing how adults’ cogent thoughts and logic reasoning tend to disappear once they can afford a BMW...

What this meant was that there were two places for teenagers to congregate on Mercer Island. One was the parking lot at McDonalds, and the other was the local Denny’s. Years later, after I’d moved to Seattle, the local Parental Fun Police decided to take on this particular den of iniquity as well, with the end result that Mercer Island wound up as being one of only two places in the US where the Denny’s wasn’t open 24 hours, closing at 11 on weekdays and midnight on weekends.

So I’m now a senior at a real American high school after spending my entire life overseas. Sure, it’s in the middle of a overprivileged white ghetto, but the school is top notch and I’m making friends. And my friends and I would go and hang out at the local Denny’s, drink endless amounts of cheap coffee and smoke Camels and bullshit.

So one night my friends and I go down to Denny’s and I wind up meeting George Russell, who is hanging out there as well, and we sit at his table with him.

George Russell is charming. George Russell is loquacious. George Russell is well read. George Russell makes eye contact when talking to you, his handshake is firm. George Russell is also one of the very few black people who live on the Island, and all my friends who are quite sheltered are glad to have their One Black Friend to prove they aren’t that quite sheltered.

I could care less about his ethnicity or my friends’ attempts to gain street cred. I’d just spent eighteen months in a reform school after being kicked out of a British military academy I hadn’t wanted to go to in the first place, I have nothing to prove.

And like I said, George Russell is quite a fellow. That night we talk about comic books, and the publishing houses of Dark Horse and Fantagraphics, literature, movies, politics, foreign policy. George Russell’s a smart chap, and quietly self-effacing. Purposefully harmless.

But George Russell is also in his thirties, and while I understand the allure of associating with an older individual, especially if that older individual can buy your underage ass beer, that older individual is still hanging out with your underage ass.

And George Russell also has a police scanner on the table in front of him. Every now and then he would cock his head to the side to hear what was coming over the airwaves, pausing the conversation to hit the squelch button and fine-tune the frequency. Later that night, two cops wandered into the joint for some comped coffee and they give George Russell The Nod. George Russell gives The Nod right back. I ask him about it. Quite pleased with himself, he informs me that he does “some side work” for the local PD. My friends assure me that George Russell is cool. Don’t worry, he’s not a narc. He just helps them around the office. Also, he gets all the chicks. George Russell is the man.

But this sets my spidey sense tingling. I’m only eighteen, but I’ve already been around the block a few times in quite a few different neighborhoods in several different countries. And I’ve just gotten out of a reform institution. I can judge body language and vocal inflection and eye movement, and there’s something about George Russell that doesn’t add up. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s so self-effacing and purposefully harmless. Maybe it’s the fact that he screams Cop Groupie. And trust me, people who are Cop Groupies should set your antenna twitching. But no matter. As a minor acquaintance, he’s a good conversationalist.

So George Russell would buy my friends beer, hook them up with whatever shitty brick weed they were desperate enough to smoke, sometimes hang out with us at parties. We would chat a little bit, the two of us. But in the back of my mind I thought him an unctuous creep with a bad case of the smarm so we didn’t associate.

After I graduated I would still spend time on the Island, and I would run into George Russell here and there. By this point I was using my Swiss passport as a “fake ID” and my gift of the gab to get it past the liquor store clerks’ limited understanding of French and German so George knew he couldn’t sidle up to me and be all like “Hey bro, you need a half rack of Rainier? I can totally get it for you.” So we’d just give each other The Nod, and that was it.

One night I was hanging out at the Bellevue bus station waiting for the #220 to arrive. I looked over to the side and saw this girl nearby. Poor thing. She was probably barely seventeen and covered in makeup and her slumped posture and guarded body language just screamed “Get me out of here. Please. Take me away from this godforsaken dump and knock me up with two brats to beat in the double-wide while you’re working triple shifts at the brewery to pay off your Camaro lease, I don’t care. Just get me out of here.” My heart went out to the poor girl. Even though I was barely out of my teens myself I remembered how awful they could be.

Just then a voice said “Hey Dude. What’s up?”

I look over and there’s George, all smiling and harmless. He bums a smoke from me and we take in the night. He notices my pitying look at the sad case off to the side and apropos of nothing busts out with “Yeah, I noticed her too. Wanted to go over and say something and cheer her up, you know? But you know how it is. A black man in a town like this talking to a white girl? I’ve got to watch myself..”

The bus arrives. We stub out our Camels and get on board, he in the front with a magazine, me in the back with my Walkman and my thoughts. And my thoughts were this: What the fuck?

First of all, while Bellevue was another well-to-do white neighborhood on the East side, it sure as shit wasn’t Alabama. And yes, by this point I’d been living in the States for a few years and had realized that outside some cities it was kind of a racist shithole populated with really spiteful ignorant cunts who didn’t know jack and hated anyone that did. But it didn’t mean that if you needed to pull that Ralph Ellison Invisible Man shit, that Bellevue was the place to do it.

Second, every single other brother I knew would not for a moment have said something like that, much less to a white boy like me. Public Enemy was king, Malcolm X was years away from hitting the movie theaters but Africa medallions were omnipresent, NWA was pissing off both the cops and Tipper Gore in equal measure, no way somebody with any kind of self respect would up and announce that statement. Unless it was something they thought it was what you wanted to hear.

I remember looking at George Russell in the front of the bus and thinking to myself that yes, he was an unctuous creep with a bad case of the smarm. But there was something else. Something I didn’t like. I scanned my thoughts for racist overtones, but honestly could not find any.

Look, I understand if you’re a diplomat or a spook(Note to readers: Spook as in the pejorative of a member of the Clandestine Services, not that other pejorative. Please take a short fall off your high horse) or a diplomat who’s a spook or you’re an undercover cop and you want to blend into the background and not attract attention. I get it. But if you’re a normal citizen, a citizen, and you’re going out of your way to be unseen? There’s something going on.

And there was something going on with George Russell. And it made me suspicious that he told me what he thought I wanted to hear. Moral of the story here, if you’ve got spidey sense, listen to it when it tingles. It’s there for a reason.

A few months later one of my friends had a party at his apartment. He was one of the few of us who had one and because it was on the quiet white East side instead of Heavily Armed Hobo Junkie Alley where my warehouse was in Pioneer Square, all my friends would go there instead.

George Russell was there, doing hot knife hits off the stove and flashing that famous smile of his. Making small talk and minor physical contact, little pats on the back or touching your forearm when talking to you, like a waiter angling for a bigger tip or Bill Clinton hitting you up for a campaign contribution.

I remembered that night at the bus station and kept my distance. Just gave him The Nod, got it back in return. So far, so good.

George Russell soon left to go on a date, leaving behind the better part of a case of Henry Weinhardt’s for my friends to toast his early absence with. That was the last time I ever saw him. I don’t think I even touched a drop of his beer bribe, I just concentrated on the Afghani Blonde I had smuggled back from overseas the year before, so cut with henna it was like smoking designer shampoo.

Once again I voiced my personal opinion of his character to my friends, but they were white kids barely out of high school and so stoked to have a homeboy to high-five with, that they assured me I was just paranoid and definitely not as def and down with it as they were. My manners dictate that I don’t mention that they live in a fucking Disneyfied suburb where the most dangerous thing they have to deal with is drunken frat boys at TGIFriday’s.

The next morning a man walking his dog spotted what looked like a body by a dumpster near a nightclub noted for it’s blond and brainless clientele. The local homicide arrive in their unmarkeds and discover a twenty three year old female vic, naked and strangled and raped and most unsettling of all, posed. Laid out on the sidewalk like Jeebus on the cross, legs folded over each other, arms akimbo and outstretched with a pine cone carefully placed in each open palm. She’d been kicked so hard her liver had split open against her spinal column.

This is one was not a crime of passion. This one had had time spent on her. This one had been used like an object to send a message. This is not good.

Even though it’s a singular instance in a small town with a small police force, to give them credit they wise up quick. They swallow their pride and send an assistance request to Behavioral Science at Quantico.

But the Feds have a backlog a mile long and two miles wide. Everyone knows Washington State has the highest number of serial murderers in the nation, but the hard-ons in wingtips have been burned before out here. They’re still smarting from the fact that the Green River Killer has evaded capture for decades, burned up countless man-hours with nothing to show but the occasional awkward press conference. We’ll look into it. We promise.

About a month later a man broke into a woman’s apartment that she shared with her two young children. He raped and beat and strangled her to death, then placed her corpse on the bed posed so that when her kids came into the room the next morning to find out why she hadn’t made them breakfast before taking them to kindergarten, that the first thing they saw was the shotgun he’d inserted into her vagina and left there.

The suspect was a secretor, and the semen samples matched those of the woman found in the parking lot the month previously. The press dubbed him The East side Killer, and noted the two victims were habitues of local nightclubs where popped-collared douche bags flashed cell phones the size of bricks to impress the type of women easily impressed by a fucking cell phone.

Less than two weeks later, The East side Killer struck again. This one also was caught napping. Beaten with a baseball bat so badly her brains splattered all over the bedstead, he had then taken a knife and stabbed her almost three hundred times from her head to the soles of her feet, left her corpse with a dildo in the mouth and a copy of The Joy Of Sex tucked under what was left of her right arm.

By this point the Boys From Virginia With No Sense Of Humor had come on the case post haste. They sent out John Douglas, whose character Scott Glenn in The Silence Of The Lambs was based on. Overworked and seriously underpaid, he wound up with brain fever caused by exhaustion and almost died in a cheap hotel room in Seattle. But he recovered and continued to work the case. Posited that all three murders were the work of one man. Definitely a Cop Groupie. Maybe an African American, skilled at blending in white society, maybe brought up in white society.

