#it's bad and evil and sad and excruciatingly painful

[sandinthepipes]

I've figured it out.

The reason Merlin's fics still come out every day. The reason ofmd has so many fics and content.

It's the hope.

They both leave you on the moment right before resolution. They've shown you something good is coming and leave you wondering what it could be.

It's not a cliffhanger, there's isn't "oh no this bad thing is going to happen but maybe not", it's the opposite.

[decodedlvr]

As long as I’m with You

Steve Harrington x You (short)

Summary: Steve wakes up to another bad night you’ve had this week

Warnings: hurt/comfort, talks of poor physical and mental health, doctors, suicidal ideation, medication use, drug use, chronic health issues, BPD if you squint, disabilities, use of the word “girl” x times, negative self talk, mentions of sex, angst, fluff~~

This is based off my own experiences and inspired by my pal Morgan’s version; feel free to check hers out

Tick tick tick

The clock strikes 12 and then 1, 3, 5am in the morning, no sleep no rest it’s an every day cycle. The same shitty cycle.

It’s a new year, but not a new you.

Sitting in your walker in front of the excruciatingly bright television screen, high as a kite, everything in existence running through your mind 100 mph, sometimes the weed helps the pain. Sometimes it induces it or even makes it worse. Right now it’s doing nothing for you. Looking over at your loved one sound asleep. You don’t want to bother him with your whines or crying. So you just sit there silence, tears rolling down your cheeks; while you watch some bullshit on YouTube.

Sniff Sniff

“Baby?”

Shit.

“..yea?” you say in a whispered tone

“Are you ok? what’s wrong?”

“Ah, you already know”, you’ve used that line probably over a million times

Steve comes along your side expecting a few dried tears, but his eyes widen when he’s sees the collar around your shirt bitten, snot dribbling down your mouth and throat, crouching down, he lies his head onto your thigh looking up at you, “Talk to me sweetheart”

“No.”

“Hey, I know you’re hurting”—

“GOOD FOR YOU! Congratulations you know I’m hurting, you know I’ve been hurting for fucking years. I’m glad you’ve acknowledged it unlike some people”you sniffle getting up in a hurry to take a piss as he follows with sad eyes leaning against the door frame

“I’m fucking tired, I’m so goddamn exhausted nobody will ever know what I’m dealing with!”, you say wiping your ass not bothering to wash your hands, “I can’t do anything I can’t run, I can’t jump, can’t go to the stupid, fucking grocery store without one of those motorized carts.. my back hurts, my fucking knees are throbbing, stupid fucking nerves won’t calm down FUCK! It’s not like I can get in the bathtub to calm my muscles down. Nothing is helping! No medication, no PT, no injections, no nothing! Why?? am I just resistant to any source of help or treatment? I-I can’t even lay in the goddamn bed to sleep. That’s all I have left is rest!! What is rest!? I don’t know what the hell that even is”

“I know baby I know”—

“NO YOU DONT STEVE, all you know is what you see. I wouldn’t wish on our worst enemy, my worst enemy to feel what I feel. That’s how bad it all hurts. The most evil, sick and twisted person in this world, I would never wish this upon. I just..”, getting dizzy you collapse on the bed sobbing into your own hands, then eventually into Steve’s shoulder as he rocks you, tears spilling from his own eyes—

“Nobody cares, nobody wants to help me. nobody cares unless I’m rich and can afford to give them any and ALL the things off my back, but I can’t. Even with the money you make it will never be enough to help the poor girl who’s too young to have any kind of issue. It’s “all in my head” I’m just fucking crazy. I could break my own neck and still be told it’s only from anxiety. Nobody cares just”—

“I care” he exhales

“It doesn’t matter if you care, all your care is useless, all your help is worthless to me because it gets me nowhere. Nobody’s love and care gets me nowhere. It’s nothing all but fucking false hope. Don’t you get that? None of you still to this day seems understand that. Stop praying for me to get better. It’s never going to happen. I can’t take it anymore.. I just wanna die! All I wish for is to die but, I can’t even have that. It’s like all of you want me here, to live and suffer for the rest of my life for y’all, it’s not fair, fuck that”, your trembling, body in fight or flight

“Don’t say that, you know I’d do anything to take your pain away”

“It doesn’t matter what you’d do because you’re not a doctor. You’re not a professional, you can’t help me get better.. sucks to hear but it’s the truth Steve..fuck”—

Steve’s really trying not to beat himself up over your words, he knows you’re in pain, it comes from a place of anger, frustration and fear

“I have all these pain medications I could easily take all at once, so I’ll never have to wake up in this position ever again. Why can’t I do it huh? I could end right here right now you never have to suffer again, but I just d-don’t; If anything, I’m the most selfless person for staying alive for YOU just so I can be alive but in pain all over again for YOU!”, your tone getting higher and higher in pitch

“I-I’m sorry.. I wish I knew the right words to say baby”, he’s trying his best to stay strong for you

“You’ve got to be sick of me, tired of me. All I do is cause more money to come out of your pockets, more exhaustion, more burdening, more crying, more everything bad for you. You already deal with your own shit. I do nothing but make your own mentality worse, hell you’re making your own self worse being with a person like me. A broken and useless excuse of a human being. You deserve somebody who can go hiking with you, go to the beach, travel with, who can do the bare minimum. Can’t even fuck you properly—

“STOP! Stop that right now” he shouts

You freeze because he’s never raised his voice at you, atleast not on purpose at such a vulnerable time

“I hate it too. You know it hurts me to know that you hurt and I’m sorry that I can’t take the pain away from you. My sweet, sweet girl I’m so sorry that nobody has given you the chance to hear your voice, to help heal you..but I’m gonna make you the same promise I make you almost every single night. As long as I’m with you, I will try my best with all my power to make it a little bit more bearable for you to be here, and I am so grateful that you are still here and choose to be here with me for us to be together. I know you hurt, but as long as you’re with me, I’m going to do my best to put a smile on your pretty face, beautiful sunshine of a smile because you’re my sunshine.. y-your smile gives me life did you know that?”

You nod. He tells you all the time

“I- I’m tired for wishing to feel ok for my birthdays, every Christmas. All the shirts and posters you got me for Christmas? I haven’t even touched them yet, you know why? Because the selfish person in me doesn’t give a fuck about none of it. The only thing I care about and want and NEED is pain relief and that’s too much to ask for isn’t it? Apparently wanting to be better in the world it’s too much to ask for”

“You deserve to feel better”, he says while his hand travels up your back to rub your tense neck, “You deserve to be free from all of this and I can’t give that to you. You’re not selfish baby you’re hurting. I love you for you. I knew what I was signing up for, and if I didn’t want that I wouldn’t be here right now with you. I know the sacrifices Ill have to make, the tears I’ll have to shed, the strength it’ll take me to pick you up when you’re down, but I fell in love with you, how you are, and who you are”

“Who are you kidding Steve, you don’t even know who I am. The real me. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I wish you met me when I wasn’t sick then maybe you wouldn’t be so stressed out a-and.. and,” you start sobbing again, it’s all too overwhelming

“Hey, hey look at me, no. I met you at the right time. You need me just as much as I need you. You may not think you’re worth nothing but you’re worth everything to me. Yeah you have a good and bad days..—

“I’ve had nothing but bad days for the past few months Steve”-

“I know, I see it, I hear it and I witness it, I may not can feel it, but at the end of it all, you still love me. You’re still here. You still want to cook for me. You still get up to brush your teeth and I’m so proud of you for still trying to care for yourself. That’s the biggest job you’ll ever have, and it’s been a very hard job hasn’t it?

You nod, as he nods with you

“Yeah, it has, but you don’t have to do it alone anymore. I want to provide for you. I want to take care of you. You’re my girl, you deserve so much and as long as I’m with you, I will try every day, every hour, every second or minute, to make sure you know how loved, how great and how amazing you are. How great and amazing you’re doing for yourself and for me. How strong you are”—

—“im tired of having being strong all the time”, interrupting him

“I know you are. You are so strong for being on this earth, even when you don’t want to be. I wouldn’t ask for anybody else, you’re it for me always. Will you continue to let me try to make it better for you every day? To take care of you?”, he squats in front of you, cupping your wet cheeks, kissing your forehead

“But Stevie.. you know you’re getting your own hopes up because nothing you do helps either and I feel like a piece of shit for saying that because”—

“I know what you mean, you don’t have to be sorry. I understand you may not have hope but I do. All my Hope goes towards you and it always will. You are the most important thing in my life. I’m not gonna give up on you, on me or on us, ok sunshine?”

..”okay”, you repeat rubbing your temples

“Head hurt, darling?”

“yes”

“From crying too hard?”

You nod, looking away in shame, “It’s okay, I’ll get your Migrane cap from the freezer and i’ll set your pillows up how you like, just sit tight”, he says it standing then pausing at the doorway, looking over his shoulder, “I love you”

“luv you—

“Hmm? What was that, I couldn’t hear you” he exclaims

“I said love you gosh.. shut up”, you barely crack a smile

That was enough to get him through the rest of the night.

[onetimetwotimesthreetimess]

magnus culmination of bad decision making came when he watching alec grinding against some dude in a club (i cant crack anymore)

Part I

Part II

Part IV

The second he steps inside the club, he is surrounded by a dozen of bodies around him—touching and grinding from every direction.

There’s not a single part of his body that isn’t being touched by someone right now and Magnus from a year ago would’ve thrives under this, but this Magnus, this version of him abso-fucking-lately hates it.

On any other day, Magnus loves being appreciated and gazed by the world but not right now. Not since that night.

Not since Alec Lightwood.

Because there’s only one person Magnus wants to be touched and appreciated and loved by.

But he knows he’s been fucking up constantly for reasons which are beyond his own understanding, so in order to feel even a minuscule percentage better, he comes to the club that Catarina has been asking him to.

So he’s here.

Magnus tries to lose himself in the music, the debauchery, pushes his heart inside a box and wants to let his body feel something when his eyes land onto something and he freezes.

His eyes widen as he notices the scene in the middle of the club.

It sets fire inside his chest and a pain so insurmountable that it shakes his core.

Magnus powers through his pain and sadness but this is something unexpected because never in his years he’s ever thought that he’d ever have to witness Alec with someone else.

And it’s not just Alec standing or holding hands with someone, albeit he knows that watching Alec hold hands with someone is going to hurt more but this is excruciatingly horrible too.

Watching Alec’s arms wrapped around someone else, his head tilted sideways as the green-haired seelie kisses his neck, hand wounded in Alec’s unruly hair.

Magnus blinks a few times to check if he’s really witnessing this or if it’s his messed up brain conjuring something so evil but when he opens his eyes, Alec is still there, his hand inside the back of the seelie’s shirt.

Alec throws his head back and chuckles, but Magnus knows that it’s not his real laugh.

He’s seen when Alec laughs and making Alec Lightwood laugh feels better than whatever shadowhunters imagine must feel in the presence of Raziel.

Raziel’s powers have got nothing on Alec Lightwood’s smile.

So he knows it’s not a real laugh but that doesn’t matter when someone else has got their hands inside Alec’s pants because suddenly everything hurts so fucking much—and Magnus can’t do anything about it.

Anything logical that is.

He knows about Alec’s string of one night stands but the shadowhunter has never been cruel and throwing that in his face, has always find men that Magnus doesn’t know, at places that Magnus doesn’t go to. He has never tried to intentionally hurt Magnus.

Which makes what he’s going to do next worse.

Magnus snaps his fingers and within the span of five seconds, the seelie starts sweating profusely, his entire body itching and he witnesses and feels a sense of relief.

And so much self loathing for his actions.

It takes another thirty seconds before the Seelie separates himself from Alec and creates sone distance. The green haired man says something that Magnus can’t quite put but then the man starts walking towards the bar.

“Hello,” Magnus says warmly as he hovers over the guy behind the counter.

The man frowns before turning and then his eyes widen. “You’re Magnus Bane?”

“I am.”

“Is there something you want?”

Magnus’s smile widens, “Yes. I would like you to leave the club right this second. And never see that man again.”

The seelie turns and realises he’s talking about Alec and then gets a defiant look.

“Why?”

He knows it won’t be easy. Seelies are a tough crowd.

But this one seems young and inexperienced so Magnus snaps his finger and they’re almost dark blue.

His voice is chilled and deep with the next words. “Because I said so. You would do well with not refusing the Son of Asmodeus,” and the words leave an ugly taste in his mouth.

The seelie blinks before a wicked smile is on his face.

“So that’s the shadowhunter.”

“The shadowhunter?”

“The shadowhunter. The one who has Magnus Bane on his knees,” he adds. “I get it. He would have me on my knees in another five minutes too.”

The words sends a spike of anger and his magic turn almost black and he rages, “Leave.”

The Seelie puts up his hand in mock surrender.

“I will leave. I just need to say goodbye to him once. Or do you want me to leave him without a word?”

Magnus wants to say yes but he can’t be this cruel to Alec, doesn’t want him to feel more used and terrible lets the man walk back to Alec and watches their conversation from afar.

He sees confusion on his place before understanding dawns and Alec nods.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Magnus turns to find Catarina with a disappointed face.

He sighs and looks down. “I know.”

“Will you stop with this idiocy?”

I wish I could.

“He will find out someday, Magnus. And there would be no damage control after that.”

Cat berates him for another few minutes and then Magnus hears a glass break behind him, he turned to see what it was but there seems to be no one in particular except a hundred unfamiliar body and he frowns.

“What?”

“Nothing. I thought there was someone.”

[absoluteham]

18, 3, 4

So it’s three in the goddamn morning and this week’s episode broke me so bad I literally had to write an immediate reaction fic to it. IT’S ANGSTY. I’M SORRY. It’s been lightly proofread but not meaningfully edited. It’s sad. READ AT YOUR OWN PERIL.

Spoilers, obviously, for Wynonna Earp Season 4, Episode 2.

EIGHTEEN MONTHS, THREE WEEKS, FOUR DAYS

The first day wasn’t so bad.

They got out of the BBD facility by the skin of their teeth. Her leg wasn’t so much broken as it was shattered, and getting out was a humiliating and excruciatingly painful process. The doctors somehow pinned it back together, and even though it hurt like hell, they seemed confident that it would heal in time.

And the whole time in the hospital, she waited for two people to walk through the door— her best friend, and the love of her life. The pain hung over her like a red haze, but she knew that once Waverly got there, she would be very pleasantly distracted and fussed over, and if Wynonna wanted to draw dicks and swear words all over her cast, then so be it, as long as Waverly kissed her the whole time.

She knew that everything would be mostly fine, the same way it was always mostly fine. They always took their knocks and kept going, but they did it together, as a family, and so whatever this new craziness was, they would get through it, as soon as Waverly and Wynonna showed up.

Only they didn’t.

******************

The second day was still okay.

Her leg hurt, but between the crutches and the painkillers, she could hobble around a little.

Purgatory was in chaos. She wanted to help, but she was still woozy, and with her leg, she was all but useless. Part of her just wanted to go home, but her house was too close to the action, and besides— when Waverly and Wynonna got back, they would go to the Homestead to regroup. So that’s where she went, too.

She didn’t really expect them to be there, but it wouldn’t have been the strangest thing to ever happen. Even though she knew better, it was still a little disappointing when she shouted their names in the hallway and only heard her own echo reverberating in the walls.