This was big news. Serial killers go on the hunt inside their own ethnic backgrounds, at least, that was the given up until this happened. Douglas discussed how white American mono-culture had become so entrenched in media that it had become easy to imitate for outsiders. He was proven right when forensics found the pubic hairs found on all three vics were African American.

Meanwhile, good old George Russell was still being good old George Russell. Cheerful and good-natured and pleasant. But chinks were appearing in the armor. Ex-girlfriends now found him hostile towards them, whereas before he had always been Mr. Smooth. Whereas before he had always been modest, now he was cocky and arrogant.

One of the reasons George Russell had been doing “some side work” for the PD on Mercer Island was because he had been arrested a lot as a kid for petty crimes, and the local police had taken him under their wing to try and straighten him out, give him errands to run and a vision of a possible future that didn’t involve a vision from behind bars.

But it hadn’t taken hold, and they knew it. When the word was being spread around cop shops from Bothell to Bellingham that the suspect was an African American perhaps brought up in white society, they just knew. After all, Mercer Island was pretty much white society.

When they arrested him they found personal belongings of all three victims on his person. And although DNA testing was still considered science fiction, and expensive science fiction at that, they put up the scratch to have it done and it came back positive. He smiled and joked with them as they put on the cuffs. This is all a big misunderstanding fellas. Don’t worry, we’ll all have a good laugh about this later at Denny’s. Ha ha, you guys....

Good old spidey sense. It saved me from being subpoenaed. Because we didn’t associate I never had to stand up on the witness stand and point him out to twelve tried and true. A neighbor of mine with whom he’d had a relationship later told me he once confided to her that I scared the shit out of him. He was probably lying. If he wasn’t then it was probably one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about me. Friends, acquaintances, they weren’t so lucky. Summons servers slapped paper on them and they had to go to King County courthouse and see the glossy technicolor close-ups placed on an easel for evidence, Kodachrome enlargements showing battered bags of meat that had once been mothers and daughters. Human beings turned into bloody mush out of rage and anger and hatred hidden behind a smile they’d all fallen for.

And there, in front of them in a snazzy sport coat and tie, seated grinning by his grimly aware public defender, was George Russell. Giving them little waves of encouragement. Hey fellas. Sheesh, can you believe this? What a world, eh?

In Washington State they still hang you, you can decide between the noose or the needle if you get the death penalty. Fucking barbaric either way, I suppose. George lucked out with three consecutive life sentences. No possibility of parole.

Walla Walla isn’t the worst place to do time, but prison is prison and inside your word is bond. Some chancer who fancies himself a smooth mover with a fancy line of patter isn’t going to get much credibility no matter how brutal the crime. Last I heard he’d been attacked while in the yard, had his throat sliced ear to ear with a piece of broken light bulb. Whatever genius for a day trying to make his rep wound up missing both carotids, so George survived. Probably still trying to weasel his way into the upper incareration echelon. Hey Dude, remember when you tried to kill me? Ha ha, good times, Bro. Good times..

My friends were astounded and creeped beyond belief. None of them had known any of the victims, but George Russell had been their buddy, man, their bro, and their bro had turned out to be a fucking great white shark in their very small pond. They were lucky they were minnows, they just didn’t realize it. I’m not a cynic, I’m a realist. Very few cynics get to say I told you so as often as I do, but in this case I kept my mouth shut and didn’t remind them of the times I had warned them about him.

At this point I’m working two jobs while taking night courses at the UW in filmmaking. Evenings I’m bouncing at the Moore Theater to feed my concert habit, but by day I’m back at Mercer Island working at a video store, pretty much getting paid to get a filmmaking education of another sort. And the housewives would come in and chatter about the local boy turned serial killer, getting a slight frisson as they discussed the case over little cups of overpriced frozen yogurt.

I’ll never forget a comment made by one of these people that sort of made me see it from George Russell’s perspective, which was really creepy in and of itself. These two women were talking, and one of them said: “Well, you know he was never reallyfrom Mercer Island. He just moved here as a child.”

I almost wanted to scream at them what fucking idiots they were. They were so soft and suburbanized and stuck up that one of their own had started hunting them for sport and taking their lives as trophies but hey, at least he wasn’t really from the neighborhood. Their property values weren’t compromised. Hooray for them.

If you don’t believe me google George Waterfield Russell(Because remember all serial killers have three names, natch), but be prepared to see blurry cop polaroids of a dead and naked woman with a shotgun inside her.

But the point of this story is, is that Bundy was arrested in Florida, Bianchi was tried in California, at the time this all went down Green River was still considered a bad place to turn tricks, this means that I used to hang out and get high with the first convicted serial killer in Washington State.

And he was a total creep.

[what-is-sibling-test]

from 'RittenhouseTL' for all things Timeless http://bit.ly/2U2gnvY via Istudy world

Parallel Lines - Chapter 6

Summary:

Amy Preston’s sister went missing in 2016. Two years later, down on her luck and having a miserable day, she meets a handsome stranger who proves to be a lifesaver in more ways than one, who tells her an impossible story - and offers her a choice that changes her whole life.

Jiya Marri has never fully understood her visions, and when given the chance to save the life of the man she loves, she failed. So when visitors from another timeline show up, battered journal in hand, and tell her there’s a way she (and only she) can still save Rufus…well, what has she got to lose?

Lucy Preston has lost everything. When she’s finally given back one of the most important things in her life, she’s determined to keep that safe. But this new journal is recounting events that never happened, things not yet come to pass, and as keepers of the journal, she and Flynn know something is very, very wrong…they just aren’t sure what.

A story of past, present, and future intertwined, of infinite universes, of choices to go left instead of right - and all the consequences that go along with that choice.

Fandom: Timeless

Pairing(s):  Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston, Rufus Carlin/Jiya Marri, Wyatt Logan/Jessica Logan

Read from the start here

_____________________________________________

True to his word, they ride until nightfall, at which point Joaquin calls for them to make camp.  They can see distant flickering lights a few miles in the distance, no doubt the campfires of those already at the mill.  It’s still not very many, not as many as Lucy knows come later, which bodes well for Joaquin, something he’s apparently well aware of as his mood improves considerably after he’s seen it.  His men cook up the pheasants they’d managed to hunt down earlier in the day, and Joaquin offers some to their group as well. It isn’t much, but not having planned for an overnight trip, they’re all grateful for any sort of food they can get their hands on.

Flynn lights a fire a short distance from Joaquin’s camp before he tasks himself with watering each of the horses, and the rest of them stretch out on their saddle blankets, the saddles themselves doing double duty as the world’s shittiest pillows. Each of them is silent and staring into the flames, with the exception of Jiya, who is sitting cross-legged with the journal in her lap, reading by the light of the fire.

“Find anything?” Lucy asks her softly, her eyes starting to grow heavy. Jiya shakes her head without looking up from the book.  When it becomes clear Lucy won’t get any more response than that, she rolls over to face Amy instead. Her sister is sitting upright, wincing as she massages her sore legs.

“I don’t know how people do this,” she mutters, hissing in pain as she massages a particularly tender spot.

“Do what?”

“Ride horses for hours on end.  My legs went numb two hours in.”  Amy looks her over. “How are you not in pain?”

Lucy smiles.  “I’m used to it by now.  Of course, the first time I got on a horse I fell off the other side.”

Amy bursts out laughing.  “Now that definitely sounds like the Lucy I remember.”

“I’m not that bad,” Lucy scoffs, giving her arm a playful shove.

Amy grins.  “You’re a walking disaster.”  She settles back against her saddle finally and rolls on her side toward Lucy.  “But that always was one of my favorite things about you. I missed it.”

Lucy is quiet as she once more scans her sister’s face, her eyes tracing the lines of freckles dotted along Amy’s forehead, the sandy brown hair that is an utter mess and hanging haphazardly around her face, and the dimples that appear as Amy gives her that familiar toothy grin. “What?”

I never thought I’d see you again.  I’d just started to mourn you. I’d forgotten how your voice sounded.  How could she even begin to tell her how hard it had been?  “I’m just…” She reaches out to take her sister’s hand and squeezes it tightly.  “I’m really glad I have you back.”

“Same,” Amy replies, squeezing Lucy’s hand in return.  “It’s been a lonely few years.”

“Speaking of which, you’ve heard my ‘story so far’, but I haven’t heard yours.  What happened after I left?”

Something passes over Amy’s face, something that Lucy doesn’t know how to read.  “A lot, actually. It was a rough six months trying to take care of mom and track you down at the same time.”

“Six months?”  Lucy knows the answer, but she asks the question anyway.  “Is that when she…?”

“Yeah.”  Amy takes a shaky breath.  “Yeah, she…after your birthday came and went without any news of where you were, she just seemed to…shrink.  She was a ghost of herself. You wouldn’t even have recognized her toward the end. She was so light I could carry her.”

Lucy can feel the tears burning behind her eyes and blinks them away.  “Was it peaceful?” she asks quietly as unbidden images flood her mind of her mother’s desperate face as she bled out on the floor next to Nicholas’s immobile form, as she gripped Lucy’s hand tightly while her own hands shook, as she choked back the blood flooding her throat-

“Yeah.  Yeah, it was,” Amy says, her voice quavering.  “She asked me to crawl onto the bed next to her.  She held me, ran her fingers through my hair and hummed that song from when I was little, the record she’d play that always helped me sleep.”  Amy quickly wipes tears away with her sleeve. “I fell asleep listening to her hum while she rocked me. When I woke up, she was gone.”