She wanted to go upstairs and collapse into Waverly’s bed and smell their familiar, comforting scent, but there were a lot of stairs and her leg really hurt. She stole Wynonna’s bed instead. It smelled like leather, with hints of smoke and whiskey, and underneath, something a little more feminine.

If they returned while she slept, she would probably wake up from the sound— neither of the sisters were especially quiet. They could help her up to Waverly’s room and from there, everything would fall into place. If Waverly was hurt, they could take care of each other. And if she wasn’t, then she could fuss over Nicole’s leg and they could have that talk about their future together.

As she drifted off to sleep, still half-listening for the door, she hoped she wouldn’t have to wait very long— she really wanted to go upstairs to their real bed.

******************

The third day was… a little harder.

She awoke dry-mouthed and with her leg practically on fire with pain. She hadn’t thought to leave any water by the bedside, and there was only a quarter-full bottle of whiskey by the side of the bed. Against her better judgment, she used a tiny swallow of it to chase the painkillers down.

With her leg taking her out of the action, all she had to do at the Homestead was wait. She tried to text the others for updates, and occasionally got answers back, mostly brief and confusing. Mostly, she just rested her leg and listened for the sound of the door opening. After awhile, she moved to the porch and sat there instead, hoping to see Wynonna and Waverly’s return even a moment sooner. She was worried about them, and she missed them.

It was cold on the porch, but that was okay. The warmth of that first hug would chase it all away, and then she would feel better.

When the sun set, she went back inside.

******************

The seventh day was harder.

Her leg still hurt, and her nightmares were back, and she’d really expected Waverly and Wynonna to be home by now. She was tired, and everything was strange, and Purgatory was in some state of chaos, and she really wanted Waverly to walk through the door, healthy and happy and carrying her father’s ring. As much as her leg was bothering her, she was sure that a few good hours of cuddles and a good night of sleep would make her feel completely better.

She kept waiting on the porch, but the isolation was starting to get to her. She wanted to do something. If the town was in trouble, she wanted to help. If Waverly and Wynonna were in danger, she wanted to save them. But she could barely walk.

So all she could do was wait.

******************

The thirtieth day was so much harder.

Her leg still hurt a little, but she could tolerate it better now, at least enough that she could go to town sometimes and help where she could. Truth be told, that pain was nothing compared to the ache in her chest. Sleeping was getting harder and harder. She was still in Wynonna’s bed— she could climb the stairs now without any trouble (thank goodness, since the Homestead’s one bathroom was annoyingly up there), but she was afraid of what it would do to her emotionally to go back to Waverly’s room.

Would the sheets still smell like her? Smell like them? Or had she waited too long? Would she wake up confused, reaching out for the body that was supposed to be next to her? Would she roll over after a nightmare, looking for a warm embrace to snuggle into? Or would it just be a cruel reminder, as soon as she opened her eyes, that they still weren’t back?

She felt touch-starved and cranky, but she couldn’t help it. She missed them. She missed Waverly. They hadn’t been separated for this long since they’d met, and it was torture. She wanted to talk to her, to see her face and hear her voice and process her reactions. She wanted a big, tight hug and a long, deep kiss, and one decent, dreamless night of sleep.

Sometimes she caught herself daydreaming about simple things— the sound of Waverly’s laugh, or the tone of Wynonna’s voice as she made a joke. She thought about how soft Waverly was— her skin, her lips, her hair— and the way they all felt under her fingertips. She remembered the sounds she made when they made love in the upstairs bedroom.

She still waited on the porch sometimes. But not as often.

******************

The hundredth day was the hardest yet.

She was getting used to waking up screaming or crying. She didn’t even reach out anymore, no longer half-expected Waverly’s warm body next to her. She just already knew she was alone.

It was somehow worse that way.

At some point, she had given into temptation and gone into Waverly’s room. She had waited too long, but sometimes she would catch the slightest whiff of her scent in a pillow or in the sheets, and her heart would give a huge, embarrassing leap at the reminder. She started using it as a sort of reward, or a rare source of secret comfort. If the day had been bad enough, or the nightmare upsetting enough, she would crawl into Waverly’s bed and remember their sweet shared moments there and just imagine that someday, eventually, her family would come back for her.

******************

The two-hundredth day was pretty bad.

Purgatory was still a mess, but they were all doing what they could. She saw the others only rarely these days, and though they were all bonded by the intensity of the situation, they all mostly had to lie low, isolated in their own little bunkers. Nicole stayed at the Homestead, convinced that if— no, for God’s sake, when— Waverly and Wynonna came back, they would want to go home. So she kept it safe, and kept it in one piece, and shot at anyone who stepped foot on the cursed Earp land.

Her hair was visibly growing out, and she let it. She had too many other things on her mind to worry about, and it didn’t seem important. Besides, Waverly had always liked it long.

The cast had come off her leg, and it was such a relief, even if the muscle had weakened from its time in the cast and would take some time to build up again. She had felt a weird pang as it came off, struck by the thought that Wynonna had never gotten the opportunity to scrawl lewd drawings onto it. She couldn’t quite explain to the doctors that she was upset by the lack of dicks on it.

Some days, she would stand around the Homestead, looking at the pictures hanging on the walls or propped up on tables, making sure she still remembered their every feature. Waverly’s smile, Wynonna’s smirk. Waverly’s long, beautiful hair, Wynonna’s top-shelf ass. (She laughed at that, even alone in the empty house.)

Daydreaming became a full-fledged hobby. It was bittersweet to remember the days they’d all spent together— sometimes fighting evil, sometimes just… living. Coffee in the kitchen in the morning, and sitting around the fire at night. Her focus was usually on Waverly, but she missed Wynonna, too. They were her family, and she hadn’t seen them in the better part of a year.

It was getting harder and harder to hold onto to hope that they would return. Something had obviously gone wrong— terribly wrong. But she had to believe that they were still out there somewhere, trying to get home. What other choice did she have?

******************

Christmas sucked.

Her birthday sucked, too.

Both times, she clung irrationally to this strange, desperate thought that maybe that would be the day they turned up, that her present would be an end to the endless waiting. That she could wrap Waverly Earp up in her arms like a gift from the universe and never let her go again.

After that, she tried not to hope so much.

******************

The three-hundred-sixty-fifth day was horrible.

She baked herself a cake.

It didn’t help.

******************

The five-hundred-seventy-second day was… cold. And empty.

She hadn’t seriously thought about them returning in months— not really, not in any real, hopeful way.

After all, after all those months, after a year, after five hundred and seventy two days… why should any one day be any different?

Time barely meant anything anymore. They still fought to keep Purgatory intact, she still guarded and maintained the Homestead, and all the days sort of blended together. She fixed a broken part of the fence. She shot a demon trying to raid the Homestead. She rehung a crooked door. She ate. She slept— sort of. She made sure all Wynonna’s precious throw pillows stayed intact and all of Waverly’s favorite blankets stayed clean and cared for. She left Valdez carved into the wall as a tasteless memento of that fateful day.

Nights were still terrible most of the time. She sort of remembered what it had been like to sleep next to Waverly— she remembered the blankets, there were so many blankets. They had been too warm for her, so they couldn’t always sleep right next to each other. But first thing in the morning, there had been sunrise cuddles and lazy smiles and gentle, affectionate teasing. And sometimes, there would be hands sliding under clothing and hot, panting breaths, and burning, sensual touches, and cries of release.

She never reached out anymore, except after the worst nights, where different layers of nightmares— Bulshar’s massacre, the widow’s bite, free-falling down that damn grate— left her brain so scrambled that for a second after waking up, some long-buried instinct still thought she was entitled to a hug of comfort. In her weaker moments, she fantasized about warm arms encircling her, and a gentle voice telling her that she was safe and that everything was okay. But she tried not to think about that so much anymore. It helped, but at a cost.

Her leg was back to being as strong as it ever was, but she felt like her heart had hardened. Every day, for five hundred and seventy-two days, she had waited for her family to come back to her. And every day, for five hundred and seventy-two days, she had been let down. That push and pull of hope and disappointment had left her raw at first, but now the wound had long since callused over. She refused to move on, she refused to give up on them— but she was getting too exhausted to really hope anymore.

She still stood on the porch sometimes. She told herself it was just to keep watch over the lands. She didn’t let herself admit that there could be any other reason, any hope lingering under the callus.

******************

On the five hundred and seventy-third day, Nicole Haught stood on the Homestead porch, just leaning in the doorway. She kept her shotgun with her, but didn’t really expect to need it. It was a cold, snowy day, and she rubbed at her eyes. She’d had strange dreams all night, the good and the bad all tangled together, and it left her feeling twitchy and on-edge.

She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, standing out against the snow. She raised the shotgun and gave a warning shot.

“Eat shit, shit-eater! I’m warning you, no trespassing!” she shouted in that direction, hoping they wouldn’t bother putting up a fight. The figure ducked behind a tree, then emerged seconds later.

No.

No way.

It couldn’t be.

After all this time, these months, these years, after everything…

“Waverly…”

It was her, standing against the rising sun like a vision.

She fumbled the shotgun as she set it against the wall, the shock leaving her numb. She didn’t wonder if it was a trick. She didn’t wonder if it was a dream, or a lie, or a hallucination, or an imposter.

Nicole had thought that her heart had hardened, that it had built up a layer of armor around it, but it all shattered like ice the instant Waverly Earp flew into her arms.

“It’s me.”  The impact, physical and emotional, nearly bowled her over. Waverly held her tight, then pulled back enough to look into her face. “It’s me. Oh God, it’s you!” She was beaming, and the sight of her smile nearly dropped Nicole to her knees. “We’re home…”

“Are you… real…?” Nicole stammered out, the words tumbling out of her on sheer instinct.

“Are you?” Waverly countered, half-laughing.

“Get in here and check,” she choked out, and Waverly surged forward. Their lips connected, and everything else fell away.

Without breaking apart for even a second, they staggered their way into the house, and then, layer by layer, clothes fell away. They needed to see each other. They needed to feel each other. It had been eighteen months, three weeks, and four days, and it was over. The time had finally, finally come.

Nicole tried to steer them up the stairs, but it was hard to focus on the task when Waverly was soft and real and here, here, here. They kissed like it was the end of the world, and like it was the start of a new one. Every touch, every kiss, was a new revelation, a reminder of what she had lost, of what had been returned to her.

Their clothing dropped to the floor piece by piece, a trail of love leading straight to where their bodies paused— here against a wall, here on the floor, here on the stairs, inching their way up to the bedroom with agonizing, delicious slowness.

The stairs turned out to be as far as they got. If anyone had asked Nicole what she thought about having sex on the Homestead stairs, she would have laughed in their face and pointed out the bedroom a ten-second walk away. But here in this moment, ten seconds was far too long to stop, far too far a distance to travel. Waverly was in her arms, naked and real, and she wasn’t going anywhere.

They paused in a moment of afterglow, not fully separating, just breathing, just staying close, just looking at each other in amazement.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” Waverly said, and Nicole’s heart soared, almost two years of fear and sadness and loneliness pouring out of her in sweat and heavy breaths and small, involuntary laughs. “So why do I feel like bawling?”

Nicole pressed their noses together, smirking at her and feeling more like herself than she had in… oh, about nineteen months, give or take.

“Well, after what we just did, you’re probably pretty dehydrated,” she teased, drunk on the lightness she felt.

Waverly laughed, giggling against her, and something broke anew in Nicole’s chest. She basked in the sound, letting it wash over her.

“Your laugh…” she breathed, closing her eyes for a second to drink it in. “…is like… Christmas.” She shook her head even as she said it, refusing to remember what last Christmas had been like. There hadn’t been a lot of laughter. She kept going, instead, washing the memories from her mind with another kiss. “Your lips are so soft.”

“Are you going to spend all day listing all the things you like about me?” Waverly asked.

“More like the rest of my life,” Nicole said, and meant it.

Waverly seemed to search her face, silently asking if that was the answer to a question asked so long, long ago.

“I love you,” Waverly said, breaking Nicole’s heart open anew. And then, as thought that were too much, too real, too serious, she gripped the ends of Nicole’s hair, tossing them in her hands. “I’m also loving the Little Mermaid vibes.” She looked at it like there was something funny about it, and Nicole wondered if she’d expected her to keep it the same length this whole time. “So, what, you just zipped into the Ghost River Triangle and got extensions?”

Nicole gave her a strange look, trying to understand her confusion.

“I just grew it out,” she said, hoping that they could return to the rest of my life and I love you part of the conversation, which kept tugging at her soft, soft heart.

“What?” Waverly asked, her voice puzzled and oddly serious. Nicole shook her head, nuzzling closer as tears encroached.

Somehow, her confusion, this focus on such a pointless thing, just made the moment seem all the more real. In Nicole’s dreams, even the best ones, Dream Waverly could only speak on her script, but here… now… she was her own person, thinking her own quirky thoughts in her own beautiful brain.

It was Waverly. Her voice, her face, the crinkle of her smile, the light in her eyes. She was here. She was really here. She felt real, and she smelled real, and she tasted real, and it was all just… so much. A feast after a famine.

“Sorry, I just… I just missed you so much.” Overwhelmed, she buried her face in Waverly’s shoulder as the tears forced their way out, and Waverly held her close, cradling her head and gripping her hair like she really wouldn’t let go.

“Wait… How did…” Waverly pushed her gently back after a few seconds, her brow furrowed and a confused frown on her face. “How did you grow it out?”

Nicole couldn’t understand how they were sitting there, together, naked on the Homestead staircase, and Waverly only had questions about her hair, of all things. She chose to take it as a larger question about what had happened while they were separated.

“I broke my leg, and I came back to Purgatory, but I had to retreat to the Homestead. I did everything I could to keep it safe for you.” Desperation rang in her voice at the last part— she wanted Waverly to know how hard she’d tried, how she’d wanted to do it, all for her. How she’d waited. How despite everything, she’d never really lost hope, not completely.

But Waverly still looked serious.

“Nicole, wait, just tell me. How long have I been gone?”

“Don’t you know?” Waverly didn’t answer, so Nicole continued, not even needing to think about it. The clock in her head had never stopped ticking, the mental calendar had never lost a day. “You’ve been gone… eighteen months, three weeks, and four days.”

[veliseraptor]

I can't remember if anyone has actually asked you this. I apologise beforehand if you're repeating yourself. What are your three favourite scenes in The Untamed and why?

(Love how this took so long, mostly because I was waiting to get through all the listed moments in my rewatch. Anyway! It’s here now!)

Oh, fuck. 

Okay, I couldn’t keep it to three. I tried! I did! But I couldn’t. So here is a list of just general favorite scenes with the three scratched off. I realized belatedly that most of these are just painful because I love pain I guess??? but yeah that’s just who I am and I think I have to accept that.

Under a read more because Jesus this got long.

1. The entire scene at Nightless City culminating in Wei Wuxian’s death. Like, okay, honestly, if I could expand this into basically everything between Jin Zixuan’s death and Wei Wuxian’s, I’d do that, but that feels like too much even though in my head it is all sort of...one contiguous marathon of pain. But god!!! I have a whole thing for...characters hitting their breaking point, for breaking points in general, for seeing a character I love just...crack open, and that’s what happens here.

Like. Wei Wuxian’s been cracking for a while, and there’s a number of breaking points that kind of build on each other, but this is, obviously, where the real snap happens.