“It sounds exactly like what she’d have wanted,” Lucy says softly, her voice strained.  “She always said we were her whole world.”

And she lied.  She lied and she lied, over and over again.

After a beat of silence, Amy sits up again and looks over at her.  “Luce, there’s one thing you never talked about when you explained everything that’s happened to you, and it’s been bugging me.”

Lucy sits up as well.  “What is it?”

“You said that every new ‘timeline’ has a version of whoever stays behind when something changes in the past. But in this timeline that you’ve been living in, I’m not here.  Why?”

Oh god, where did she even begin?  Thankfully, Lucy is saved at the last second by Flynn returning to their camp from wherever he’d been hiding.  He steps between them to reach his own blanket, opposite Lucy with the fire between them, and seats himself with a quiet groan.

“Doing okay, old man?” Lucy asks him, her lips curling in a half smile.

He snorts softly as he takes off his hat and sets it to the side, then rubs both palms over his tired face.  “I’m just exhausted. It’s been a long 24 hours.” He turns his attention to Jiya. “Come across anything interesting?”

It takes Jiya a moment to realize he speaking to her and she looks up from the journal finally.  “Oh, uh…sort of. Lucy never wrote anything explicitly about my visions, or at least I haven’t found it yet, so all I have to go on are little snippets, offhanded comments, allusions to them.  Mostly theoretical conversations that they had.”

“They being…?”

“Their Lucy and Jiya.”

“What sorts of theories?”

“Ideas for how to get Rufus back.  None of them seemed to pan out. The most promising was the autopilot system that apparently I designed, but according to the journal I had only just finished it before I lapsed into a coma-”  They can just barely hear the unsteady breath she takes between words. “-and that’s where the entries end. It must be when they decided to bring the book to us instead.” She closes the book and sets it on the ground next to her.  “There has to be a reason she gave the journal to me and not to you or Flynn. I feel like she was trying to tell me something, I just have no idea what it is.”

“I have one suggestion,” Flynn says quietly, not looking up from the fire as they all turn to him.  “The linchpin in everything that happened was one individual. It all traces back to her.”

It takes Lucy a second.  “What, you mean Jessica?”

Flynn nods.  “It stands to reason that if she was removed from the equation, nothing that came after her reappearance would have happened.

“You’re not suggesting what I think you are, are you?” Jiya asks, eyebrow raised.

Flynn shrugs. “It’s just one possible solution.  Take her out of the timeline and it would solve a lot of problems.”

Lucy shakes her head.  “She’s pregnant. We can’t.”

“Now, maybe.  But the night she died, back in 2012, she wasn’t.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence as they all digest his words.  Lucy can see his face through the fire, grim and exhausted. Though he’s offering the solution, he clearly has no desire to see it through.  But she knows he would do it if it was asked of him. And she has no intention of asking.

“I mean, it is a reasonable idea,” Jiya says, shrugging.  “Take her out in 2012 and it would change everything that came after.”

“And erase Wyatt’s child in the process.”  Lucy shakes her head again. “It’s an easy way out at the expense of other people, and tantamount to murder.  We’re no better than Rittenhouse if we do that.”

“Lucy,” Flynn asks softly, “has it occurred to you that Jessica may have been lying about the baby?”

She sighs. “Of course it’s occurred to me.  Despite what people may think, I’m not naive.  But is that a gamble you’re willing to take? Maybe she isn’t pregnant, but if she is…that’s the last piece of Wyatt we have left, that we’ll just be…erasing.  And if we took her away, again, after he went through so much pain in getting her back, he’d never forgive us. I won’t spit on his grave like that.”

They fall silent once more.  Lucy stares into the fire, the sound of crackling wood soothing her, until she notices her sister snoring softly next to her, and she finally lies down as well.  “We should all get some sleep. We have no idea what we’ll find at the mill come morning.” She rests her hat over her face to block out the light, and before long falls into an uneasy sleep.

A few hours later she snaps abruptly awake, hearing the sound of snapping twigs somewhere nearby.  She pulls the hat off her face and sits up quickly. The fire has long since burned down to embers, and both Amy and Jiya are still curled up on their sides, looking equally as uncomfortable as they attempt to sleep on the cold, hard ground.

Read more at AO3

[babblingbr00k]

All The Way House

All of us girls climbed back into that van with the highest of sugar highs. The giggling and babbling only intensified. I was happy. I knew that this is where God wanted me. I was in the right spot.

Stacey told me that we were almost there. She also told me that she and I had to make a quick stop at the main office. She didn’t tell me why.

“It won’t take long. After, I’ll take you to the girls house where you can get settled and meet the remaining 5 girls.

Amy must have sensed my apprehensiveness because she looked back and grabbed my hand.

“Everything is going to be fine. All the girls are excited to meet you, and I will be right there with you.” She assured me.

The van gently pulled into the near empty parking lot and slowly drove parallel to the shops. I took note of each store front as we passed. Most were empty. Inside the only functioning store front, work out equipment could be seen. I quickly came to the conclusion that it was being used as a workout gym.

“I wonder if we would be allowed to use it?” I quietly asked myself.

I knew that we were getting close to our destination. I could see a crowd of people, no more than 20, standing on the sidewalk 20 feet or so ahead of us. All of them were talking amongst themselves. I didn’t have to eavesdrop to know that the conversations were on the happy and lighthearted side. I smiled as I saw a gentleman grab his stomach, throw his head back, and bellowed with laughter.

Just a few more feet now. I didn't know what to expect. I had never been in a place like this before. I struggled to remember what my cousin, Karen, had told me about her experience in rehab, but my racing thoughts made it almost impossible to complete even a single thought.

“Are they going to make me eat a live chicken on the first day?” I asked myself. “I wasn’t even hungry.” I felt the bile rise up in my throat with that thought.

My anxiety was reaching catastrophic levels. Time to bail? My brain was on high speed as I tried to think of some alternatives that were more desirable. I was unable to come up with any.

That's when that little annoying voice came back.

"You can still leave ya know? What's so wrong with living high in the first place? Some arbitrary law that says that we can't live a certain way? This is America after all. Just because others are irresponsible and accidentally kill themselves, doesn’t mean you will too. You’re an EMT. You can handle yourself when it comes to this. These rules don't apply to you."

I shook my head in an attempt to get rid of the voice. Stacey saw me and kept and everwatchful eye on me as we came to a complete stop in front of the main house of All The Way House. I remember thinking...All the way where?

I looked through the lobby’s glass and could tell that it was very nicely set up. I continued my reconnaissance and saw that, following a few more empty storefronts, sat the church, Miracle Place Church.

My attention was brought back inside the van when I overheard Kim say to Stacey, "Look, all the guys lined up to see the new chicken."

Wait...What...Chicken!! You mean there are guys lined up in the lobby, waiting to see the new MEAT? Meaning ME!

For the first time I was actually contemplating the, “Jump Out and Run,” escape. I was literally a hot mess and in no condition to meet anyone of the opposite sex.

My escape plan was interrupted when I heard Stacey call my name.

“Brook, get your bags and follow me. We are here.” It wasn’t a request. It was a command.

Amy must have seen the fear in my face because she turned to me and grabbed my hand. "Go ahead.” She said. “ We will see you at the house in a little bit and get you settled. Then you get to meet the rest of the girls." I could see the excitement in her eyes.

As I was commanded, I grabbed my stuff and climbed out of the van into the hot, humid air. Earlier that morning I had lost my rubber band, so my hair hung in a frizzy mess. On the 3rd or 4th day in detox, I noticed that my hair began falling out in clumps. “Stress,” the Doctor said.

My scrub bottoms were too small and would not come up past my hips. I had to hold onto the waistband to keep them from falling off when I walked. Luckily my XXXL shirt was big enough to hide everything, including the fact that my pants were in danger of falling off.

We walked up to the entrance and Stacey opened the doors as a blast of cool air hit me. I closed my eyes and stood there for a second, allowing the sweat that had accumulated on my body to dry. I opened my eyes and scanned the small lobby. It was nicely set up and smelled almost like a Doctor’s Office. There was a large couch, loveseat, and a single seat. In the middle was a glass coffee table with various Christian Magazines.

The lobby was full of men. If there was a structure strong enough to support the weight of a full grown man, then the rump of said grown man was on top of it.

This was so embarrassing. To be paraded in front of all these men. Could I not salvage the very little bit of dignity I had left? Was it really necessary to let everyone get a glimpse of the mess that used to be “Brook?”

I dug deep and searched out the little pride I had left. I refused to hang my head in shame. I ignored the boys and their stares and continued to follow Stacey. I came to a stop and stood behind her as she struggled with the door knob. I took a moment to scan the lobby for clues. In the middle of the room, on the far wall was a set of double doors. I looked to the right of the doors and my gaze stopped at a small plaque that read, “Man Cave.” Putting 2 and 2 together, I came to the conclusion that, behind those double doors, housed the men’s dormitory.

I was just beginning to wonder how many of the male species resided in said dorm when Stacey announced that she finally got the door unlocked, and commanded me to follow her. I quickly followed, wishing nothing more than to be away from the prying eyes of the inhabitants of the lobby.

Stacey brought me into this little office room and directed me to sit down. Almost immediately a little girl came skipping up to me. She couldn't have been more than 7 or 8. I could tell immediately that this had to be Stacey’s daughter. She had her mother’s big brown eyes.

Penny smiled at me and handed me a drawing that she drew just for me. Stacey told me, "Penny has been waiting on you. She loves meeting new girls that come in." I smiled and did my best at being a good conversationalist, but I just wasn't feeling right. Stacey sensed this and asked Penny to go wait in the other room with Matt. I don't remember what we did but it wasn't long till we were making that walk back through the lobby and back into the van. By this time Amy and Kim were gone. I was glad to be away from all the guys and looking forward to seeing what would be my home for the next 9 months.

We drove to the further side of the shopping center to this little pink house. Actually, I could tell that it had been a Pizza Hut at one time. Apparently they had bought, gutted and remodeled it and turned it into the girls house/pantry/kitchen.

We walked into the back door where I came face to face with my first sister, Christy. She was an itty bitty thing. She was sitting on stool, leaned over 2 massive baking trays filled with chicken quarters.

OH! Chicken!!

"Not everything has to be about you Brook," I said to myself. I was, then, told that Monday thru Saturday, all meals are planned and prepared by the cook. On Sunday, it was the girls responsibility to make sure everyone is fed.

The kitchen was separated from the rest of the house by a door. As I walked through the door, I walked into one, huge, single room. This room served as our living room, dining room, bedroom and pantry. I could see all the carbohydrates....I mean food, behind a half wall just beside the living room. To put it mildly, there was enough food there for all 8 girls to eat everyday, every meal, for the next 2 years. And more came in weekly, I was told.

Stacey, once again, grabbed my bags and announced me to the girls in the house. All the girls came speed walking up to me to meet me. They seemed genuinely happy to meet their new sister from another mister. I was introduced to each one individually and was told to pick a bed. I looked up to see 9 twin size beds line the walls. I couldn't decide. I was in no condition to make any kind of decision at this point.

Another girl, Emma, took me by the hand and led me to the bed next to hers. She had long black hair and the biggest boobs I have ever seen on a white woman. She sat me down and plopped down on the bed next to me. For some reason it felt as if I already knew Emma. She looked familiar but there was no way I knew her. She's just one of those people you don't forget. Full of life. She could tell I was feeling no joy.

She grabbed this spider looking thing and started massaging my scalp. It felt good but I was worried that she was ripping hair out of my already thinning scalp.

I met Kennedy, young girl, only 21 years old. I could tell immediately that she would be considered the "class clown." She had the most amazing laugh and was hilarious.

Shanna was this short, little woman. Older than me. Another sweet little lady, but I noticed she kept to herself a lot. Each of these girls, along with the ones I had already met, were in the program. Debbie, I met along with her 2-year-old, cute as a button, son, Jacob. She was not in the program. She just lived there while she worked in the media department for the church. She was a big ol girl from Maryland. I don't remember her story as to how she ended up all the way down in Baker, Louisiana.

These were the ladies that made up the girls house when I entered All The Way House. Land of misfit toys. Where they take in the ones that no one wanted. The place that turns no one away. The place that God told me to go......so I went...

[evereds-blog]

DEAN EVERETT. outdoor poolside, 9 pm.

something is off. 

it isn’t pertinent enough that it changes his course of actions but just so the fact of it lingers in the forefront of his mind, dangling from the side... in other words, just enough to ruin a perfectly good moment between man, nature, and his tobacco habit.

dean’s brow furrows and his eyes narrow at the night sky as he props his elbows behind him on the fence to support his weight, lips curled around his lit cigarette and he thinks: could he just have forgotten to do something? you know, the usual trope: left the oven on, didn’t lock his door behind him, or maybe he left his keys somewhere? that’s what seems most likely and reason suggests that he ought to just forget about it, he’ll be done in a few minutes time anyways. even if there was a fire, he lives in a house of superheroes, does he not? they’ll, like, take care of it. he’s sure. probably. the thought prompts a light chuckle out of him and with that rises the smoke that leaves him and he watches it go. his eyes glaze over, prompt his eyelids half shut, and the corners of his mouth rise into his signature grin.

he lets his eyes shut all the way and simultaneously exhales the weight of the day from the bottom of his chest and he relaxes, wholly, for the first time since sun up. such a moment is rare for someone like him, you know, but he won’t mention it to anyone: it’s not like everyone around here isn’t in the same situation. 

he doesn’t know where he goes when his eyes close and he doesn’t care. all he can think about is the breeze of early summer whistling against his cheek and as the moon rises and the distant murmur of the constant commotion inside the building -- the sound of home. even when it comes time to ash his cigarette, he simply lets it fall to the ground without opening his eyes and smothers it with his foot. when he does open his eyes, it’s only because he’s expelling the last of the smoke of the cigarette and he always watches it go up. always. once the smoke clears dean is left with the sight of an unusual amount of the stars for being so close to new york city and the view calms a part of him he didn’t know could be so soothed. if he could stay here the whole night, he would, he thinks. 

FINN CARSON. security lab, 9.15 PM. 

overwhelmed and left winded from the happenings of the last twenty four-some hours, finn stumbles and he lands into his seat ( he thanks every higher power that could possibly exist that the chair was exactly where it was and that his legs gave out exactly where they did ) with absolutely no intention to do anything than his job: watch, maintain. weapon refining could wait for the morning, and so could his dozens of side projects -- for someone who didn’t sleep very much, he can’t believe he’s never felt as tired as he does in this moment. honestly, he has to have passed this point before? then again, all nighters surrounded by his army of machines within the comfort of his lab was a whole other type of tired than negotiating, off base, with the actual leaders of everett. the ones who never showed their damn faces and shoved all the actual work off on him -- those ones. this type of tired is from the bottom of the very soul. 

as if on exact cue with his muscles relaxing into his chair -- and not a second more to spare, mind you -- the absolute worst case scenario happens, and the aforementioned soul of his leaves his body in time with his heart dropping to his stomach. 

all systems down. 

his seeing eye ( as he likes to call it -- robot eye just seems a little... tacky? ) whirs and it adjusts to night vision as darkness falls around him and the recruit sitting next to him, but finn takes an entire five seconds to process the fact that his system has been shut off. more than that, it’s not coming back on. none of the back ups are. mind you, this didn’t just mean power: if all of the backups were down, then there was a high chance that the rest of the security was down, too... and that was impossible. he can’t wrap his head around it. his system is more than just advanced, it’s magically protected -- there was no way to stop it unless he willed it, and he sure as hell didn’t, so that leaves the question of who. a question that strikes fear, the rawest and realest he’s ever felt it, into the pit of his stomach and all throughout him. 

it takes everything in his power to lift his wrist with the communications ‘watch’ to his mouth and attempt to contact violet, elliot, remy, anyone else but every channel he tries to tune into is static, static, static. with no ability to reach anyone and hand out instructions, finn’s left with only one choice. 

ten seconds after the lights go down and not a moment more, the panic aching through every inch of his body fuels him into action and he looks towards his recruit, dusty rhodes. the younger seems unfazed judging by his facial expression alone but finn notices the anxious tap of his foot and he remembers -- hadn’t he been struggling to paint a vision of his earlier? could this be related? unfortunately, he has no time to deliberate and instead barks an order out, filling the shoes of leader for possibly the first time in the two years since stepping into them.

 “ listen to me, dustin. you gather every last member of our team and you bring them to the panic room, and you will not leave until instructed. when you find elliot and violet, tell them to do a perimeter immediately and keep doing that. there’s no other explanation -- we’re under attack. when you find remy, alert him that we’re in defense. send your captains, emerson and aurora, here for direct orders from me. when they return to the panic room, they’ll give out individual orders. someone should be on their way here by now, so you’ll only be alone a few seconds. make sure no one is alone, and --” the light of dusty’s mobile phone flashes on finn’s face but he doesn’t flinch. “ grab a weapon next to the door on your way out. i need to get this system back up now,” by the last word, finn is looking his subordinate in the eyes and he takes him by the shoulders, both hands ( metal and organic both ) clasping tightly onto them. “ can you do this? ” he asks, even though the reality of it is that even if dusty can’t, he has to. 

there’s no one else. 

DUSTY RHODES, VIOLET SULLIVAN. the round up, 9.17 - 9. 20 PM. 

what could he have said? no? it was a direct order from the guy in charge of everyone physically here on base and more than that, it was the most important job anyone could’ve been given in this moment: securing the team. the most important job. given to him. dusty, the psychic recruit who had predicted this without even knowing it by painting a pitch black canvas. 

yeah, he was the one to be doing this, alright. jesus fucking christ. 

in the end, he doesn’t actually say yes or no -- he whispers out the word “ ... shit? ” and then he just nods, grabs his weapon, and darts out of the lab and into the mayhem that is everett headquarters in the dark. immediately he can hear voices, concerned, confused, even a little hostile but they’re too far away and his vision is limited solely to the beam of his cell phone’s flashlight. his body is running on pure adrenaline as he scans each area, growing more frustrated with each room than the last -- the building was a maze that was hard enough to get around when you had the lights on and knew the place, even. and what does dusty have? minimal light, and like, two months of experience here. he knew people on his team who had been here the full two years and still got lost. 

heart pumping through his chest and sounding out in his ears like the beat of a drum to the tune of something he doesn’t recognize and based on the terror it strikes through him, he hopes he never comes to be familiar with it. by the third room he resorts to cupping his hands around his mouth and calling out, “ team! who can hear me? come towards my voice, orders from finn! ” as loud as he possibly can, which is louder than even he anticipates. the shock of his own voice brings him to an abrupt stop and within just seconds, one of his supervisors runs up to him: violet. 