And on a narrative level, too, there’s the thing that...this is the point that we as the audience have been spiraling toward since first seeing the beginning of episode one. This is where the entire long stretch of flashback has been pointing - here’s where it culminates, where it falls into place, where everything circles back to where the show started and now you know exactly how it got there. 

Also I just. Love to suffer, and this entire scene is one whole long stretch of suffering. 

2. The golden core reveal. Oh man, I was waiting for this conversation for, like. Ever. I knew it was coming and I knew it was going to have to happen and I just kept being like. When will it be. When will it be and then it happened and god it was beautiful. Everything about this whole scene was just tailor made to hurt me and make me love it, from the confrontation in the ancestral shrine right down to when Jiang Cheng bolts in a panic. 

I hurt for everyone here. Wen Ning who has hit the end of his rope and is just fed up with everything. Jiang Cheng whose world is getting turned upside down and inside out and a whole lot of things falling into place all at once, his self-conception wrecked and his understanding of Wei Wuxian both opened and destroyed. Lan Wangji who is understanding what he missed and, I think, beating himself up about having missed it, and also the fresh understanding of just how ready Wei Wuxian is to throw himself under a bus for the people he loves. Wei Wuxian who doesn’t know any of this is happening but has just collapsed after running on fumes basically since resurrecting and is going to find out later that the biggest secret he’s been keeping and planned to keep for the rest of his life is now out. 

It’s just. Lord. It’s all so painful and it’s all so good, the payoff is so good, and especial mention here of Wen Ning’s done with your shit and I’m not taking it anymore face as he brandishes Suibian at Jiang Cheng not as a weapon, exactly, but a little bit.

(He doesn’t bite but he can hurt you in other ways!)

Anyway, this isn’t actually saying anything coherent, really, except just a lot of “ahhhhh” screaming about this scene and everything in it and everyone suffering in it and just. What a moment. 

3. The excruciating conversation between Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian in episode 48. Oh my god. Ohhhh my god. Okay, so, I’m always going to be a sucker for extremely painful and difficult sibling confrontations where everyone is spilling their feelings everywhere and it’s just a lot, and this was like. I remember on my first watch when this happened and I was like. Holy shit. This. This was what I needed. This!!!! 

And then no real resolution after, orz. But that’s what fanfiction is for. And there’s glimpses of the possibility, for sure, I Believe.

But anyway! And on rewatch this conversation just gets better and also more painful because of the ways that while it is finally a conversation that Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng have sort of needed to have for, like, ever, it’s also one that rips open a lot of old wounds and it is also one that involves a painful amount of talking past each other. 

There’s a long meta post somewhere (sorry! I never know how to find the meta I’m looking for when I want it and I’m lazy right now!) about how what Jiang Cheng needs to hear is that Wei Wuxian loves and cares about him, and what he does hear is that Wei Wuxian is, once again, cutting himself off, that it was all always about debts and obligations and nothing more. And what Wei Wuxian is trying to do is release Jiang Cheng from being tied to him by those debts and obligations, to give him freedom, with I think the idea of creating a clean slate that’s not tainted by everything that went wrong before. He thinks Jiang Cheng needs to be released, but what Jiang Cheng needs is to be held.

(Both of them do! Both of them need that! Both of them need to feel loved and cherished and these things also specifically by each other!)

And I just. I just cry a lot.

But it is also beautiful, in the way that it captures so much about their relationship and the blood and hurt and tenderness and love all tied excruciatingly together, the ways that they hurt and have hurt each other, the ways they push and pull, all of Jiang Cheng’s anger and hurt spilling out everywhere in a way that I think has been building for 16 years. It’s not closure, but it is a catharsis. 

And for Wei Wuxian - I think it has to be, on some level, a relief. Even as it’s painful, even as it is exactly what he never wanted to happen, the secret is out now and he doesn’t have to hold onto it anymore. They are both - in his eyes - free. 

It’s just...a wrenching conversation that hits, like, sixty of my buttons at once and gives me a whole lot of emotions. 

4. asldkajsldfkj the flashback to Xiao Xingchen’s suicide in episode 39 and what comes after, just go ahead and kill me now. Like okay it’s probably obvious by now that I live in this hole called “Yi City, my Xue Yang feelings, and my XueXiao feelings,” and during this liveblog I specifically spilled several posts and screenshots worth of them, but god!!!! it’s just so much. Like, the entire Yi City arc is messy and painful as hell, it’s just like being put through an emotional wringer where I hurt for everyone in it, but this is the part that is especially excruciating because everyone in this emotional climax is suffering so much. 

And, like. We knew where this would end. We knew Xiao Xingchen died, and a-Qing was just killed, and at this point Xue Yang is dying. No one is getting out of this alive - but we haven’t seen yet exactly how things closed out. And the answer is “badly. it’s badly.” 

Both of these people in the very bad breakup scene are hurting. Xiao Xingchen is in agony, his life falling apart in his hands - everything he thought he knew has been a lie, he’s been tricked, played for a fool. And the hammer blows keep coming. It’s not enough that it’s Xue Yang, that Xue Yang has been fucking with him (as far as he knows), lying to him, for three years. It’s what Xue Yang reveals about what he’s done. And then it’s what Xue Yang reveals about what he’s done to Song Lan.

And on the other end - Xue Yang’s weird fake domestic life that he’s gotten attached to, Xiao Xingchen who he’s come to care about - it’s imploding, irrevocably, in front of his face. And first he tries to explain himself, sort of, but he must know it’s not going to work; and then he goes back to what he does best and lashes out. You’re going to hurt me? I’ll hurt you fifty times as much.

I think he expects a fight. Or maybe, at most, he expects Xiao Xingchen to break down, and maybe he has some vague idea that then he can say see, this is what the world is really like, now you get it and rebuild him in some kind of Xue Yang-esque image (though I don’t think he really thinks that’ll happen). He doesn’t expect Xiao Xingchen to kill himself. He doesn’t expect Xiao Xingchen to die.

And then he doesn’t expect to not be able to get him back.

It’s just. This whole arc is people destroying each other and themselves body and soul, and this is the climax of it, the breaking point. And it hurts, real bad.

And as we have established! I love to suffer.

5. Drunk Lan Wangji, take two. All of these are like. “Pain! Pain! Pain!” and here we are with some goofy antics instead. I mean, the intro to drunk!Wangji is sad in the way that it has to do with what happened to Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen (and Lan Wangji’s always feelings about those parallels ouch), but then...I mean, drunk!Wangji is just generally adorable, but here he is especially adorable. 

Chicken theft! Vandalism! Trespassing! His adorable little smile when Wei Wuxian asks if he likes rabbits and he’s like. Yeah. :) :)

And then we close out with more emotions, of course. Because it’s not The Untamed without a little bit of pain thrown in there. 

“I have regret,” Lan Wangji says, a confession of fault, and of course Wei Wuxian can’t receive it, or won’t - and Lan Wangji reacts to his attempt at absolution by basically doing his usual “I don’t want to talk about this” routine of just bluntly changing the subject (in this case “going to bed now goodnight.”).

Also the entire bit where he goes from hopelessly drunk to fighting off an opponent and then back to hopelessly drunk, like. Even drunk!Wangji can and will kick your ass. 

And all of Wei Wuxian just like. Basically trip babysitting him? Gently trying to herd him around? The gentleness and fondness of it all?

Good. All good.

6. Qiongqi Path, take one. Emotional mauling! Terrifying evil flute Wei Wuxian! Dramatic face-off between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji! The beginning of Lan Wangji’s moral crisis! (Or, okay, not the beginning but this is definitely a major breaking point for his worldview, I think, and where his questioning really, truly begins.) 

It’s just...a lot of good. Everything with Wen Qing searching for Wen Ning’s body hurts so bad. Wei Wuxian coming stalking back into the camp with vengeance on the brain is as gloriously sexy as that vibe always is on him. And the confrontation between Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian? oh man. 

Juicy. And also. Ouch. 

(And am I a sucker for everything about ‘former allies ending up on opposite sides and one of them saying something along the lines of ‘if I’m going to die then I’d rather it was you who killed me’ yes I sure am! I didn’t cry nearly as much on my third watch but this scene is another one of my points that I think of when I think of bits in The Untamed that make me cry.

And as we’ve established already, I just love to cry.

7. God like. All of episode 19? Is that cheating? But it’s all so good! We have suffering Wei Wuxian! Mouthing off while being tortured! The entire sequence of him grabbing the sword and that moment of choice where his life turns as he answers that question (do you want revenge?) with a resounding yes? 

Lan Wangji absolutely fucking up some Wens on a desperate quest for Wei Wuxian? Teaming up with Jiang Cheng? (Do I still want to see more of that team up in that time? Yes please!!) SPOOKY FUCKING FLUTE MUSIC STARTING SIGNALING EXTREMELY OMINOUS THINGS TO COME?

Anyway it’s all very “fuck yeah, this is all quite tailored to me and my interests, thank you.”

8. Jiang Yanli coming for Jin Zixun’s life. I feel like I should just link to this analysis of this scene that really breaks it all down in detail? But god so satisfying. I mean, Jin Zixun is truly one of the most hateable characters in this show, in my opinion, and seeing Jiang Yanli step up and politely and meticulously demolish him is like. So satisfying. 

The face of a woman about to murder someone. But with words.

I really wish we could’ve seen more of this Jiang Yanli, because before this point she’s all softness and gentleness and while that’s very true of her - this part of her is also there, always, and I’d love to have seen more of it.

But like. Getting it here? Stunning. Showstopping. Love it.

9. Wei Wuxian wrecks a party, but, like, sexily. I mean, he wrecks a few parties, but I’m thinking specifically of the one in episode 26 prior to Qiongqi Path, take one. Everything about that whole scene is gold top to bottom, but what really gets me going is everything from the dramatic entrance (I’m tempted to make a list of Wei Wuxian’s best dramatic entrances) onward to “sexy menacing countdown.” It’s just all so...I mean, I’ve talked about how much I love furiously angry and on the verge of losing it Wei Wuxian, and this is some prime that material. 

(Pictured: the sexiest way anyone has ever said the word ‘two.’)

And just! The tension of it all, how it builds and builds and builds and even when it finally releases when Zixun caves there’s still all this lingering “oh fuck! that’s bad!” dread...it’s just very good. 

And I also love it as one of those key plot turning moments where it’s like. This isn’t the irrevocable break, but it’s a big one as far as ‘no going back from this.’

And like. Not just Wei Wuxian, everyone else in this scene is excellent too. Just. Mm. Good.

10. Wei Wuxian is sexy when he’s mean and that’s just the truth. Which is to say: the very bad breakup scene between him and Lan Wangji in episode 20. I’ve read two different analyses of this scene, both brilliant (by @hunxi-guilai here, and @neuxue here), and I feel like I can’t add much to that other than to reiterate that Wei Wuxian is very sexy when he’s mean, and the layers of everything going on in this scene are. Ugh!!! So good.

(I mean, also everything that comes before, I have put myself down firmly in camp “Wei Wuxian is also sexy when he murders people, you go Wei Ying, murder people as much as you want, it’s hot.” And the hug with Jiang Cheng! (THAT HUG. IT IS SUCH A HUG.))

But the confrontation between him and Lan Wangji in particular! it is so fuckin good. Honestly just read the linked analyses, I’ve got nothing I can say better that’s not in there, just a lot of “ahhhhhhh” about it all.

BONUS MENTIONS TO: basically every time Wei Wuxian Yiling Laozus, “stay and die with me.” 

[johannesviii]

So I guess I’m hyperfixating on Death Stranding at the moment

And since I’ve finally finished the story after playing it for like 100 hours over the course of seven months or so I guess I have Opinions(tm) about things I didn’t like in the game

They’re eating at my brain so I’m gonna put them all in a single post to get them out of my system once and for all so I can enjoy the rest in peace

Spoilers, obviously

Hi welcome back to ‘Johannes is obsessing over yet another video game with horror elements in it’! I guess!!

Our latest entry in that category was Until Dawn but since UD can be played in like 6/7 hours and I spent 100 hours of my life on DS, as you can guess we’re talking about a full-blown hyperfixation, the kind that physically hurts because I can’t focus on anything else even after having finished the storyline

But it was super gradual. Again, seven months. I barely made any progress from December to May because I was only doing side-deliveries at the beginning of Chapter 3 instead of... you know... advancing the plot. It became an honest-to-god special interest about two months ago, then 6 days ago while playing chapter 10 it reached hyperfixation levels and now I am in PAIN

I hate my brain

Anyhow

At first I wanted to list the good and the bad hings in it but there’s too many good things to list them all in full, excruciatingly long details, so

Very Quick And Very Incomplete List Of Good Things That I Love

It’s a post-apo game based on travel, logistics, and good will, and it straight up goes AGAINST the whole ‘survival of the fittest’ trope that SO MANY post-apo things try to push!! YES

I insist but it’s built on helping each other and keeping everyone alive, seriously that is my shit right there!

The online community is wholesome?? People leave stuff everywhere, you never see anyone but people put little helpful signs and send you likes, and in my game we almost managed to repair all the roads together

There’s so many new & strange allergies and disabilities and phobias in this post-apo world and? nobody is trying to ““fix”“ anyone?? Like Heartman with his padded floor and his little box that brings him back to life constantly. He’s just... living like that. Nobody’s going “hey maybe you should get another heart operation buddy”

The hero and his phobia of being touched. I. Loved. That. The quiet scenes when he was just talking with Fragile, sitting next to her. In any other context this would just be two people sitting next to each other and talking but it always feels so soft and intimate everytime he allows another human being to just. be next to him. I love it. I love them

Everyone crying constantly because of chiral allergy!!

I loved all the important characters bar one (Bridget/Amelie)!

Why is this walking simulator so enjoyable why am I enjoying the fact that holding L2 + R2 while walking feels like holding your backpack and that you have to relax at times just like you’d have to if you were actually holding a backpack

Seriously. Why

The atmosphere was so great, the music was fantastic and the visuals were on point. A E S T H E T I C

The ghosts!! The giant Beached Things!!! Chiral crystals look! like! creepy hands reaching for the SKY!!

THE RAIN DESTROYS THINGS AND KILLS PEOPLE BY ACCELERATING TIME THIS IS SO COOL SHUT UP

Everytime the game got surreal it was electrifying

THE SURREAL WAR SCENES ON CLIFF’S BEACH

Everyone is using emojis

There’s guys addicted to delivering packages in that game and they’re trying to steal our stuff and we’re like “haha they’re dumb” but we’re basically addicted to delivering packages as the player. So yeah that was pretty fun

Terrorists thinking humanity isn’t going extinct fast enough and wanting to just rip the bandaid and speed things up. Simple but effective concept

People ask for SUPER VITAL ITEMS right next to completely trivial stuff and I’m LIVING for it. “Please fetch my toy dinosaur”. I feel you dude

The most isolated characters are like "LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THIS THING I LIKE" in your emails because they haven't had contact with other humans in years, it's super relatable

There’s a farm where people use the fact that Timefall rain accelerates time to grow food super quickly in one (1) Timefall and harvest everything just before it starts to die and I LOVE that detail of worldbuilding so much

YOU’RE FIGHTING BEACHED THINGS WITH YOUR OWN BODILY FLUIDS IT’S SO STUPID BUT ALSO SO COOL?? I love yeet-ing my own blood at eldritch entities

THE T W I S T S

All the fanservice (bar one detail that I’m gonna complain about later) is on dudes. This game reeeeeeally likes to show dudes naked or somewhat naked. Mostly the main character but this mocap also L O V E S Mads Mikkelsen and there’s a shit ton of homoerotic shots in there

I love Sam the antisocial papa wolf delivery man and if someone touches him or his baby again, I will cry

LOU. LOU LOU LOU PRECIOUS BABY I’D DIE FOR YOU. Wait I did

I love Fragile and how brave she is and how she keeps helping people even if most of them wrongly think she’s a terrorist and yes I will eat this cryptobiote thank you

I love soft science boi Heartman who keeps dying again and again and is a bit too much interested in bodily fluids

I love garbage man Higgs and how complex, funny and still somewhat tragic this memelord actually turned out to be in the end

Seriously I want to stop fixating on this character but you can’t give me YET ANOTHER character who wants to die but at the hands of someone else, that is unfair to do that right after my fixation on the new Doctor Who Master

So yeah Higgs is yet another character who makes me want to grab him by the lapels and shake him and yell WHY! ARE! YOU! LIKE! THIS! STOP! BEING! LIKE! THIS!!