over the beating of his heart and a vague but still intrusive ring in his ears, he can barely make out her words and it’s then that he realizes something is physically wrong with him -- heart over his chest and breaths coming out in pants, he feels like he can’t catch his breath. his mind is racing with all the what if’s and the guilt of not knowing a thing about this -- not being able to predict this, not being able to do the only thing he could do! short breaths turn into downright wheezing and he doubles over, hands on his knees and his eyes watering. shit. he has to find everyone, give them finn’s orders, and he can’t even speak to the one of what, a billion other team mates? the frustration brings full, genuine tears to his eyes that slip past his eyelids down his cheeks and he shakes vigorously, most notably in the hands on his knees. i’m going to be sick. i can’t breathe. am i choking? 

suddenly, hands cup his face and he’s guided gently by the lift of his chin to look at violet and when he does, the fear is painted more vividly in his expression than any other expression he’s had since coming here. 

violet hums out a careful ‘ shh ’ and kneels to his level, holding his cheeks still so she can keep his gaze and when she speaks, she does so clearly, calmly, and only after confirming can you hear me? when he nods his head as much as he can in his current position, she whispers, “ good... it’s okay. breathe, baby. i heard you say finn had orders. he wants me and elliot to come to him, right?” 

still unable to form a coherent thought, dusty nods in her hands again. 

violet strokes his cheek with her thumb and wipes away a stray tear, her hums filling the air again. to the right of them, the team captains and elliot both enter the room with a small herd of other members behind them; by the sight of them, she assumes they were all in the same place. probably a movie. a light of theirs flashes to them and she looks towards it only long enough to communicate: quiet. attention back to dusty, she puts herself in finn’s shoes and measures procedure against that to guess what he said next. “ remy and rory too, right? the captains and supervisors, so he can set a plan? everyone else in the panic room? ”

another nod.

violet smiles softly and she moves her right hand to rub his back over his shoulder and then help him stand, whispering another good job during the transition to the world of the upright. she supports him in the brief moment she has to address who’s there and she shines her own flashlight, immediately beginning to account for who can do what. 

“ alright, elliot, remy, rory, go. i’m right behind you,” she assures and they go on without question, leaving her to assess the rest of who’s here: danny, jae-eun, logan, mae, and riley. they’re missing two. dean, flynn. “ danny, mae, and riley, head to the panic room with dusty. jae-eun and logan, you look everywhere for dean and flynn and do not separate. everyone got it? ” violet says, looking at the group firmly and when she receives unanimous understanding, her face softens significantly and she helps dusty regain full balance, who now seems more under control -- although, quite sheepish in front of this new audience. mae keeps him close. 

before departing, violet walks backwards towards the direction of the lab and gives them one last look over. “... and be safe, you guys. all hands on deck.” there isn’t time for her to wait for a response but she makes eye contact with each of them individually before turning on her heel. 

the group heads to their destination in a huddle and jae-eun and logan split off, side by side to search the remainder of the building. 

SUPERVISORS & TEAM CAPTAINS; security lab. 9.21 - 9.22 PM. 

violet isn’t far behind the triad headed towards the lab but the amount of paces between them and how long it takes her to fill them is long enough that when she enters the lab, her first step inside is on cue with the lights turning back on. she’s greeted to the sight of finn, hunched over and absolutely drained of all his power -- more than that, she’s never seen him look so defeated.

it breaks her heart. 

finn stays hunched in his chair, arm over his stomach and eyes on the ground; he already knows exactly what to order of them, but the energy it required to fuel the magic part of his system is beyond his limits and he is completely winded. 9:15 through 9:21, all systems were down. it took him six minutes to restart it and given the sheer power it took to run all this, that was a miracle. yet, all finn could think about was how it was too long. too long for their defenses to be down. 

when he catches his breath by even an inch, he forces out labored speech. “ vi... eli, perimeter. every corner. go. captains...” finn pauses to take a long breath, and he sputters, but he looks up now at him. “ divide into two. remy, you’ll stay in the panic room with the majority of the team... keep them calm. rory, you hit the perimeter with logan, flynn, dean, and jae-eun. be prepared for anything. they got past my system. go.”

there are no questions, and there is absolutely no hesitancy in their obedience. finn turns to the plethora of cameras in front of him and begins scanning them, first confirming whereabouts of his team individually. 

he doesn’t think to look outside until it’s too late.

MOST OF THE TEAM. panic room, 9.22 PM. 

remy and rory enter the designated waiting area one after the other, the former just a step ahead and they’re greeted to the sight of almost everyone on the couches -- keyword being almost. 

emerson’s expression was already deeply set into concern but it reaches a whole new level when he scans the room and counts heads only to find there’s two missing. he looks around, not sure who to question. “ is this... this is everyone you found? we are missing two. WHERE are they? ” he asks, his voice lowering and reaching a level of demanding assertiveness that is unheard of. who can blame him, though? not a single face that looks back at him does. after all, his brother is missing. 

when the crowds attention shifts to rory, the same look of sympathy is applied -- dean. the other missing one. her brother. 

there’s a moment of silence between all of them, before jae-eun breaks it. her voice is soft, but she says this: “ we couldn’t find them, but... we know they didn’t stay in one place. don’t worry. if anyone can defend themselves, it’s them.” she reasons, and remy looks back at her, unable to refute that. he clears his throat. “ so be it... they are supposed to be on perimeter, anyhow... jae-eun, logan, rory, you are too. find them and then focus on finding our assailant. do not separate. back here in an hour for a progress update. ” 

yet again, unanimous understanding is exchanged throughout the room before orders are acted upon.

FLYNN EDWARDS. housing unit, then outdoors, 9.16PM.  ****

when the lights go out, flynn is the only one in his designated room within the housing unit building -- which is connected to the main building, yes, but it’s also the only way to get to the main building outside of having a key to the front door ( only the supervisors did )... via technology, via elevator. just as he’s the only one alone, he also happens to be the only one who doesn’t react with panic: and here’s the kicker... it’s not because he’s calm in the face of danger, which is true but it isn’t why he isn’t panicking. he just doesn’t think of the fact that security is down. to him, its a power outage. 

to him, it’s a smoke break. 

wordlessly, flynn makes his way down the complex stairs and he walks out the back door, around the ‘main’ building and towards the back of that, near the pool. it takes him several minutes to make it around the building and in that moment, he’s in no rush.

if only he knew what was happening at that moment, right where he was going. the pool. 

DEAN EVERETT. the poolside, 9.15 - 9. 20 PM. 

fifteen minutes have gone by of him standing here, elbows against the fence around the pool with the imprint marks to prove it and he has done nothing but smoke, watch it float, and stargaze. his grin has reached maximum potential at this point and he’s thinking about how he should drop by mae’s room maybe, surprise her, but his thoughts are cut off abruptly when the building behind him suddenly isn’t lit, and neither are the outdoor lights around him -- even the pool. 

shit? 

eyebrows furrowed, dean isn’t immediately aware of what this means -- he knows it’s bad, sure, but his mind doesn’t jump to attack until he hears a foot step, and his heart comes to a stop.

he closes his eyes and with everything he has, he centers himself. just like a mission. it’s nothing, but be prepared, he thinks to himself and when he opens his eyes, he’s in battle mode. “ show yourself, coward, ” he calls mid-scan around the yard around him, wishing he had brought his phone with him. he couldn’t see shit and although it’s not as bad as when he was a little guy, he’s got a whole thing about the dark and associates it with some bad memories -- worst ones he’s got, in fact. the sooner he gets out of here, the better; but moving towards the building could very well be a trap. 

little did he know, he was already in the trap.  

silence fills the air around him for a full thirty seconds but when that last moment ticks, he hears it. a voice... it’s hard to make out, almost like it’s coming from underwater? but it keeps repeating itself. dean looks towards the pool, which happens to be the only light he has with the moon reflecting off it, and he steps closer, concentrating on listening. 

is that any way to speak to your mother? the voice says. 

apprehension turns into downright terror when he hears it clearly, because when he does, he knows the voice. he knows the voice, because it’s hers. his mother’s. his dead mother, who he killed -- who was the self proclaimed ‘queen’ of the water, and who was the reason he was afraid to swim. but she’s dead, so it can’t be her. he knows that. but as he stares from a distance at the ripples, he can’t help walking forward. he knows it isn’t her, but he has to look. he has to look up close, he has to make sure it isn’t. killing her had been an accident in self defense, but it was the reason he was still alive. her being back... it just wasn’t an option. 

when he reaches the edge of the pool, he squats down and looks into the water, but all he can make out is his own reflection. yet, the mantra repeats over and over, louder now that he’s closer. the lower he squats, the louder it is and the slower he lowers himself -- it’s not real, it’s not real. eyes wide open, he stares at his reflection unrelentingly, leaning over it and getting closer, closer. the voice is getting even louder and he wants to stop with every fiber of his being, but he has to know. 

reaching a hand towards the water, he lowers it until his finger is hovering just above it and that’s when he feels something is really wrong; that’s when he goes to pull his arm back, but his reflection changes right before his eyes into the very person he sought to prove dead: his mother. dean’s eyes widen and he opens his mouth to scream but nothing comes out -- not of his mouth. her reflection is broken by her coming out from underneath it, seizing him by the wrist and pulling him until hes half at danger of falling in. 

this isn’t happening. this isn’t happening. he’s had this nightmare a thousand times over, it isn’t real! it can’t be? but if it can’t be, then why does he feel the concrete of the edge of the pool scraping his stomach? why does... why does she stop? usually, at this point in the dream, she pulls him under and it’s over. but she’s looking at him in the eyes and squeezing his arm, twisting it back, hovering him just an inch above the water. 

from the outside point of view, there is no woman. it looks as though dean has twisted his own arm and he’s laying on his stomach, trying to put his head in the water but just hovering, frozen in fear. but no one’s there to see it except for the assailant himself, shrouded by bushes and focusing all his fear manipulation energy on the boy in front of him; the bastard child of the love of his life, the killer of her. caesar was his name, and he was behind the system shut down -- as it turns out, he followed the one named finn home and use his power to make his fear a reality: system shut down. the perfect distraction to get rid of the one he was actually after. dean everett. although the projection of his beloved wasn’t in fact her, the effects were real. the boy’s arm was really breaking, and he was really going to go under. 

dean looks into his mother’s eyes and his lip quivers but he can’t say anything -- the only sound he makes is the whimpering that comes out when she twists his arm beyond it’s limits, but that comes to a stop when her other hand reaches past him, beyond the pool edge, and into his pocket. when she takes it out, she takes his pocket knife with her and opens it inches before his face. 

this is when dean starts to struggle, coming to the realization that this isn’t a nightmare -- his arm is broken and she’s going to kill him with his own knife, ghost or not. “ you can’t! you’re dead! ” he argues, his pleas falling on deaf ears; or, dead, actually. she doesn’t react to him in any way because she’s an illusion with a mission: a real life nightmare written by caesar. dean comes close to escaping her grasp but as if a warning to stop moving, he’s sliced on the cheek; the cut is deep and vertical, only centimeters away from his eye. there’s a million fighting tactics he should be able to use, a million he is able to use, but how can he? it’s her. the most he can do is push, push, push away and once he’s cut, he’s completely frozen and even closer to the water. he looks down and widens his eyes when the end game here is realized -- her finishing what she started when he was so young -- and the second he looks away from her, he’s stabbed. 

the knife leaves. it happens again. and then again. and once more, but the fourth is the last; after that, her arms wrap around him and she plunges downward full force, taking him with her.

FLYNN EDWARDS, poolside. 9.21 PM.  

flynn rounds the corner just in time to see the lights come on from inside and he groans outwardly, exasperated that he’s spent this entire time walking around only for there to be nothing to complain about anymore and he’s about to phase into anger, but something peculiar catches his eye out the peripheral. with the lights around the pool shining down on the water he can see... bubbles? really big ones, even from a distance. he doesn’t know what it is about this observation that strikes him as urgent but he teleports via flame to inspect at the pools edge, and what he sees when he looks down is his team mate, dean, drowning -- bleeding, too. 

caesar is long gone, but flynn’s immediate reaction isn’t to fight anyways; before he’s even thinking of options, his body is in the water and he’s plunging down towards the smaller male to get him. he wraps his arms around him all of the way and he springs upward, getting him as quickly over the edge of the pool as physically possible. reviving him is a sequence of adrenaline that if asked later, flynn wouldn’t remember; it isn’t until he’s coughing out the water that things slow down and by that point, all he can see is the blood. it’s all over him, it’s all over dean, it’s on the concrete and all he can do is try to stop the bleeding -- that he uses his shirt for, propping the other up in his arms and holding it to the wounds from behind as a head of blond, wet hair lay against his collar bone. dean shakes in his arms with a ferocity and he sputters out words but they don’t form correctly, his gaze set on nothing ahead of him, the effect of caesar’s attack yet to fade -- and it wouldn’t for a few hours. 

flynn removes his glove from his hand and tosses it aside, paying no mind to the fact that the marks are exposed as he brushes dean’s hair out of his face and holds the shirt keeping his wound closed as tightly as he can. beyond this, he isn’t medically trained and he doesn’t think moving him further is the right thing to do but he quickly remembers the camera, as well as the sound surveillance and he hopes to god that finn is nearby the control room. 

“ hey! we need help out here! ” 

TEAM. panic room, 10:00pm. 

the perimeter search comes up blank and almost forty minutes after the incident, the entire team ( minus finn, who has set to improve an already perfect security system, struck with grief and guilt ) of everett is gathered in the safest room of the building, absolutely silent in mutual shock and general anxiety. although the attack wasn’t fatal and dean lay in recovery to the far right of the room with both mae and flynn at his side, the wounds were severe and the fact was this: they almost lost a member of their team tonight and they were defenseless, distracted, and vulnerable. 

the worst part is that it’s far from over -- in fact, no one’s saying it but this incident sounds like it may be the first of many to come.

[puckish-saint]

Scientist reader helping Mei, Mercy, Winston and Torbjorn in science stuff because why not

Mei

Whenever you’re in Mei’s lab youfind yourself vaguely surprised that the orange juice on her deskisn’t boiling. She runs around in only a pair of loose slacks, herbra and her lab coat tied around her waist, brushing across the floorlike peacock feathers. The cold unsettles her.

You greet her by lifting up two boxesof Chinese take-out, the only real food you get when everyone who’scapable of and willing to cook is off base.

“Oh! You thought of me, that’s sonice. Thank you.” she sets her tablet aside and makes some room ather desk, guilty throwing away a handful of candy wrappers, her solesustenance when she can’t be bothered to cook a full meal. Which isalways.

It’s nice to get away from work for abit even if you’re spending the time in the boiler room for one ofthe lower circles of hell. After some brief consideration you slipout of the sleeves of your work overall and tie it around your waist,much like Mei has with her coat. It’s still stifling hot in here,but with one layer of clothes less it becomes endurable.

“So.” you say, coming after a bitof small talk to the real reason you’re here. “I checked thescanners this morning and saw one of your weather stations wentoffline.”

She groans at being reminded of it andpulls up her overview window. She has about a dozen of stationaryautomatic weather stations in her immediate vicinity. Or as immediateas she can afford them to be, what with her being one of the fewscientists still pursuing her research. One of them has a red markermerrily blinking ‘offline’ at you.

“It’s A-02, the one I set up in theAlps. It was probably damaged by falling debris. It’s going to be ahassle arranging transportation and trekking all the way up there torepair or replace it.”

You take a sip of your drink, hummingas if you’re just now deliberating her predicament.

“You know, I could fly you up there.We’d be in and out, no trouble.”“Really?” she asks, eyeslighting up at the prospect of being spared a whole lot ofinconvenience. Then, just as you think you’re getting away with it,her eyes narrow in suspicion. “Wait a second. Haven’t you beenworking on new climbing gear? You’re just looking for a guineapig.”

Guilty as charged. You shrug, smileapologetically.

“I need to see how it works with morethan one person attached. It’s safe, I promise!”

“If you knew it’s safe you wouldn’tneed to test it.”

She agrees in the end. There’s atoken argument, because only a crazy person would crawl around theAlps in experimental safety gear without it, but in the pursuit ofscience, she’ll do it.

Right up until theory turns intopractice.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” sheasks over the soft hum of the plane engine. It’s one of Overwatch’sstealth models and it barely disturbs a snowflake as it hovers overthe small plateau close to Mei’s broken weather station.

“If it were safe, there’d be noneed for testing.” you give back cheekily and receive a fond slapon the head in return. After a last check of the equipment, makingsure you’re both as safe and secure as you can be with equipmentthat’s never left controlled environments, you jump out of theplane and into the knee deep snow. The plane’s autopilot moves intostandby and you start the few but arduous steps towards the mountainwall.

“I should probably have asked thissooner.” Mei says. “But why are there no ropes?”

You stop short, patting your pockets asif the rope will miraculously turn up. The search yields no fruit andyou turn around, eyes wide in a beginning panic.

“Oh my God, I forgot the ropes.”

“What?” She squeaks, standsstockstill, untethered on the stormy alpine mountaintops. Then shesees your face and places her hands on her hips.

“That’s not funny.” she says asyou support yourself on your knees to keep from doubling over withlaughter.

“It’s a little bit funny.”

She looks utterly unimpressed, waitswith her lips pursed until you’ve calmed down enough to start theactual climbing.

The system is deceptively simple.Instead of ropes you’ll be anchored to the mountain side via smallgravity wells set on hooks that drive themselves automatically intothe surface beneath them. If you fall the gravity well will surge upand pull you in. It’s a design adapted from Zarya’s particlecannon and in theory it should be safer and more convenient thanstandard climbing gear. Although it doesn’t prevent you fromfeeling like you’re climbing utterly unsecured several thousandfeet above ground.

But even with the nervosity of notwearing any climbing gear you make faster progress than you wouldwith it and soon both you and Mei stand atop the plateau that shouldhave sheltered her weather station. It’s gone. So is most of theplateau.

“Avalanche?” you suggest while shescans the area for any remains of the device. The scanner showsnothing.

“Probably. I’d hoped I could bringit back to the base for repairs.” Mei says as she prepares to setup the replacement.

You help her, holding the base steadywhile she drives the anchor points deep into the stone below. With awhirr and a beep it comes alive, sending up a small drone to hoverabove it, taking preliminary readings.

The way to and from the site takes thelongest, setting up the weather station is a matter of minutes.Afterwards you both move to the edge of the plateau, staring down thealmost ninety degree slope.

“You know.” you say, checking ifthe gravity well is ready to travel back down its anchoring pointsthe same way as it has traveled up. “Theoretically the well shouldbe able to safely slow our decent and keep us close to the mountainside. I designed the system to allow the users to jump all the waydown in an emergency.”

Mei shakes her head before you stopspeaking.

“No.”“Please?”“Noway. I’m not jumping down a mountain on nothing but your assumptionthat some tiny gravity well will catch us both mid motion while we’rehurtling past it at terminal velocity.”

“For science?”

Mei glares at you. Then she curses andadjusts her equipment.

“Fine. For science.”