Cliff broke all three of my feelings beautifully and in excruciatingly well-acted scenes that transcended the sometimes lackluster dialogue

John made me cry during That Scene

Mama your background was tragic and terrifying and you didn’t deserve any of this shit and I love you

Deadman was more funny than anything, really, but I still liked him even if he had no sense of personal space whatsoever and it clashed horribly with Sam’s phobias

The ending had some sad parts but was mostly positive, thank goodness

Now I’m gonna explain things I dislike and this looks long but it’s actually only 5 main things so I bolded them to avoid confusion

Things I really disliked (and could have been handled wayyyy better)

We all know it but Kojima isn’t a master of subtlety and some parts of the dialogue kept repeating the same informations again and again AND AGAIN and I was like “ok ok I get it”

The dialogue can be so bad at times seriously

Kojima is a bad writer there I said it

It was particularly annoying with Amelie/Bridget and the fact she’s a horrible person trying (and failing) to justify her actions wasn’t helping

Bridges protocols are incredibly intrusive. All of them. I know it’s framed as bad and Sam hates being spied on all the time and in the end he destroys the device that does that, but I wish someone else would openly criticise it in-game

I guess Deadman sort of did but still

Also I know the whole BB technology was Bridget’s idea, and since she’s the actual villain it’s framed as a twisted, evil thing during the ending, but I wish that had been framed like that much earlier ; a lot of Bridges employees just... seem to accept the idea that their employer is using premature babies and their dead mothers as useful, if disturbing, devices. They seem to justify it by “uh we stole that technology from terrorists” to try to cope with the idea but... yeah.

I mean, one of the points being made very early on is that Sam sees his BB as his child who must be protected at all costs instead of a detection device, but I really wish he wasn’t the only one to object to that thing

Again, the game DOES frame "using babies and their dead mothers as tools” as evil and twisted, I just wish it was given a lot more weight and way sooner

Now let’s talk about the Token Straight(tm) in this game

In any other kind of context it would be a joke! But Death Stranding literally has a Token Straight Guy!

I mean, there IS a few hetero couples among the Preppers. Not a lot, mind you. Like, there’s the Montaineer and his wife for instance. But they’re just there and it’s not what their side plot is about

No I’m talking about this piece of shit right there

This f█cking Junk Dealer guy complains the girl he loves is dead because of Bridges and emotionally blackmails us by sending us old holograms of her before her supposed death (somewhat disturbing holograms too because she looks... pretty young in them), then he sends us on what’s essentially a suicide mission in a BT infested zone, THEN when we give him proof she’s still alive and living in another bunker nearby, he won’t go there himself to check??

But SHE’s like “ok, bring me to him, then!”

He doesn’t deserve you, girl

I’ve already seen several people pointing out that carrying a woman as cargo on your back is... debatable at best and sexist at worst, but that part didn’t really bother me to be honest? She asked to be carried to him and it’s her choice. She was talking to us the entire way too, so that made things a lot less awkward. Also Sam has this phobia of being touched by other people so I bet carrying another human being on his back isn’t fun for him. It was also super stressful to do, to be honest.

And then there’s this EXTREMELY AWKWARD scene when they’re reunited and decide to get married, and thankfully Sam finds it just as awkward as we do because he’s standing super far away from the bunker in a “can’t they talk about this later - I’m right there” way. And I’m under the impression it was intended as cringy, in a “yeppp young people in love are Like That” sort of way, so I can accept that, to be honest. If you don’t take that scene seriously, it’s pretty fun in, again, a cringy sort of way

BUT

Then you receive more emails later and this piece of shit guy complains about her and he’s like “ugh WOMEN” or “marriage is the worst” and they end up divorced in record time and she goes back to her bunker

Which isn’t my problem with this subplot either, I promise I’m gonna explain myself eventually but this context is important. It’s okay to have characters who are pieces of shit like this guy who reeks of incel cologne. It’s alright. Not every character has to be a role-model. It’s good to have characters you can hate.

BUT THEN they get back together later to try to patch things up and you learn he was part of a gang who murdered her parents even though he protected her against the rest of the gang and that’s what I hated about that storyline. I guess if you squint it can be read as “this woman is making REALLY BAD life choices” but I read it as “he saved her so she owes him something, he can’t be entirely bad” and y i k e s this left such a bad taste in my mouth, good lord.

But yeah miss Chiral Artist you’re making really bad life choices please get away from this dude as soon as you can, thank you

Also don’t do this ‘sending Likes’ pose ever again, it was hilarious but also you made me use the word “cringy” several times in this paragraph even though I absolutely hate cringe culture, look what you made me do

Now I have to talk about a scene that was intentionally disturbing as hell but ONE (1) detail in it was disturbing for the wrong reasons

To be honest, I really don’t like the Metal Gear Solid games and one of the reasons is the rampant sexism in them so I... was kind of bracing myself for Death Stranding and expecting it to have at least SOME really bad fanservice with a woman at one point or another but to my surprise?? There was none? All the fanservice is on dudes??? Hello? I really liked that (well at some point Fragile takes a shower in our room but we see literally nothing except her shoulder and then Sam looks away)?? What a refreshing change

THAT BEING SAID

And if you played the game you know exactly what I’m about to talk about

Yep this is the part where Johannes complains about how the bomb flashback was shot

Ok so I guess I should also give some context in case someone is reading this but hasn’t played the game, but the deal with this scene is that our friend Fragile was betrayed by her colleague Higgs who used to be a porter but became a terrorist after meeting the “main“ villain of the game. First he secretly put a thermonuclear bomb in one of her deliveries so she’d nuke an entire city without even knowing it, and everyone after that thought she was a terrorist. And then he tried to do that shit A SECOND TIME, but she noticed and decided to toss the second nuke into a bottomless lake of tar. But he caught her just before she reached the lake and he decided to give her a sadistic choice, which was “teleport away and the bomb stays there and nukes the city, or carry it to the lake but only in your underwear under this rain that speeds up time and it will do enormous damage to your health and your body”

And of course being the hero she is, she decides to take the second option

And it’s an incredibly disturbing scene and it’s genuinely hard to watch

But it’s also the ONLY time a woman is in her underwear in this entire game and there’s A COUPLE of shots that were male-gaze-y at the beginning before she started to run and the really horrific part started.

So in a way I guess it could have been worse? way worse, even

But it still tarnishes an otherwise disturbing (and harrowing at times ; seriously I know I’m oversensitive but it was physically painful to watch) scene with unnecessary shots

We know Fragile had a young body before this happened, this isn’t the point of this scene, guys

Whoever decided to keep these shots (probably Kojima let’s face it), that is bad and you should feel bad

Idk how to do a visual transition for that next one because I do not want to screen that memo

So here’s a screenshot with a nice landscape instead

tw: acephobia

Now I have to talk about something I like the GENERAL IDEA of, but not how the IN-GAME MATERIAL ABOUT IT was written

Because I have to talk about that “asexual world” memo

First I have to say that I absolutely love the fact that a mainstream game openly says in-game “this future is full of asexual people" and?? it’s just that, it’s a part of this world. That’s just how things are. It’s normalised. I love it. For crying out loud this memo has the word demisexual in it. I can’t think of any other mainstream game that had this word in it so far.

It should have stopped there and let me enjoy that in peace but it didn’t

THE MEMO ITSELF WAS CLEARLY WRITTEN BY SOMEONE WHO DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO HANDLE THESE CONCEPTS and there’s some really bad stuff there. I’d say it’s accidental acephobia but it’s still there. I’m not the best person to talk about this because I’m bi, but it still rubbed me the wrong way

The words this memo uses near the beginning are “"sexless lifestyle” among young people” and yikes, my dude. “Lifestyle”, uh? Really?

And then it goes on about how these new labels were already more and more common “among young people before the Death Stranding” and it also rubs me the wrong way, in a “wow young people and their weird labels lol” sort of queerphobic way?

However I’ve seen a post pointing out that the line “One theory posits that the Stranding accelerated the proliferation of these sexualities” was maybe a way of saying ‘yo asexuals are causing the end of the world’ but... I don’t see it, tbh? In the context of the game, society is extremely divided and a lot of people live in complete isolation and social norms have heavily shifted and it’s kind of normal that there’s queer people visible everywhere now, aces included obviously, because nobody’s bothering to hide it anymore. It’s a post-apocalyptic world! People are just being themselves! A lot of characters also seem to be bi/pan! They’re just vibing ok

At least that’s how I read that part, I can understand if someone had a problem with that bit but I didn’t

BUT! THAT’S NOT ALL because the memo concludes (I’m paraphrasing) “the birth rate has dropped, which might be a problem, but harassment and assault have also dropped, which is good, so idk it’s 50/50″ and. like. I get the intention. But it’s clumsy as hell and very bad. Please don’t confuse abuse of power and attraction. They don’t go hand in hand. Don’t do that. Please. And you know that aces can have kids if they want to, right. Come on. It’s 2020 my dude. This shit is harmful

Also. Like. It’s the end of the world in this game. People don’t want kids. It... has nothing to do with aces. Reality itself is crashing down. People are reluctant to have kids because reality.exe might f█cking crash down at any given moment!

Or a Beached Thing could VoidOut their city!

Or someone might send them a nuke, not naming names!!

Anyway!!!

It’s really badly written and whoever wrote it should educate themselves and maybe get an ace to re-read their stuff next time??

Again I’m not the right person to talk about acephobia and I bet an actual ace would have plenty more to say about this

Thankfully it’s a memo written in-game by a random Bridges councellor and NOT by any important character that we actually know

"I must preempt myself by admitting that I do not have any empirical data" yeah so, f█ck off maybe

So I’m just gonna call that guy “another piece of shit character” but it still doesn’t excuse the fact that the memo was written by someone who thought it was a good idea to put it in the game

Just let me enjoy my super queer post-apo world in peace and don’t write shit like that in your game thank you and goodbye

Minor stuff I also disliked but it wasn’t as awful

I get that Sam is upset at the end because Lou is dying but the way he said goodbye to Fragile broke my heart. It was abrupt and you KNOW he’s upset and wants to have nothing to do with Bridges anymore and that’s very understandable but it isn’t her fault

Seriously I want them to be friends again

I’m gonna pretend they’re friends again after Lou is saved and that Sam is a freelance porter again and sometimes their paths cross and they just talk together in the middle of nowhere and share cryptobiotes

The pacing is weird, there’s this deluge of plot in the beginning and the end but not much in the middle?

The BT boss fights could have been these epic Shadow of the Colossus showdowns but no, they were relatively standard boss fights. Wasted opportunity

The running on the Beach scene sdfghjhgfdsdfghjhgf that was... dumb

A lot of preppers are interesting in one way or another but some are just boring. Also I wish the design of their bunkers was more varied

Amelie/Bridget’s motivations are all over the place, both creating Bridges AND the Demens is... a lot? I know she both WANTS and DOESN’T want the actual, final end of the world to happen but that is a lot to take in and it’s all very confusing

Who the hell cares about ‘rebuilding America’ I just want to build a network where people can help each other

The ‘likes’ are fun but don’t make much sense

In conclusion

Death Stranding Good

Some stuff Bad

Some stuff Very Bad (but it’s just one memo out of 100+ memos, thank god)

I’m still hyperfixating

Send help

[nurseofren]

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 23

Read on AO3

Read chapter twenty-two

Title: Choice

Words: 8200

Summary: When one is hurt, comfort is imperative.

ST Rambles: Hello! It has been nearly a month, not quite, but I have missed you all so entirely too much to admit. This story is my heart, and sharing it means the world to me. I took my first exam of the semester this morning and wanted to finish this chapter so I could upload prior to going to my first maternal-newborn clinical rotation on Saturday.

During my time away I have had the opportunity to read many amazing works, whether they be one-shots on tumblr or ficlets right on A03. One that has evoked such a strong response in me has been Three Blind Tooke by ElmiDol. She is a beautiful soul with such a gift for storytelling. I have quickly fallen in love with this story and I hope to encourage many of you to do the same.

My plan for the semester and writing is to take one week writing and then take one week to read the stories that I want. I think this will provide the necessary balance needed for me to be successful in school while also creating and enjoying other creator's content.

[MASTERLIST]

Time has always had a funny way of making itself scarce when needed most. It seemed that you could barely remember the trial, like it had never happened and all that remained to prove that it had were the restraints locked tight around each of your wrists and your neck. Above you sounded the molten, fatal buzz of the plasma guillotine, though it was mere background noise to the riotous cacophony of the rabid crowd awaiting your final moment. As you knelt, trembling against the icy durasteel, face frozen under cold-stuck tears, you tried and failed to settle into acceptance that this would be your last act of life.

“Please,” you whimpered, unsure if anyone could hear you, “I… I saved that man’s life. I didn’t hurt anyone. I don’t deserve to die for keeping my oath.” You tried to scream but the pleads were barely whispers.

Out of sight came a bellowed laugh, full and ragged just as it had been in the past. “That isn’t why you’re here, young officer.” Snoke could hardly contain his glee. “You’re forgetting, you may have saved one life, but you took another.”

Nausea waved through you and your head started pounding; Snoke’s presence was pain, magnified with each echo of his words as the arena shook against the surround sound. An uproar of cheers and chanting came from before you, the crowd booming with enthusiasm, hanging off of every word their Supreme Leader spoke.

Through the fog of terrified eyes you saw an image appear behind the audience, scaling the entire back wall and striking you with rage. A scrollbar read something you could only assume to be his First Order given name, your focus too centered on the enormous projection of Robbie’s face, smiling while he held his helmet tight against his chest. He looked too nice, just as he’d seemed when you gave him a name. He was being renowned as a hero, his death marking you as the villain.

“I… He! I was defending myself, he was going to kill me!”

“But instead you killed me.”

This voice was angelic, familiar and welcoming in the storm surrounding you. It was accompanied by the footsteps you’d become so fond of, coming closer with every panted breath that fell from your lips. Kylo crowded your view of the blinding screen, a cape trailing in his path. He stopped when he was centered in your view and crouched so he was eye level with you.

He wore no mask, nothing to conceal his beautiful visage as the sight of him constricted your heart. When was the last you’d seen him? It felt like it had been so long, yet you could barely grasp any concept of time. It was frustrating, like you were barred in your memory. Kylo’s face gave no indication into his emotions, yet for a fleeting moment you swore you saw a tear glint over his cheek.