Mercy

For weeks all field agents areencouraged to bag all their used medical supplies in specialcontainers and have them sent up to the lab. And by ‘encouraged’you mean they risk facing Angela’s wrath if they forget.

Thus you shouldn’t be surprised tosee the boxes and boxes full of used bandages in her lab when youenter that morning, asked here with sweet words and the promise ofcookies. Although you get the feeling that when this is over you’llhave lost your appetite for good.

“We get hurt too much.” you say andAngela agrees, hoisting the first box on the table.

While you unpack the individual bags,vacuum sealed to keep them fresh, she explains what she’s hoping togain from this.

“Our bandages are covered in gelinfused with biotic particles. I want to enhance their efficiency,get more healing with less paste, but for that I need to see wherewe’re at currently. We need to pull the bandages apart to get atthe gel that will have trapped all bodily fluids, dirt and dead cellsinside, then count the remaining biotic particles under themicroscope.”

Simple work but tiresome, as issurprisingly much of science.

You get to work, coffee maker chugginghappily along.

As you suspected opening the firstbandage fills the air with the repugnant stench of old blood, pus anddirt. Both you and Angela scrunch your noses, then dive in, eager toget this done soon.

One possible venue for optimisationreveals itself within the first hour.

“Another seminar on basic first aidmight be due.” you say as you check the origin of the latestbandage, unsurprisingly marked J.McCree. The biotic particlesseem to have attacked dirt more than worked on the actual woundhealing. Some of them are still attached to something you have agrowing suspicion may be a part of a fingernail.

“I spent three years persuading Jesseto use our medical supplies instead of whiskey and honey. He used tosew his own wounds shut with threads he ribbed from his serape.”

You spend a happy few minutes notthinking about that hygiene nightmare.

The pattern, biotic efficiency reducedby foreign contaminants, repeats itself. With Jack they worksplendid, as he applies his own first aid with military precision.Hana doesn’t bother cleaning them at all, preferring to slap on abandaid to stem the bleeding and jump back into her MEKA.

During the course of the day you findother options to increase efficiency. Reprogramming the geneticstructure of the biotic particles may allow them to coordinate witheach other, focusing less on areas that are already being tended to.For all that it’s smelly and tiresome, it will give you a fewpercentages of extra healing in the end.

Noon rolls around and passes unheeded.You only get up to get more coffee for yourself and Angela and by thetime you’re finished it has gone dark outside.

Neither of you has much appetite.Instead of cookies Angela offers a walk to stretch your legs. Youreview the data together as you amble along the balcony surroundingthis level of the base, enjoying the warm evening breeze that carrieswith it the wonderfully clean scent of salt and seaweed.

“Professor Halldórsdóttir from theUniversity of Iceland developed a prototype particle not long ago.”Angela says, pulling up the related article on the web. It’ssimilar to your project, although it intended for the particles to bedeployed in cancer treatment. You wonder if the Professor spent a daygoing through old tumours. At least she wouldn’t have had to talkto someone about cleaning wounds by spitting on his thumb and rubbingat it.

“There seemed to be an issue withallergic reactions.”

The data is extensive, saves you bothseveral weeks of work, even though you’ll have to adapt it for yourown purposes.

All in all it was a productive day,spent in pleasant company. And now that the disgusting parts are overand done with you don’t mind extending it a little.

“What do you think, should we draw upa few genotypes before bed?” you suggest and Angela, checking ifthe caffeine supply holds steady, agrees.

Winston

He pings your comm at 3 am in themorning and, after you blearily fish it from your bedside table andhold it in the general direction of your ear, asks: “How large areyour hands?”

You open one eye to stare into the darkof your quarters as if an explanation might turn up out of thin air.None does, requiring you to request clarification.

“What.”

“Your hands. Could you measure themreal quick?”

If you were marginally more awake youwould have answered with something sassy or sarcastic, like that youforgot to keep the measuring tape for late-night measuring close by.Or that you’re sure they’re the same size they were during dinnera few hours ago, when it was still a reasonable time to chat.

As it is, you’re not even a littlebit awake and so what you do say, after some careful, sleep-addleddeliberation is:“What.”

Winston patiently explains why he needsto know the size of your hands. He has a project that resists hisfine motor control and he needs someone with smaller hands. However,seeing as it is late at night, he wouldn’t want to drag you out ofbed and into his lab just to discover that your hands are also toolarge for the task with which he needs help. That’s why he thoughtof having you measure them beforehand.His monologue takes a fewminutes, after which sleep has handed in its resignation. You mightas well get up.

Winston welcomes you with coffee and abox the length of your forearm, attached to a screen displaying anerror message.

“It’s just an issue with thewiring. But the space is too small for me to reach it and I don’twant to take the whole thing apart again.” he explains and, whenyou cast a look inside the box you see why he would have trouble. Theopening is barely big enough for your hand, nevermind the fiddlingyou’ll have to do inside. You give it a try, have Winston light thespace with a flashlight.

“How did you manage before theRecall?” you ask while you fiddle with the wires.

“Long tweezers and a lot ofpatience.” he says, with the long suffering sigh of someone whobroke a lot of the former due to a low supply of the latter.

It sounds tiring and even more so whenthe wire yields under your comparatively dainty fingers and snapsinto the right place. The error message is still there.

“Huh.” he says, pushing his glassesup his nose.

It’s coming on 4 am but being up toyour wrists in the project already, you have an interest in seeing itsucceed.

“Show me your blueprint?”

It’s a mess, the product of too manylate nights and not enough pairs of eyes that could force some senseinto it. But after following the video log and having the finished,albeit non-functioning, object in your hands, you work your waythrough it.

By the time the rest of the baseawakens the error message still blinks, but it does so for adifferent reason, which is what in scientific jargon is called a goodthing. The box has a lot of new holes through which a few combinedmetres of cables run, attached to various extra hardware anddiagnostics equipment. When finished it’s supposed to replace yourcurrent black box system for your flight computers, as well as theserver rooms downstairs.

Right now it’s serving as a coffeetable.

Winston puts his mug down on it andleans back in his tire, going over the schematics yet another time.

“We may need help.” he says andyou’re inclined to agree. As one you reach for the comm.

“Zenyatta. Yes, good morning. Just aquick question. How large are your hard drives? Could you measurethem real quick?”

Torbjörn

Sometimes science means braving hostileterrain to gather readings that may not be useful in the long run.Sometimes it means exposing yourself to dangerous and unbelievablygross biohazards and sometimes it is impeded by the limitations ofyour own body.

And sometimes it means sitting in alawn chair and throwing tennis balls over a cliff.

“We’re testing your new turretcalibration, right?” you ask, taking a sip from a colourfulcocktail with an umbrella in it.

“Yup.” Torbjörn says, equippedwith an equally colourful cocktail as well as a tablet remotelyconnected to about half a dozen turrets, all calibrated to differentsettings. You chuck another tennis ball, four turrets vaporize it inmid-air, one shoots too late and one falls over and beeps distressed.

“Good. Just so I’ll know what totell Winston when he asks where I’ve been all day.”

Two turrets help the fifth one upright.The next test involves two flying objects, for which Torbjörnreluctantly sets down his drink to take the tennis ball you’reoffering him.

“Helping me develop better defensesystems is more important than your usual duties.”

Together the balls fly over the cliffand into the net he set up below as none of the turrets can decidewhich ball to focus on.

“I wrote the software from scratch.”he says. “With the new hardware I’d just have mucked around withthe old code.”

He makes adjustments even as he speaks,pretty much the only indication you’re doing real science here.Which is what you’re doing. It would be cruel to let him do all ofthis hard work alone. Overwatch is supposed to be a team effort. Youwill sacrifice your time and energy to help out a friend in need anyday.

You toast your own integrity withanother sip of your drink.

One of the turrets mistakes a passingseagull for its target and fires wildly. Luckily the targetingalgorithm fries as it tries to reconcile its orders with the factthat the actual target isn’t small, round and yellow, leaving theseagull startled but unharmed.

Just to punish the machine for itsalmost accidental animal abuse you throw the tennis ball at its head.It targets it, fires and takes out the turret next to it.

“They’re like drunk babies. Withguns.” you say, beginning to realise where his attachment to hiscreations comes from.

He nods, pretending to wipe away atear, and tells you to throw three balls in quick succession

Turret number five seems to think threetennis balls are a threat too great for conventional ammo andlaunches its small rockets at them.

Your cocktail umbrella protects thedrink from being covered in yellow fuzz. So that’s what those arefor. Another mystery is solved. Today is a good day for science.

Jack comes by in the afternoon, rubbinghis back from scrubbing bird droppings off their satellite dishes allday. He questions your need to assist Torbjörn in this vital effort.

“We each contribute to science in ourown way.” you intone and let a tennis ball sail over Jack’s head.None of the turrets react, which was to be expected since they’reall shut down for the moment. It still serves to give him a littlescare and make him go away.

“Those turrets ... “ you saythoughtfully. “You said you could adjust projectile velocity.”

“Among many other things, yes. Why?”

“Enough to, say, match them to theattributes of your average paintball gun?”

He laughs when he catches on to yourplan. Together you set out to adjust the settings and procure somepaintball ammo.

A day later you both sit on therooftop by the main courtyard, laughing maniacally at the cursing andrunning members of your team ducking from turrets shooting paint withdeadly accuracy, while Winston swats at you with a broom.

Another great day for science.

[braindamageforbeginners]

Hangover Cures

Week 2, Day 11

In a conversation with a friend last night, I discovered that I might come off as somewhat negative (or, excessively negative, to be more precise). Also, in her defense, this wasn’t anything she accused me of, it was just something that struck me after the conversation. Anyway, even though I’ve been somewhat gloomy as of late, and even though no one would ever accuse me of being a cheerful, happy individual - at any point in my life - I’m not wallowing in self-pity to the extent that these little records might indicate. I’m not happy or well-adjusted, but I’m not walking around spreading gloom. It’s possible I’ve unintentionally endorsed that idea by focusing on what I’ve lost, or what’s on the way out the door, rather than what I’ve gained.

First of all, this whole Morrie Shwartz, “I lost a normal, independent existence, but I gained friendship” BS isn’t really me, and, in cancer, you don’t want to gain stuff - that’s the entire point of cutting, burning, and poisoning yourself (or bits of yourself). BUT - and, future generations hoping to triumph over brain diseases, this bit’s absolutely critical - brain damage (and its effects) is usually way too subtle for someone to notice on their own. I’ve done this two times before; I will absolutely stand by this. The first time I got neurosurgery, it took me almost ten years just to figure out what was missing from me, cognitively speaking. The second time, it took less than a month, because I went in before the surgery for a complete series of various tests and scans to record a base-line. This time, because the disease has moved far faster than I can, I didn’t have that luxury, but, because the worstest damage is predicted to occur slowly over weeks and months, I have to be hyper-vigilant, and get some documentation on each deficit as it occurs, while it’s occurring. Think of it like tax returns, or any other legal document (which is also important in dealing with insurance companies) - you want to be able to tell your doctor exactly what you’re having trouble with, how frequently, and with as much detail as you can. That’s important for any medical ailment - if you go in and complain that your leg hurts, they can’t really do much until they get more details. Same goes with brain damage - the better, and more-accurate documentation you have of various problems, the better the chance you have of making it back from the edge. Like I wrote previously, this is just as much a tool to help me save myself as it is a reference for everyone else in a similar situation. Who’s the pessimist now?

Speaking of providing guidance to future generations, I will be exploring various hangover cures at various points in these dispatches, since I’m waking with a four-star hangover pretty much every day, as you would expect when a body is exposed to dangerous amounts of radiation and toxins on a regular basis. A brief word; although I am open to most suggestions in this area, I will absolutely not be trying the “Hair of the Dog” cure; I’m already at full-capacity with regard to my toxin/radiation intake, and I’m absolutely not going to increase that unless my life depends on it (even then, there’s a solid chance I’d refuse and just die instead of reenact Benjamin Button). The good news is, with a significant amount of water and coffee (more water than coffee, but I’m not going to judge anyone’s preferences), I can (you, too, probably) live a somewhat-normal existence.

This morning, however, I woke up and immediately regretted it. I’m pretty sure that’s the experimental chemo drug I’m taking; it makes life extra-unpleasant for two or three days after each dose. However, I do know that, sometimes, it takes a little extra something to go from whimpering in a supine position to upright and functioning. Fortunately, lots of zofran and Tylenol do wonders, especially with some grease and protein. Just as fortunately, my younger brother was only too happy to indulge this request, and took me to a local, German-owned (and German-themed) butcher’s shop/restaurant. A brief aside; this development may come as a bit of a surprise to anyone who knows me personally, as I’ve been a vegetarian for the last eleven years. I, uh, “converted” back in 2006 after deciding that heart disease was no way to die; I fell off the wagon shortly after surgery #3, after realizing that diet doesn’t do anything, you don’t get any bonus points for maintaining a healthy diet if you die of cancer before forty, and, perhaps most importantly, if I’m going to meet the reaper, I want to do it with a Porterhouse in one hand an a beer in the other (since that realization, I’ve been trying to atone for eleven misspent years), and a trip to a European butcher’s shop seemed like both a good place for breakfast, and a way to make a solid dent in that pile of bacon I was owed for good behavior. You might want to know the difference between a “European-style” butcher’s, and... well, we don’t have much in the way of specialty stores in today’s box-store-obsessed world, but you can find Norman Rockwell paintings of what American butchers’ stores were like (there was also a lot of sexism, racism, classism, and xenophobia that’s not accurately portrayed in those paintings, but, thankfully, those are no longer issues we have to deal with). Folks, I want you to imagine a place where every imaginable cut of meat - and several unimaginable ones - is on display, alongside Swiss chocolate, and British beer. It was like that scene in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, where Gene Wilder lets everyone into that room where everything is made of sugar; I was frolicking. Until my brother pointed out that the other customers were going to have us arrested for inappropriate behavior, so we made our way to the restaurant section. I do not know how I reached 33 years without any solid memories of eating steak and eggs for breakfast, but I would heartily recommend it for any and all occasions (especially if you’ve recently crunched the numbers and realized you’re going to have to fit 30-40 years’ of vices into a 10-year life-expectancy), but it does do wonders for a chemo hangover. Unfortunately, the coffee was not up to my high standards, and that’s an important aspect in one’s quality of life. Fortunately, I’m in a large metropolis, and finding good coffee is but the work of a Google search on the smart phone, so I was more or less my usual misanthropic-but-witty self in short order. By that point, I had to return home to lie on a hot rock and digest for a few hours (also, my father and step-mother ditched us and went to the gym without giving anyone time to grab their gym shorts and shoes, which, now that I think on it, is a brilliant way to get some time away from your spawn). Fortunately, they threw a few steaks into my pit for dinner, so all is well. And, thanks to the new year’s holidays, I don’t have any more treatments until Wednesday (I got the radioactive spa treatment today, however).

Anyway... WEIGHT: No idea; I haven’t been weighed in a few days. However, based on today’s shenanigans, I’ve probably gained five or six pounds (about two or three kilos). CONCENTRATION: Pretty good.. MEMORY: Not bad, although I have misplaced a few items in the past 24 hours, which I tend to do a fair amount of the time. APPETITE: Excellent. Although I might be eating to shift my focus away from other discomforts. But I think that just makes me American. ACTIVITY LEVEL: Not great, but not bad. I mean, I did spend a fair chunk of the day racing around and eating stuff, which puts me on the same level as the Tasmanian Devil. SLEEP QUALITY: Extremely poor. The experimental serum tends to amplify the side-effects of all my other treatments, and, in the case of temodar, that means I spent an hour last night holding my sides and feeling like John Hurt’s character in the noted rom-com, Alien. I didn’t puke though, so, go zofran. COORDINATION/DEXTERITY: Pretty good, but my left hand has definitely been underperforming all day. PHYSICAL: Nothing’s falling off, but I am now very photophobic, and I have a nasty splitting headache along the suture lines of surgery #3 - it’s almost as bad as immediately after the surgery. Fortunately, double-doses of Tylenol makes it bearable, but I am acutely aware the minute that wears off. SIDE EFFECTS: Apart from the hangover-symptoms, insomnia, headache, general mental sluggishness (which might be due to insomnia and hangovers), and the growing body of seemingly-innocent mental errors and incidents that are insidiously growing, I’m in top form.

Also, on a personal note, best of luck to my brother, who came down from the Pacific Northwest to hold my hand for a week. And thanks to a friend from my undergrad days who made a donation in my name to a cancer center. Thank you, ma’am.

[internetblogs13-blog]

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There are many those who do blog just for fun but it is also being a very well liked method to make a living online. The blogging clients are really needs to boom because it is a remarkably easy kind of business to own. Here are some tips to assist you to get your blogging business ready to go. Grabbing your readers' attention is the central factor in online marketing and promotion. Most of the time great ideas are trashed out simply as a result of insufficient smart presentation tactics. You have to first attract your potential client prior to to know your products and services better. Use the right words and specify them in a manner concerning get the targeted audiences' attention. Putting words into pictures inside readers system is an art. a definite and crisp depiction requires a definite aptitude that only creativity offer. 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I found out yesterday how the one who took my office in Kansas City is seeking another job so I would certainly use a position available there. The main problem using these options may be the tariff of traveling (gas). Once you know creating article posts that use SEO, you will note big latest results for yourself. Posting like a guest writer on another person's blog is a good strategy to drive targeted visitors to your site. You can leverage other sites' traffic by writing a guest post for the children. To ensure that the traffic is relevant in your site, ensure you only post on blogs in the same niche. Your content additionally needs to be participating which suggests your audience not just reveal your web site via the various different facebook marketing networks but additionally abandon comments. This therefore not merely helps with driving traffic for a website and also would make your web site considerably more credible so it helps the idea get short article must be among 500-800 words. This also is great for SEO. Use images inside your web site to separation this posts. Also think about adding in for the blog. Make confident someone keep the internet site in connection with your audience. Write about just what the future prospect want. There are lots of strategies to earn money received from blogging. You could market online products, market the services you provide as well as other goods too. You must be sure that your blog will be uncomplicated to find their way in addition to tons quickly. (more info) Blogs are fairly informal therefore don't require someone to be a writer to be described as a blogger. Bloggers often elect to blog so that you can share their interest with a particular subject or theme and get enjoyment by doing this. 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Additionally, you are able to take note of a few of the blog formats that are used and exactly how user friendly they are for ideas for your individual blog format. These bloggers know how important obtaining the best blog hosting their money can find truly is. They need their readers to get usage of their information laden threads constantly. This helps these individuals achieve notoriety in their niche as well as keep their blog ready to go for a long time. This is why it is so important to own a quality webhost who are able to provide you with what you need when you find yourself in early stages of setting up your site and attaining a host. This can be a critical decision within the success of one's blogging career as it were. (more info) 1) Keep a diary or perhaps a journal with you mostly. ideas is triggered by anything you may hear, see, or smell. Your senses are the radar to locate nice ideas. 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