“Yet another of your victims, yes?” Snoke remained hidden, his voice shifting between your ears, slithering like the snake he was.

“You made me! I had no-,”

“Choice.” It was a discordant wrath of voices; at first Kylo’s, then Snoke’s, trailing off with the whispers of Robbie’s and Mason’s.

Kylo brought one hand, bare and freezing, to your cheek. It hadn’t been there before, but his face was now split with the consequences of battle, a gash – open, pulsating, and weeping – ripping through his features. A shiver sank into you, you throat tightening.

The way in which he next breathed your name made you weep, his thumb catching the tear that burned into your skin. “You’ve always had a choice, remember? You just keep making-,”

“The wrong ones.” You finished his sentence, remembering the first time he’d said it. A futile attempt was made to reach for his hand, a sting coming as the restraint bit into your wrist.

The crowd was growing impatient, hordes of screams coming from behind Kylo’s shoulders. The screen behind him shifted to present the live cast of your suffering, the view suggesting that it was Kylo’s own eyes giving view to the onlookers, your face excruciatingly close, allowing every audience member to bask in the terror that plagued you.

You sniffled, nuzzling into his hand and looking between his eyes. He mimicked you, though his gaze was empty, just as it had been one of the last times you could remember seeing him. “I trusted you,” he said. “More than anything.”

Kylo began to leave you, his fingertips lingering just before he could take three steps backwards. The plasma blade above you began hissing louder with inevitability, your eyes squeezing shut as you awaited your sentence’s completion. Pain took root in your left upper thigh, a kind of burning as you continued to kneel. A string of agony tore through your throat as your eyes shot open to see Kylo’s hand shoot up.

“No, no! Please! Kylo, no!” You could see your face twist with desperation behind him now, tears willful in their presence as each one painted creaks of pain down to the durasteel.

Snoke let out another flood of evil-tinged amusement as Kylo turned his face toward the direction the sound came. “You still don’t understand, stupid girl.” Another bark of laughter. “You might have had a choice,” he said, “but your Master never did. Never will.”

And as they were spoken, you saw that crushing glimmer of humanity flicker in the face of Kylo Ren as he turned back to you. Snoke, infuriatingly, was right, of course. Hearing it out loud, accepting it as fact, calmed you down. Staring up at him, watching his fingers twitch, you spent your last remaining second pitying him for all the control he believed he had, knowing more than he did that it was a masterful mirage. Snoke had Kylo wrapped around his finger; you had only aided in tightening his grip.

More than anything. It was the last thought before you heard the overhead blade drawing near, its volume immense until it wasn’t. The next thing you were aware of was the overbearing smell of flatcakes wafting into your nostrils. Taking a few deep breaths, your attention went to the ache twisted into the back of your skull, the dryness sticking to your lips, and the warm weight present over your right leg.

Taking one more deep breath, you coughed, lungs feeling like they’d been stagnant for a while, rejecting the stretch of air. Light was obvious even as your eyes remained shut, its overwhelming presence leading you to blink a few times before adapting.

“Where am I?” you croaked out. Answering your question, you first saw the familiar polygon meal tray sitting atop a bedside table while your watch rested next to it, next catching view of the pulse oximeter resting over your left index finger. This was the medbay.

The first thing that came to mind was your dream, remembering Kylo’s wounded face. He was hurt. Where was he? Was he okay? The monitor to your left sounded louder as your heart rate accelerated. Warmth left your right leg as you saw something move in your periphery. A person.

Mason had been asleep, his hair stuck to his face when he first looked at you with shock and relief. “You scared me!” He sprung up from the chair he’d been sitting in and flung his arms around you. “The news about Starkiller came and I didn’t know where you were.” He hummed your name into your neck while rocking you back and forth. “I thought you were… I thought you had… I didn’t know…”

“Mason.” It was all you could think to say, your arms resting at your side as he kept his hold on you. Maybe you should’ve felt relief that he was here and that he was okay, but all you could feel was regret and an overwhelming sadness. Mason was none the wiser, but his very existence was a reminder of what you’d done, undeniable proof of the choice you’d made.

He finally leaned back, keeping his hand locked around yours and staring down at you with red-rimmed eyes. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his nerves settling more the longer he looked over your face. “I tried calling you—” a laugh accompanied the distant raise of his brows “—but I lost my commlink. I guess. I actually don’t know-,”

“What?” you interrupted his explanation, confused by his recall of events, wondering why Snoke wasn’t the focal point of his reasoning.

His face fell. “What? Did I say something? Are you hurt? Do you need water? Food? I actually ordered some flatcakes for me, but they’re all yours if you-,”

“You lost your commlink?”

His brow creased and his thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Yeah? Yeah. I mean. I guess. It’s been crazy around here today and—” his face bloomed in horror “—oh, fuck! I didn’t mean that your day hasn’t been bad, I just. Yeah. I lost it.”

He didn’t seem like he knew anything about Snoke, or that he remembered ever enduring the pain you’d heard him scream through the communication device earlier – actually, how long had it been?

“So… There was nothing… I mean, you weren’t… Summoned? Or…?”

“Summoned?” Mason looked at you with amused confusion. “I’m pretty sure they didn’t give you any pain medicine, but you’re acting a little loopy.”

He didn’t know. He was blissfully ignorant to Snoke’s involvement in your or his life. Again, instead of relief you were met with that bleakness from before. “Maybe I was just dreaming,” you brushed it off.

Dreaming. Kylo. “I need to see him,” you mumbled, moving to stand and becoming extremely aware of your left leg once more. A hiss left you before Mason could pull your shoulders back against the bed, your hand reaching down to soothe the blanket-covered wounds.

“Not so fast,” he said. “Doctor Belkar wants to examine you before you start walking.”

“Belkar?” You couldn’t remember ever hearing that name, though your memory may not be the most reliable at the moment.

“I heard my name.” A man – shorter, skinny, and dark-skinned – peered into the door before knocking and stepping in. “Oh, good! Glad to see you’re awake. You had us worried there for a moment.” Belkar took a few more steps so he was on your left, clutching a datapad under his arm and smiling down at you. His presence was comfortable and professional. He seemed to possess a bedside manner not common of many physicians, and he’d barely even spoken.

Squinting towards his badge you found his first name. “Trace Belkar.” You sounded it out, feeling a faint sense of familiarity. Looking to his face, it finally struck you. “Oh! You’re, you are the one who… You helped me with my friend earlier.” Warmth set in your cheeks when you realized you knew him.

“Ah! My first surprise patient of the day. Funny how things seem to come full circle, isn’t it? Now-,”

Further realization hit. “You also helped me that night. I was the nurse who…” Maybe he didn’t remember who you were, and maybe he didn’t need to, given your actions that night were rather infamous currently.

“Yes! I knew you looked familiar seeing you yesterday. You are the nurse that saved my patient’s life. Great work that night, by the way. Fast-thinking, resourceful. Gives me hope for the next generation of medics.” A quick smile flashed across his face before he reached into his coat pocket. “Now, if you don’t mind following my finger with your eyes.”

It probably took too long for you to follow his request as you were taken aback by his praise for that night. The only emotions you’d ever attached to that it had been pain and fear, likely influenced by the way you were being reprimanded at the moment, thinking of that night as a crime rather than the miracle that it was for that man.

“Um, yes. Sorry.” You shook your head and followed the tip of his finger as he dragged it around – up and down, right to left, and finally in a diagonal cross.

“Any nausea, pain, weakness, dizziness, headaches?” His tone was absent while he traced his penlight in and out of sight to finish his PERRLA assessment.

“I’m really fine. This isn’t necessary at all.” You couldn’t stand being treated like a patient. Even when you were one. Knowing the inner workings of every check made it difficult not to see through their purpose. “I could probably leave now and I’d be fi-ah!” You’d tensed your wounded leg without thinking when shifting in the bed.

“How’s that leg treating you?” It seemed he was psychic in his assumptions, though you knew he’d probably had a nurse do a head-to-toe assessment while you were out.

Mason was puzzled when you looked over at him. “What’s wrong with her leg? She passed out. What’s wrong with her-,”

“Mason, will you go find me some water? And maybe a warm blanket? Please.” Your eyes were locked with Belkar’s as you quieted Mason, mindlessly squeezing his hand to encourage his leave. Mason did not need to see your brand. He wouldn’t understand, and you didn’t feel like having to explain to him, that you felt deserving of it and much worse.

There was a silent moment as you watched Belkar and felt Mason’s eyes before he squeezed your hand back and told you he’d be back soon. The door shut behind him and the quiet swallowed you.

“From what I read in your chart it seemed you’d given yourself a makeshift dressing. Your nurse was actually impressed at how well it was done. I do have some questions about the scars under it, though. If you don’t mind.” He seemed to know to tread lightly; his demeanor reminded you of the one you were instructed to use on abuse survivors.

You shook your head, but this only clued you into another pain. “Jeez! Ow!” Your hand fled to your forehead, finding a bandage sealed over a large bump. It was tender to touch, flinching as you remembered Robbie banging your head into the door.

Belkar took his datapad from under his arm and tapped away as you recovered. “There.” He pressed the screen once more before returning it to its original spot. “The nurse should be in here soon with some-,”

“I don’t want it.” You swallowed, dropping your hand and staring at your lap.

Belkar paused and shifted in his stance. He clicked his tongue, put his datapad down, and pulled up a chair. He called you by your last name, professional yet with a considerable amount of concern. “Will you tell me what caused your injuries?”

He was attempting therapeutic communication. And he was succeeding. An uncomfortable laugh left you. “What is there to tell? I’m hurt. In ways that aren’t physical. Ways that are.” Your lip began to quiver before you caught it with your teeth.

Another pause from Belkar. His hand twitched and your eyes jumped to it. He noticed this. “Can I hold your hand?”

The offer was tempting, but you declined by shaking your head and finally looking up at him. There were crinkles splayed outward from his eyes and gray hairs obvious in an overgrown stubble on his cheeks. He was a kind soul, you could tell; it was evident in his eyes, clear and green yet full of warmth. Soon after setting eyes on him you felt your throat thicken and your eyes water.

“You know,” you laughed, scraping at your eyes and sniffling, “I don’t even know what I’d say to any of the questions you mentioned before.”

A kind smile, no teeth, brought his cheeks up. “How about just one, then?”

“Yeah. One. I guess.”

He made sure your eyes were on his before he spoke again. “Do you want to report the person who did this to you?”

Another nervous laugh left. And then a sob before the heels of your hands met your face. “That’s not necessary,” you said through hiccuped words. Robbie’s face flashed into your mind’s eye, the pool of blood spreading below him before the door hissed shut. Your dream, the screen presenting his smiling face. “I… I don’t even know what to do anymore! I can’t… I have… I can’t fix this!”

Belkar squeezed your hand, bringing you back to reality. His face was blurry through your tears. “Slow down. Just breathe. Shh. Slow down.” He modeled how to do so, exaggerating when he took a deep breath through his nose.

After several breaths you closed your eyes and threw your head back on the pillow, keeping your hand in Belkar’s. “I’m sure you’ve seen the scars? Or read about them at the least, right? And then I know you were the one who caught me before I passed out so you obviously know who I work for.”

“Are those two things related?” He was trying not to assume anything.

“All that matters is that this—” you gestured to your head “—and this—” you placed a gentle hand over your wrapped thigh, petting a thumb over it “—are unrelated.” Belkar knew not to speak when you choked on your tears in search of words you weren’t even sure you wanted to say. “I was… Someone broke into my residence just before the explosion. And he.” You paused again, feeling Belkar’s grip tighten and relax over your trembling hand. You cleared your throat. “I was taken advantage of. He went down with the base. It would be pointless to report when the perpetrator is already dead.” Bloodied scissors flashed into your memory before you looked back up to Belkar.

He nodded, placing his second hand over yours. The warmth was welcome, and surprising. “Should I order an emergency contraceptive or a spermicide?” There wasn’t a fraction of discomfort when he asked the question. Complete care and professionalism. He felt safe.

“No, I don’t need that. I had a chip placed last year.” You ran your tongue over your teeth, swallowing before speaking again. “But, um. I was wondering if…”

“Yes?”

“Commander Ren,” you said, searching his eyes for judgment, “is he… How is he?” Your bottom lip would need to heal from chewing it so much.

Another warm, small smile lifted on Belkar’s face. “It’s admirable, your passion for his care. Even in your current state. Even with those wounds you only care about his wellbeing.” Fire bit at your face, your eyes falling back to the bed. “It’s the mark of a true healer. Setting aside your own pain to lessen someone else’s. Your patient’s.”

“Yeah, well,” you raised your eyebrows, “do you know how he’s doing?”

“Before I came in to examine you, I was actually on my way to see Commander Ren. Would you like to come with me?”

“I should probably…” You trailed off, finally feeling relief when thinking about seeing Kylo and avoiding Mason. “Do you think I can walk? How did the nurse say I was healing?”

Belkar scooted out from the chair and stood, offering you a hand for support. “I actually would prefer you start walking now to discourage clotting. It’s likely you can leave here tonight once its officially been twenty-four hours since your admission.”

He made sure to fix your gown so you weren’t exposed while standing before you could tie the lower fastener. He kept a hand lightly placed over your mid-back, the other now holding your hand. “How long has it been since I got here?”

He started you on a slow pace and you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Robbie may have been the one to die, but death took residence in you; a bruise splotched out over your forehead, your hair flat and knotted, exhaustion shadowing your eyes. There were multiple bruises lining your arms, their origin a mystery, though you could only suspect a majority had come from the crowd of people you’d stormed through the stairwells with. The one injury you’d grown to cherish was masked by the ill-fitting white and grey patterned gown, the article most definitely shielding an additional multitude you were still unaware of.

“The Command Shuttle arrived soon after Starkiller exploded. Ren was transferred to medbay in less than a minute and began treatment within the next five upon arrival. You fainted before then.” He led you into the hall and began walking through the maze of bustling hallways. “You’ve been resting for nearly sixteen hours.”

“Sixteen. Stars.” The pain in your leg lessened the more you walked, seeing the faces of coworkers who last saw you that fateful night.

“We monitored your intracranial pressure for the first few hours, but it seems you were only severely exhausted and mildly dehydrated. Understandably, of course.” He took a familiar left turn and the entrance to the Elite medbay came into view. “I had entered orders to start you on oral antibiotic therapy as soon as you woke up, completely a prophylactic measure, but it won’t affect anything to hold off for now.”

Belkar swiped his badge across the scanner and the doors hissed open, your heart now thumping in your chest. The last time you’d seen Kylo, you’d assumed would be the last time. Even as you kept forward, nerves twisting your intestines, you couldn’t deny the need you felt to see him again. It scared you, though, imagining how he’d react to your presence.

“Um, maybe this is a bad idea. I don’t think Commander Ren needs any more visitors than necessary.” You stopped Belkar just before he swiped to open the door to your Master’s exclusive medbay.

“It’s a good thing neither of us are visitors.” The door shot open. “We’re his providers.” Belkar stepped past the threshold. “He wouldn’t mind either way,” you followed in after him, hesitant while you stared down at the floor, “I placed him in a therapeutic coma to keep him from disturbing the stitching in his wounds.”

This news brought your eyes up as you entered the room and felt the door shut behind you. Kylo Ren, outfitted in the same gown as you, was supine on the bed, unconscious. Peaceful. His gown was left unsnapped at the shoulders, a blanket resting above his hips and tucked under his wrists. The assessment table had been replaced, an IV pole set up on his left side, a monitor reading off the contents and status of the three current running fluids: metronidazole, normal saline, and a third – separate – line running a bag of packed red blood cells. Kylo was breathing on his own, though there was an intubation kit ready on the bedside table, you noticed while routinely scanning the room for necessary emergency intervention equipment.

Belkar rid the distance between him and Ren, your own feet stopping just before the door. The physician looked at you with a creased brow but quickly dissolved his expression as he accepted your decision. After setting his datapad down he gently peeled back Kylo’s gown, resting it over the blanket and then gesturing towards him with his hands.

“The coma was a last resort,” he began. “Commander Ren was exhibiting signs of delirium when my team began his care. After nearly two hours of noncompliance I wrote a STAT order to initiate it.” Belkar sighed, this fact disappointing to him.

“When you say delirium…” Your hands strangled in and out of fists, nervous fingers smoothing over the fabric of your gown while you looked on at your sleeping patient.

The physician’s mouth had settled into somewhat of a pout, considering your question. “Ren’s health history was scattered and scant in the archives, virtually nothing resembling a family history. It was most likely the physical trauma that caused it, but…” Belkar turned his body to you while keeping his eyes on Kylo. “Whenever any of the nurses or techs would attempt to orient him during those first two hours he kept telling us he’s dead.”

A single step took you further from the door. “Was.. Did he ever say who he was talking about? A name?” This information confounded you, leaving you to wonder whose death could possibly matter so much to Kylo Ren that he’d recount while his mental defenses were weakened?

A deeper, more frustrated sigh left Belkar. “There’s been so little time and the staff is already so overworked with all the new admissions.” He uncovered one of Kylo’s legs and checked the placement and setting of the compression device wrapped around it. “I appointed a droid to sift through the archives to find anything, to see if there was any information on a Ben.”

“Ben?”

“That’s who we assume is dead, as he kept repeating.”

“You assume? What does that mean?” Another step and your eyes shot to the vitals monitor, seeing his heart rate was in the low fifties. Bradycardic, hence the fluids.

“The two phrases came sporadically. At times he would say the name, and whenever any of the care team would ask him who Ben was…”

“They’d suddenly be at a loss for words?”

Belkar’s mouth quirked for half a second, falling quickly when he shifted the blanket back to its original place. “I suppose that’s one way to put it.” He looked at you again, contemplating, narrowing his eyes. “I imagine you’ve endured such acts. I only assume given—” he gestured to your leg.

Heat flared in your cheeks and your pulse picked up. Swallowing, you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and crossed your arms. “Yes.” He didn’t seem to know why Kylo Ren had left his mark, only that he had. This brought you ease. “Yes, Commander Ren doesn’t have the best handle on his…anger. I suppose.”

Belkar swallowed, watching you. “Does he scare you?”

This caught you off guard, fingers biting into your arms when you took another step forward. “Does Kylo Ren scare me?” You took a few seconds to really think about it, feeling comfortable when you met Belkar’s eyes again, only a few paces from the bed now. “It would be counterintuitive to be afraid of my own patient.”

“Do you feel safe when you are working with him?” He was subtly attempting to screen you for abuse – well, further abuse – his face trying to hide the curiosity in his tone.

“Doctor Belkar, I do appreciate you’re worried for me. But it is misplaced. Now, would you tell me more about my patient, please?”

He was momentarily taken aback by your forward effort to change the subject. “I do apologize if my questions have made you uncomfortable. I noticed your hesitancy to be near him and thought-,”

“That’s unrelated, Doctor,” maybe in too harsh a manner, you bit his words off. You didn’t feel like telling the edited version of how you believed yourself to be the abuser when it came to Kylo, and you were sure Belkar, just as Mason, wouldn’t understand if you tried. “Will you please just tell me how he’s been doing?” A crack in your voice revealed how weak your defenses were.

The physician’s head nodded back slightly in understanding. Today was good for no one. Tensions were high. He knew you had just woken up after experiencing both known and unknown traumas. “Would you help me change his dressings while we discuss his care?” A truce, gentle and acknowledging.

Your shoulders fell with a breath you hadn’t realized was waiting to escape, your throat clearing when you walked to the drawers set up behind you. Activating one, you pulled out the necessary supplies and set them up as Belkar opened them. He walked you through the various monitors connected to Kylo – leeds stuck to his chest, a cuff around his upper right arm, the pumps over his legs, the IVs placed. He uncovered Ren’s pelvis and had you assess his catheter, mentioning the drainage bag below the bed. The antibiotics were prophylactic, just as yours would be; there had been too many unknowns around Ren’s injuries to not protect against potential sepsis.

When Belkar had completed his assessment – stopping to listen to breath and bowel sounds, motioning for you to do the same with the provided stethoscope to test your knowledge – you helped him fix the gown and sheets back over Kylo’s chest, your breath catching when your fingers brushed against his skin. The doctor tucked his datapad back under his arm and walked to the door, activating it before stepping out. However, you had remained at Kylo’s side, watching him as he slept.

“Doctor Belkar?” you called after him, not looking away from Kylo.

A sigh left him, this one fond. Kind. “A true healer.” He was thoughtful in tone. “Use the assistance indicator should you become faint. Should your friend inquire about your whereabouts-,”

“Tell him I’m okay—” you licked your lips as a tear slipped down your cheek “—tell Mason he can leave if he… Tell Mason he can leave.”

There was no response before the door hissed shut, allowing you to let free the whimper which had been stuck since you first set eyes on Kylo. You realized you’d never seen him asleep. The one night you’d shared his bed your focus just on that fact, not on observing him. That night had been the only time you’d seen his full heart, or at least more of it than you had. Now, standing beside him, still reluctant to get too close, you were crying just as he had. That night seemed like a separate lifetime, like a dream you’d only ever get to revisit in your memories now.

Tearing your eyes away from him, clearing your throat and thumbing away more tears, you ran your fingertips along the hanging fluids; the saline would need to be replaced soon, and the metronidazole was running at an accelerated rate. The blood, you checked the label, had been hung just prior to your arrival, the colloid causing you to stop and gently press into its plastic confines. A huff of weak amusement left you; it had never occurred to you that this blood would ever be used for its intended purpose, intended recipient. Seeing it running into Kylo’s veins, checking the transfusion sight for infiltration and redness, you felt a sort of sick irony settle into the room. This very fluid, more or less, would be your demise; it was capable of sustaining life, replenishing it, yet would be the very thing to end yours.

The monitor blinked in your periphery, catching your attention; his heart rate was improving, finally skimming the upper fifties, his respirations coming evenly. Steeling yourself, bunching your gown in your hands, you looked down at him. Kylo Ren, resting and vulnerable, lay below for your appraisal. Belkar had walked you through the proper routine to change his dressings, his abdominal wound and the one scraping across his shoulder healing well under the soaked gauze. The wound fixed along his face, however, had been created too awkwardly to be dressed as the others. A grafting patch had been placed along the length of the injury, a black stripe of the regenerative material precise in its placement.

There was so much pain etched into him, you wondered if his outward appearance now matched his inner, the thought choking you with a sob. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. It was silly to wait for a response, to look at him in anticipation, but you did.

It took several minutes of deliberation, but you eventually joined him in the bed, gently sitting on his right side as to not disturb anything. The tips of your right index and middle finger trailed along the ridges of the unbandaged wound, feeling his pulse in the raised flesh, landing on his forehead and brushing into his hair.

“Oh.” It startled you when your fingers got stuck in a mat at his ends. Rolling it between your fingers you found it to be dried, congealed blood. It wasn’t surprising; hair care was not the priority right now, the nurses already straining themselves without paying attention to trivial duties.

But you had time and he was here with no way of objecting, your hand cupping his face before you began gathering your supplies and setting them up. The silence was comforting for only a few minutes, soon leaving you to your thoughts, those which shuddered through you with images of Robbie and Snoke and Kylo.

“I don’t even know how we got here,” you mumbled while filling a basin with warm water. A bitter chuckle, a cough chasing it. “I do, actually. I know exactly how we got here.” Placing the full basin on the bedside table, carefully wheeling it to the head of his bed, you gazed over him. “Snoke. Mason. Rob-,” the name stuck in your throat. “The stormtrooper.”

Gentle thumbs tracked like feathers atop his cheekbones, your remaining fingers pushing into his thick locks and brushing it behind his ears. After admiring him for a moment longer you collected the necessary linen, grabbing three extra towels, four in total. Setting them up – one beneath him, another two rolled and resting atop his shoulders, and the last spread over your lap when you sat on a stool – you reached for the cup you’d earlier grabbed and filled it with water.

“I should’ve told you.” It seemed you would never stop crying; a tear struck his forehead as you poured the first cup over his head, ensuring to guard his eyes and ears. “I never… Snoke threatened Mason. He threatened him and all I could think was that I wouldn’t allow someone else to endure punishment meant for me.” Kylo’s hair darkened as it wet, the towel beneath him turning pink with diluted blood. “That wouldn’t be fair. Someone suffering because my own mistakes? No. No, that would be selfish. Selfish and, and… I don’t know.” A sigh and a swallow. “I don’t know.”

With a second cup you wet the rest of his locks and lathered shampoo between your hands. “I woke up yesterday hating you, wishing I was dead so I didn’t have to see you after that day. I fucking hate him so much!” Your chin trembled in anger, imagining Snoke knowing this was happening, wondering how much he really knew, if he could see while Kylo slept. “And it wasn’t even… That’s what I hate the most. You had so little say in it, so little choice and I spent a whole month, wasted so much time, hating the wrong person. Hating you.”

Rolling his ends between your fingers, you scrubbed at the mats until they became loose. “I wish you could know that everything I told you was a lie. You were right about it all. I don’t hate you.” Words came easier, tears still streaming with ease, yet your throat clearing with each admission. “Maybe in the beginning when I didn’t know so much, when I didn’t know you. Maybe then I had wanted to, but it’s an impossibility now. Today made me realize that.” A pause while you watched his chest tide, stopping to recount the apology you’d known to give him, remembering how it felt as he held you – broken, raw – in his arms. “Today made me realize a lot of things.”

The last mat had been the toughest, your fingers rolling and rubbing for nearly five minutes until it softened. “Can I… I mean, I know you can’t answer, but…” Your throat got thick again, burning as you tried to swallow a sob. Closing your eyes, you dropped the subject, not wanting to recount the event to even an absent mind yet.

Clearing your throat, you began again, instead recalling the various mentions of Kylo Ren’s history during the past day. “Maybe I don’t know as much about you as others do, though.” Water drenched the towel below his head as you massaged the soap out of his hair, your pulse quickening as you thought about your next question. “The old man. The one on Jakku… He mentioned something about a time before Kylo Ren, or something like that. How did he even know you? How did you know him?”

Working your way through his hair, you rinsed until there were no bubbles remaining. Questioning him felt foreign; if he were awake he would have surely stopped you from continuing. Or from starting at all. But you pressed on, wanting to distract yourself from the reality that lurked in the back of your mind.

“And then later, when I…” Warmth spread through you at the memory of his bed, him setting you there, holding onto him until he left. You tried to hide the pain in your throat, knowing if you allowed yourself to sob once you’d surely lose the ability to stop. “I heard you. When you were speaking to someone, talking to your grandfather. Was he in there with you? Or were you on a commlink?” You shrugged, knowing all of these inquiries were in vain. “My maternal grandfather passed away before I began university. I never met the other one. Something about family secrets and drama and blah blah blah.”

Another tear fell to Kylo’s face, remembering the pain you’d felt losing someone for the first time, remembering how helpless you were to change anything. A sigh of desperate defeat left you. “I must be cursed. A true healer? Maybe in another life. In this one it seems I can only save a life in turn for another, be it mine or someone I care about.”

After rinsing your hands in the basin, you gathered conditioner on the tips of your fingers and began working it into the now clean ends. A whimper came in place of the stuck sob, breathing becoming difficult as you denied it life. “You said that to me, remember? The night I had gone to Mason. Not exactly but, you said something along the lines of me only listening when the things I value are threatened. It seems the two things go hand in hand; I can’t help anyone without hurting someone else, I can’t make a decision without being forced into it, without being threatened should I make one wrong choice.”

A hand smoothed over the last remaining tendril of hair, soft with the new product, your chest heavy with regret and hindsight. “You wanted me to give my whole self to the First Order. I did, Kylo. And now… I have nothing. There’s nothing left and it’s my fault.” Mason’s worried expression flitted into your mind’s eye. “And if I do have anything left… It’s nothing I want.” Closing your eyes, you ran the pad of your thumb along the rim of the cup, clutching it to your chest. “I wish I could go back. Earlier when I… When I came home. I wish I had told you then. If I had, maybe neither of us would be pawns in Snoke’s game. If I’d told you, maybe I wouldn’t have been-,”

Pain speared you with daggers of rejection. There was no easy or gentle way to confront the truth. No matter if you’d briefly mentioned it with Belkar earlier; to verbalize it, to say out loud what had gone one, scared you. It made it real, gave it power and life. But this would be the only way you’d get to confess to it; soon you’d be alone, left to relive the act over and over until it would be all that remained. It would consume you if you let it.

“I was raped.” You said it before it got stuck again. Finally, after choking on it for so long, that sob broke free, cries grating against your sore throat. “It was the stormtrooper. The one you’d set out to protect me from. The one Snoke had told me you’d been thinking about.” A shaky hand collected another cup of water and let it rinse the conditioner away. “RB-6745. Robbie. Shit! I’m so, so stupid! I’m so dumb I wish I could fucking die! It would be so much easier if I could just stop…existing, if I could just stop breathing it would all be- none of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t- damn it!” A roar tore through clenched teeth before you dragged the towel set across your lap and smothered it against your face.

Scream after scream after scream left you, each one more painful than the last, more broken than the last. The towel collected what tears had set on your cheeks, your voice diminishing before you had the sense to stop yourself from continuing. With the damp cloth draped over your hands, you rested your head in your palms, heaves and hiccups unbidden and unrelenting.

“I gave him a name, Kylo. I did. I gave him a name and I started all of this,” muffled, you finally confronted the truth you had been so unwilling to acknowledge. A bitter crack of laughter left. “You will only ever be the start and end of the issue,” you echoed Snoke, voice distant and decimated. “Yeah, well. I guess he was right. I did start it.” Pulling the towel from your face, staring down at the peace painted over your Master, a cold shiver stalled your lungs. “I started it. And I ended it.”

Silence once more met you with suffocation. Studying Kylo’s face – noticing his eyelashes, the cracked nature of his dry lips, finding a fondness in the angle of his nose – you took a deep breath and settled into your new reality, accepting it as it would be, allowing yourself to begin healing as he was before you. “I killed him. I left him to bleed out just before Starkiller exploded. He’s dead.”

The last phrase reminded you as you finished your task, patting the towel into his hair, lifting his head to fully dry him. “Whoever Ben is… and if he’s dead or not –” you rested the towel over your left thigh “—I wonder if I knew him.” Another thought of Kylo’s figurative family. “I wonder if he knew you.”

Once you left here your privileges as his provider would be revoked; when he would wake and sign the proper documents, notify the necessary people, every tie you had to him would be severed. So, to indulge in one last moment, you parted a triangle of hair from the center of his hairline, separated it into three equal sections, and began the simple pattern: left over middle, right over middle, adding hair with each repetition to create a continuous, tight braid. Aside from giving you more time with him, the style would discourage any new mats from forming.

Repeating this process two more times, one more on each side of his head, you made sure that the hair that couldn’t be contained was brushed and flat beneath him. You set a towel under his head to collect any remaining moisture and prevent knotting. The clean-up process was leisurely, your focus shifting to his monitor every now and then to see he was no longer bradycardic. The last time you checked the monitor, a normal sinus rhythm tracing along the display, you found his pulse had risen to sixty-seven beats per minute.

Finished clearing the last of your mess, you sat on the stool, still at the head of his bed. No matter the new addition setting into features – though, in a way, it suited him well – you admired him; here he was at peace. Resting. Healing. The sobs had died out but tears were still liberal in their formation, another falling to hit the inner corner of his right eye. You collected it, chewing your lip before leaning down and again tracing along the outer region of the wound.

Kylo’s breath warmed over your forehead in the proximity, your own catching as it all became too much. Placing your hands on either side of his face so the tips of your fingers held loosely over his jaw, you brought your lips to rest on his. Kylo couldn’t reciprocate it, you knew, but this would be your goodbye.

“I wish I could have given you more than this,” you whispered, lips brushing against his own. “More than anything, Kylo, I wanted to give you more than this.”

Trembling lips pressed into his, your tears reviving the dry flesh, a whimper leaving when he remained still. He would never kiss you back again, the thought piercing as warmth slipped from your cheeks and onto his. However long you stayed like this, your face on his, you tried to silence the reality looming over you. But you couldn’t stay here forever, and you’d probably been gone for far too long already.

Leaning up from him your nose drew a faint line up his bridge, feather-light lips setting against his forehead in a final show of unrequited adoration. With a breath your spine straightened, eyes strict in their effort to keep forward. There was no moment of hesitancy as you passed the threshold and left the Elite wing; if you had indulged in a final glance, you knew you’d have never left.

On the journey back to your room – head hung low, teeth rooted in an effort to stop the trembling of your bottom lip – you met a stiff wall of muscle as someone exited a room, your feet stumbling back before you completely fell backwards, landing on your tailbone. The room spun when you opened your eyes after hitting the floor, a gloved hand extending down and offering you assistance. Taking it, you looked up to find General Hux.

He looked as you did, exhaustion heavy in his features before he was struck by your identity. He didn’t recoil, though, pulling you up and even steadying you for a couple seconds. Hux’s eyes darted to the bandage on your forehead and quickly over your gown, narrowing only slightly when he appraised the red rims of your own. He remained silent, retracting his hand as he nodded once.

“Officer,” he acknowledged. “I heard about your fainting spell.” His tone lacked the animosity you had come to expect.

You took hold of the wall support, looking up at him, confused at his sudden civility. “Oh.” It was the best you could do right now.

Something about him seemed off. Even as he remained more guarded than most humans you knew, it appeared as though something had him worried. Maybe it was the fall out from Starkiller that had him acting out. He had just lost men.

“Is there an official count yet?” you asked, filling the silence.

Hux swallowed, the corners of his mouth dipping before he returned to his normal façade, his shoulder going up and back when his stance shifted. “Nice work during the transport.”

“Thank…you. Uh, thank you, General.”

Another nod and he turned away from you and walked out of sight. A crease bit at your brow. How strange. Or maybe it wasn’t. The last twenty-four hours had been less than favorable for the entire First Order. Nobody could be expected to be at their best right now. Or even at their normal.

Before you started down the hall, your periphery caught view of the room where Hux had come, your heart falling. Confusion was drowned by new concern. Talia was slumped into her shoulder, asleep while she sat upright, both arms resting at her sides to reveal bruises from multiple IV attempts. There was one line running from her left forearm which led up to a bag of fluids, the contents of which you couldn’t read from a distance.

Peaking around the hall, you ducked into her room and clicked the door shut with your back, keeping the volume to a minimum as to not wake her. It seemed like a week had passed since you saw her seize, Snoke’s men abducting you before you could aid in her care. It had been less than a full day.

Walking up to her right side you noted the oxygen secured over her ears, a nasal cannula delivering two liters per minute. Nothing excessive. That was good. But still curious. The fluid bag was filled with electrolyte replacement, another bag hanging empty behind it. Looking for more clues, you found the information board to be devoid of any recent updates, only indicating her nurse and the continuation of the current fluids. There was a check mark next to a note which read sterile urine specimen, CBC, CMP.

When you kicked your foot under her bed, swinging it mindlessly while holding onto the upper bed rail, something skidded beneath your sock. In a manner which didn’t stress your wounds, you knelt to the ground and picked up the item. It was a white square, shiny material which glinted under the harsh fluorescents. Holding one corner, it unfolded to reveal a second half. Turning it over, eyes blinking back to make sure you were reading the images correctly.

Everything was in the right spot, every label and measurement and identifier correct and official. Dropping completely to the floor, your legs splayed across each other, you peaked up at your friend and back to the printed picture multiple times, not knowing what to make of the situation.

Talia was pregnant.

[sidespromptblog]

The Change: Part 3

One, Two

Summary: Deceit decides that its time for a change in his life, tired of being treated as nothing but the most awful and evil villain... he decides to go the largest degree possible to take that change. Leaving everything that he had behind him.

Soon enough the sound of Roman’s voice faded away as he clambered up the stairs with the new side, and it was then and only then when Virgil picked himself up from the bottom of the stairs barely offering the direction in which Roman had gone a single glance. His fingers plucked at the strands of white thread that stood out on his jacket, making one of the ends unravel as he ventured into the kitchen where Patton and Logan were more than likely getting ready to discuss what they would be having for dinner since they had a new guest who’s food tastes they literally knew nothing about. Chances were… they’d probably go for pasta as a go-to, that was what they had done for him when he had been stubborn and quite, but still willing to show up for dinners in the first place.

For one quiet moment, he watched Logan and Patton deliberate between choosing spaghetti sauce and alfredo, their silent anxieties telling him that they were terrified that their new guest had some kind of unspoken allergy to either one of them.  It was nice… and familiar, something that he was used to, the complete opposite of the new stranger that would now be living among them.

“Why don’t we just make both!” Patton nervously chattered to Logan, holding up both the can of spaghetti sauce and jar of alfredo sauce, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Many things,” Logan calmly butted in, as he started to count on his fingers. “He could go into a food-induced coma, he could go into shock by one of the many ingredients that you add to your dinners every night, his throat could swell up making it impossible for him to breathe, he could get hives, he could-”

With each word that left his mouth, Patton seemed to grow more and more unsure.

“Guys,” Virgil cut Logan off quickly knowing that the logical side could and most certainly would carry on for the rest of the night if they allowed him to. And now that he had their attention he forced himself to leave the unraveling string of his jacket alone as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, focusing his gaze onto the little patch of flour on Patton’s glasses rather than meeting his eyes. “Doesn’t he seem a little… I don’t know…” He muttered, his gaze dropping down to the knot of Patton’s cat hoodie, “A little odd?” He hated to admit such a thing, but he… he just had this feeling since the other side had popped up behind him. The kind of feeling that came to him like the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, or like when he was waiting for a ghost to pop up during a horror movie. Suspense. “He feels… a little off to me, you know?”

They probably didn’t know, he was the only one who got these kinds of feelings.

Just the other week he had felt spooked by the ice dispenser of the fridge because it had been churning out more ice than usual, he felt iffy about even Thomas’ car when the tires made a different sound on the road. He was the last person who honestly should have been basing any kind of hard facts on something as fickle as gut feelings. He was Anxiety, everything was a bad gut feeling for him. Nothing was ever going to change that, that was for sure.

And yet…

Logan's hand laid heavily across his shoulder snapping Virgil out of his internal rambling musing. “It is alright,” The logical side patiently said, an almost awkward but warm smile quirking on his lips. “It took you quite a long time to get used to us and all of our eccentricities, and this is a new person who you aren’t familiar with. It is okay to say that he ‘squicks you out’ at first, you don’t exactly have the same relationship with him that you do with us. And that is perfectly normal, just because he is staying with us does not mean you are obligated to treat him like you would us.” Logan readjusted his glasses, as out of nowhere a notecard appeared in his hand. “I believe the term is… ‘Different strokes for different folks’?”

Within seconds a groan left Virgil’s lips as his palm connected with his face, a mixture of awkwardness and embarrassment rushing through him at the phrase that their resident logical side had printed out onto the notecard. He didn’t even want to imagine where Logan had found that phrase out, although he could pretty much guess given the faintest curve of the other side’s lips that revealed the smallest and most satisfied smirk that he had ever seen on Logan’s face to this day.

Cheeky.

“Logan’s right kiddo,” Stepping forward and putting the two different sauces away, for the time being, Patton wore a patient smile on his face. “You don’t have to talk or even interact with him until you’re ready to learn more about him. To be honest…” For a moment that moral side stopped, a look of deep echoing sadness falling into the crevices of the worry lines on Patton’s face. “I think that it might take him a while to get used to everything, I… just the way he responded to being told he didn’t have to do something.. he.. he…” Patton’s bottom lip trembled, and Virgil felt the tears coming before he even saw them.

Of course, he was upset about how Self Preservation had responded. Even Virgil had accepted Patton’s kindness, and he had never cried from just being given the most basic amount of respect. If he was being entirely honest… the entire thing had worried him as well, because whatever it was.. and whatever had happened... He got the feeling that the truth was traumatic at the worst, and excruciatingly painful in the very least. Regardless, all he could do was nod his head at Patton’s words, he didn’t know what it felt like for the moral side if he was being entirely honest. He would never know, that is what it was like to feel things so powerfully and so constantly in the extremes that Patton did.

So the very least that he could do was nod his head, and at least attempt to understand how he felt about this.

“Well,” That one word weighed a ton on his tongue, “I’ll leave you two to the cooking thing.” He almost felt bad for leaving Logan with Patton while he was in this state of mind, but really, nothing cheered their loveable moral side up more than cooking with Logan. So offering the pair one last wave as he sank out, he was pretty sure that they were in good hands.

At least he hoped so.

Meanwhile, in his own room… Deceit had absolutely no idea on what to fill his room with.

It should have been simple, Roman had told him to imagine whatever he felt like and it would appear in the proper place that he would have wanted it. So it really should have been no problem to make his room an exact match to the one that he had left behind, minus all of the black clothing and evil spooky snake decor that he had torn to shreds before he had left. But therein lied the problem, he couldn’t make his room look exactly like his old one. Virgil had seen his old room, Virgil had spent many of nights in his old room with the two of them laying on the floor doing anything from watching old classic movies to sleeping on his massive bed together when Virgil and a good chunk of the time Deceit, didn’t want to sleep alone. Virgil had been to his old room, and he would know right off the bat that it was him based on what he filled it with.

So he was left there, with a rather blank and empty room, and no ideas.

“Uugh,” He grumbled to himself, crossing his arms rather grumpily, “This shouldn’t be as hard as it is…” It really shouldn’t have been, and that was perhaps the most pathetic thing about this entire situation. He had the chance to start anew, and he hadn’t even begun starting yet! Well… that was a lie. He had summoned a closet full of clothing, so there was at least that. Allowing him to change out of the sweltering sweater that he had worn, swapping it out for a sleeveless turtleneck that was bright yellow and spotted with sunflowers.

He had to stick to his branding after all.

In the end, he wasn’t sure how much time he spent in his room, filling it with random things to see how it looked before settling for a bed, a dress that held a tv on top of it, a few bright yellow beanbag chairs that looked like massive smooshed sunflowers, a massive rug that Deceit could just sink his toes into it was so soft, and finally… a few bookcases that had absolutely nothing in them yet.

His room was full of stuff, and yet… it felt absolutely foreign to him, a part of him wanted the comfort of his old room back. The walls that were brick but lined with many of posters from different musicals over the years, the ever-present chill that had always made him bundle up with a ton of different blankets, his old stuffed snake that had long since lost her button eyes and a good chunk of the stuffing that had been inside of her thanks to Remus’ ‘doctor days’, and most importantly… he missed the comfort of feeling safe. In his room he knew that he could relax, it was his room after all. But here… where Roman could summon his room and possibly take it away on a whim, it almost felt like.. like his room wasn’t entirely his. He knew that he could shift his own room wherever he wanted to down in the subconscious, if he wanted it to be closer to the kitchen then he’d only have to think of it and it would happen. Here… he didn’t have that safety, that comfort, that knowledge of knowing of his room would always be his.

It was kind of stupid, in its own little way.

Because he had chosen this, a part of him knew what would happen as soon as he left everything behind, as soon as he took the scissors to his things making his room look more like a crime scene than a bedroom, when he dropped everything even his title. He knew what he was doing, and so he was going to have to deal with it.

Whether he liked it or not.

[beraattelse]

The Wailing Bone Sneak Peek

Outside it had been raining most of the night, the scent of wet bark and soil wafted through the wooden cabin. Low lying branches still carried water to the roof in quiet patterns, and distant toads were looking for potential partners in those early hours. He waited, standing in the frame of the open door, bare toes occasionally catching the remnants of cold, shattered drops. He watched and waited, his soul searching and waiting for something, someone, he knew wasn’t there.

It was during these hours that he felt a depth so dark that he couldn’t reach the bottom for fear of falling in and never coming back out. A path that had no other end but a sad and quiet death. He was trapped in this liminal space-- forever stuck on the edge of something bad and something worse. The silence of the forest punctured him, it was deafening in the same way his thoughts all ran together to make a feeling akin to static. Though the problem here was not too many thoughts, but lack of any, an emptiness filling the overcrowded void of his mind.

The darkness offered its deformed claw of a hand to him as his mind recoiled, startled out of the barren reverie. It was then that his attention snapped to the back of someone facing away from him deeper in the forest. The figure was foreign, unwelcome. Perhaps he needed to leave, or at least go back inside and lock all the doors and bar the windows. Fear hit him sideways, a delayed reaction, quickly replacing his curiosity. He backed into the house cautiously, closing the door and turning the ancient lock as quickly as he dared. The breath locked in his lungs couldn’t be coaxed out. He turned around to find the figure on the ground in front of the unlit fireplace, still with its back to him. Despite a rapping heart and cement-encrusted lungs, he sat beside the figure, not trying to discern its features. His body felt more and more a prison, caging him rather than enabling escape. His head felt precariously balanced on his spine, which delicately held everything else in place.

Slowly, excruciatingly, the figure turned its head , accompanied by the sound of crunching insects, to observe him. An ice pick travelled deep into his core as the feeling of the intensely evil gaze fell upon him. He did not dare return the attention, cold sweat rolled down the side of his face as the fear mounted inside him-- consuming whatever was left of his conscious thought. The figure encroached upon him in the form of tangled, cold, corpse-like fingers, interweaving with his own. He dared a glance at his own hand as maggots bore into his skin. The skin on his hand had gone pallid, soft and thin, like the flesh of an undisturbed rotting fruit. But still he couldn’t move, his hand now conjoined with that of the figure’s.

It was displeased with the lack of attention and moved to crouch in front of him. He dropped his gaze to the floor and focused on the pattern in the stained wood panelling. The soft hand came up and stroked his face with a pale, crooked finger, as if to soothe him. He couldn’t bring his eyes to meet the decrepit form, its face now mere inches from his own. He couldn’t help the tears or the shuddering breaths as he gasped against his will as he felt the rot growing on him, in him, wherever the figure gently caressed his skin. The side of his face, and all the way up his arms, he could feel the skin decay, flies and maggots consuming him. The sound of them devouring, gnawing away at him was amplified in the silence. It was too loud. His stomach roiled, threatening to spill its contents. The figure chattered its teeth as if it were laughing, but no sound came out of it.

It eventually grew bored watching, petrified and unable to move. It straddled him and grinded against him, making as much contact as possible--the mushing, gushing, squishing, crunching of maggots being crushed under the pressure and impossible mass of the figure; his body collapsing under the rot was penetrating. Sickening. Hands held his face, roved what little there was left of his dissolving body; fingers explored his mouth, his hair, and everywhere they should not have been. As his consciousness faded into blackness, the eerie calm of death washing over him, his eyes finally met the figure’s.

The face staring back at him, ripped a silent scream from his throat--his essence leaving him in that moment, forever to be in fear and anguish as his own face stared back.

He heard the screaming before he came to, and connected the rawness in his throat with that of his own voice. Grey-green eyes snapped open as he bolted upright, coming out of his nightmares was always painful. His heart thudded against his ribcage, his hands ached from vice-gripping his sheets, his throat dry and raw from screaming. Though his scream died as soon as he was fully conscious it took him a moment to realize his mouth was still open; gingerly he shut his lips together, tasting blood on his chapped lips and took a moment to move his tongue around his mouth to start producing saliva again. His jaw ached from having his mouth open too long. The sweat pouring down his neck and back, signalled he needed a shower, but the thought of baring his skin so soon after the night terror was nearly unbearable. Lost in thought, he hadn’t realized that what woke him wasn’t the horror of his dream, but his alarm.

The gentle trilling continued until he found his phone in the dark on his bed stand, and flicked the “dismiss” prompt on the touch screen. He peered at the time, 4am, on the darkened phone screen trying, and failing, to shake the bad taste left in his mouth. As saliva started to form again, he found it easier to swallow but he didn’t dare test his voice yet. He knew he needed to start his routine, but as he brought himself to the edge of his bed and set his feet on the floor, fear still coursed through his system and weakened his muscles to near paralyzing levels. He growled at himself, feeling bile rise in the back of his throat as flashes of his nightmare returned to him, frustrated that he could be so affected by fiction--a product of his own imagination no less. The vulnerability made his skin crawl, and he once again realized he was white-knuckling his sheets. 

He straightened his back and forced himself to take a deep breath. He held it for as long as he could, feeling dizzy from opening his lungs so suddenly, and exhaled even slower than he inhaled. After another moment, he calmed enough to drag himself to the bathroom for a shower. He pointedly avoided the mirror and committed his routine to efficiency, leashing his mind to stay focused on each task at hand. Shaking the residuals of the night terror became easier in the shower, where he could feel the hot water and touch his own skin, knowing that the nightmare had never come to pass. Once finished, he towel-dried and shook out his shoulder-length, curly hair. He briefly worked product into it, so it wouldn’t frizz, and threw it up into a bun. He hated the feeling of hair on the back of his neck, but he couldn’t bring himself to shave it off. His hair was a product of never having the time to have it professionally done, and not wanting to part with the hairstyle that had accidently become his trademark. 

He thought about looking in the mirror to see how much his stubble had grown in, as he could tell it was getting to the length between acceptable stubble and awkward beard, but ultimately decided against it. Surely, his partner would have no qualms telling him how bad he looked once he got to the station. He already felt more pallid than his usual Irish paste. The dark auburn of his hair starkly contrasted his skin tone, and only seemed to highlight the multitude of dilated capillaries in his eyes from fitful sleep, the purple on his lids, and the blue-purple underneath his eyes. He opened the bathroom closet to assess what was left to do, and having rinsed his mouth and lips in the shower, he first found his chapstick next to the moisturizer, and pocketed it for later. He rubbed the moisturizer into his face, hoping that it’d help make him look less haunted, and smacked himself a few times to get circulation going. And finally, he contemplated each of his two colognes for an impressive amount of time, before ultimately deciding on the cheaper one as he usually did.

He blinked sleepily as he got dressed in his regular station clothes: an undershirt, his heather grey sweater with the emergency services logo embroidered onto the left breast in orange and navy thread, work jeans, and his black, steel-toe boots. He hardly paid attention as he set himself on auto-pilot, navigating the small apartment to grab his wallet, phone, backpack, thermos, keys, and his West Chester Fire Department jacket before leaving. The weather was typical for end-of-September Pennsylvania: rainy and in the low 60s. It wasn’t cold enough to warrant taking the bus or an Uber yet, so the trek began. He slid his jacket on, catching wind as he exited the complex and shoved his effects into his pockets as best as he could, before throwing his thermos into his backpack.

Most days, a mile-long walk wouldn’t even register to him, but the sharp, throbbing pain in his left hip and knee told him it was going to be a long day regardless if he walked or not. He elected to take the route running by the railroad, in the dewy grass for less impact, but soon he had to split away toward the office. There was nothing particularly noteworthy about anything along his short journey: a field, a factory and its parking lot, and a handful of car dealerships. The office campus was littered with other government buildings, which made navigating the parking lot and campus slightly annoying. His building didn’t even have his department on the signage, though he could understand why: most of his work wasn’t done here. He heaved his backpack on more securely as he entered, scanned in, and took all the necessary stairs and turns before he consciously returned to the world around him.

A few people looked up from their desks, but otherwise most didn’t bother deigning him with attention. He beelined for the break room to see if anyone had made coffee yet. Pushing into the fishbowl room, the scent of tea wafted to him instantly. 

“Becker, late again, and looking deader than usual! One of these days I swear you’re going to be a zombie, and none of us will know until it’s too late.” His partner proclaimed far too energetically for 5 o’clock in the morning, sitting and stirring his aromatic rooibos tea in the corner near the already-percolating coffee machine.

“I’d bet I’d still be more useful than half the guys here.” He retorted back, striding to the counter to throw powdered creamer and sugar into the bottom of the thermos to kill time before the coffee finished.

His partner chuckled, “I’ll bet you a nice steak, if that ever comes to pass. Just make sure you don’t bite me before I can pay up.”

Becker gave a small laugh, but didn’t rebut. He watched the brown liquid drip from the percolator into the glass pot, taking in the smell of Folger’s like it was a delicate bouquet. 

“You’re leaning again.” His partner chided gently, breaking the comfortable silence.

Becker consciously corrected his stance, turning to look at his partner and letting the counter take his weight. He scratched his jaw, his whiskers suddenly irritating him. He watched his partner as closely as he watched him for a moment, wondering briefly how much sleep he averaged. Becker was slightly shorter than Greer, but Greer’s personality dwarved his own so he always seemed much taller. Greer’s naturally assertive nature was sometimes grating for Becker’s waywardness, but it kept them focused and driven. 

Greer’s near black eyes were saying something without verbalizing it, and Becker could guess. Much of their conversations tended this way, a near telepathic connection that Becker occasionally chose not to engage in. Greer’s brown skin looked more ashen under the fluorescence of the harsh office lights, but he knew better. Greer took great pride in his appearance and health, and certainly would stay home if he felt the least bit off. Perhaps the exact opposite of Becker; the worse he felt, the more he wanted to work as a distraction. Self-care was the last possible thing on Becker’s mind.

Greer’s body language was posed purposely to seem at ease, but as soon as Becker had entered, his jaw had gone tight. Becker’s ability to read Greer like a book always threw him, but neither of them got to where they were without being good at what they did. Becker could worm his way inside anyone’s psyche, and Greer could charm just about anything that moved. Though using either of their abilities on each other seemed to work counter to how they were supposed to. Sensing that Greer was about to start talking again, Becker pursed his lips.

His partner looked at him, a sharpness behind his soft gaze, “When are you going to go back to physical?”

Becker let out a tight huff, and turned back to face the coffee machine, “Greer, I swear to god…”

“You should, you don’t take care of yourself as is.” Greer’s voice was low, “But I’ll leave it at that.” 

Becker sighed but didn’t respond, focusing on the task of pouring himself coffee, screwing on the lid and shaking it instead of taking the time to mix it. As he turned around once again, he could tell Greer wanted to pressure him more on it but was holding his tongue in favor of staring at him more pointedly. Becker was better at this game than Greer was. Greer was the type of person to exert his will, and Becker was extremely resistant to anything that wasn’t part of his own plan. Though Greer wasn’t the kind to exhaust easily either.

“What’s on the agenda today?” Becker finally broke the silence after Greer refused to say anything else.  

[cupcakeshakesnake]

Watching World Enough and Time for the first time

Hoo boy

-HOOOO BOI

-THE FINALE IS HERE (the first part of it, that is)

(Spoilers below the cut)

-Oookay snowy place... Kinda feels like the beginning of a Christmas Special (even though it’s still June...)

WHAT

-THE EPISODE BARELY STARTED??

-DOCTOR ARE YOU FAKING AGAIN

-WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR SLEEVE, WHAT CAUSED IT TO BE SO TORN UP

shit, no, really, what happened

NOOOOOOO WHAT

-He’s screaming because he’s turning into Trump

-...sorry.

-And the theme song comes on, without ANY explanation at ALL of what in the HECK just happened.

S t e v e n  mofo M o f f a t

-The name of doom.

? giant spaceship??

W H A T

-Holy shit BBC your CGI really improved

“Hello, I’m Doctor Who.”

“LIES” (from “Flatline”, Series 8)

-”My plucky assistants, thing 1 and... the other one.”

I’m sorry

-No seriously what are you doing Missy

Mary. Frickin. Poppins.

-”But think of the age gap!”

JELLY BABIES

-I’m 110% sure those are jelly babies and if not I will be pissed

Their faces say everything.

-”Well. I am the mysterious adventurer in all of time and space known only as ‘Doctor Who. And these are my... Disposals. Exposition and- comic relief.”

“Iz no an esersise, iz a tepht.” “Are you eating?” “No.”

...Bill’s face. This whole thing. I just can’t.

“ALlllso it’s his real name”

“His WOT”

-Okay so Missy’s probs joking here but what if his name was actually Doctor Who, what if his name was the title of the damn show and it was right in front of us and we never noticed lmao

-”Are you a human?!”  “Don’t be a bitch.”  SHE SAID THE B WORD

-”My name is Doctor Who.”  “It’s not, is it?”  “I like it.”

S H I T

WHATTHEFUCK

-”She’s a murderer!”  “Enjoying your bacon sandwich?”  “Why?”  “Because it had a mummy and a daddy. Go tell a pig about your moral high ground.”

Bill: ‘...stop.’

“ah HAHAw na forget it”

-”Nardole agreed.”  “No I didn’t.”  “He did in my head which is good enough for me.”

“Are you having an emotion?”

“Look at that face, he’s having an emotion!”

“Can I take a selfie with you?”

Don’t know what they’re eating but I’m hungry and that looks tasty

-”She was my man-crush.”  “I’m sorry?”  “Yeah. I think she was a man by then. I’m fairly sure that I was too, it’s a long time ago.”

”We’re the most civilized civilization in the universe. Billions of years beyond your petty human obsessions with gender and associated stereotypes.” “But you still call yourselves Time Lords.” “......Yeah. Shut up.”

-The food looks like salad now

-that was sooo cute aaaa

-”Every star in the universe. We were going to see them all.”

-”But he was too busy burning them.”

“Promise you won’t get me killed.”

Well look at how well that went

I don’t like their synthesized voices at all.

-It reminds me a bit of this.

“Assumption.” “Deduction.” “Hope.” “Faith.” “Idiot.” “Always.”

I can’t believe Missy copied Hagrid

-”Why do you care, Smurf?”

-”If somebody kills you and it’s not me, we’ll both be disappointed.”

-”It’s a matter of time.”

OOOHHHH

-I don’t know shit, but I think I heard that time slows down at the event horizon of a black hole. As in, it seems to slow down to an outside observer.

-And I’m still too stupid to actually connect that information to the episode itself.

-Meanwhile, Bill seems... okay for now.

What the heck.

-The man is disturbing but not disturbing enough to make me go full caps lock and definitely not the most disturbing thing I’ve seen.

WHAT’S WITH THE THING ON HER CHEST

So much fluff

Oh...

-”Pain... Pain... Pain...”

-Pain pain pain pain PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN--

Sorry but CONVERSION THEATRE?!

-Bill geT THE HELL OUTTA TEHRE

-WHAT IF THEY’RE ACTUALLY PEOPLE SCREAMING IN PAIN BUT THEY LOST THEIR ABILITY TO SPEAK BECAUSE THEY’VE BEEN CONVERTED INTO WALKING TIN CANS AND THE ONLY WAY THEY CAN EXPRESS WHAT THEY’RE FEELING IS REPEATEDLY SAYING “PAIN” IN MONOTONOUS VOICES

Please don’t be a jumpscare, please don’t be a jumpscare...

Okay, so the room with people in beds said IN, Bill’s room said CONVERSION THEATRE (I still don’t get why they call it a theatre/theater; who’s the audience? What’ so theatric about it?) and this room says OUT.

-Which MIGHT mean that the first one is where the humans are kept in custody before conversion, much like a normal hosptal wing (except for the conversion part) then humans are taken to the “Theatre” to have devices implanted on them and whatnot. THEN when they’re successfully converted or about to be so, they’re taken to the OUT room to finish the process... But then what?

Hey they’re using buttons to express their emotions

-World Enough And Time But The Cybermen Talk With Emoji Keypads

-But what if that guy couldn’t find that button at first so he was like “Stay-- (no that’s not it)” “Yes-- (not that)” “Step-- (no no)” “Pain-- (ah HA)”

AAAAGH I got scared

-I got a scare

OH SHIT

-Trope that scares me the most: Hiding character about to be discovered.

-The guy doesn’t tattle on her though

-They just... muted the device... That guy’s still in pain...

Holy fuck they’re all muted

-I want to say some sophisticated thing about governments pretending there are no complaints by simply muting them.. or something like that

-Bill you don’t have to turn the volume all the way up and risk being discovered

-I feel weird here, because “Kill me” is something I say a lot but there’s a HUGE difference between “Hahahahahaha what am I doing fucking kill me, stop my sinful hands hahaha the government should come to my house and end me look at all this trash i’m drawing ahahahaha this is true art fucking kill me pfftahahahahaha” and "K̺̯̭̻̘̟̎͂͛i̙̖̳͍̮̭̣̍́́l͒͏̮͎̲͖͇͖ͅl̤̜͙͉̘͋̆ͬ̂ͤ͘.̤ͤ̌ͬ͊ͤ͑ͅ.̝̞͕̖̒̑̈̃̔.͓͋̎ͦ̔ͮ̚ ̞͎̻̥̦͕̌ͬ͗ͫ͆̅̚m̳̱̬̞͍͓ͤ̿͂̊̃e̅̀.͉̫̪̰̖͢.̣͍̣̲͉.̡̙͖̥͎̯̜ͅ ̋ͥ͜k̹̳̞̀ȋ̬̖̭͜l̎̿ͬͮ͗͑̀̕l.̍̎.̟͎͇͉̪̳ͅ.̲̼̠ͤͫ̑̆̐̈͘ ̪̣͍͙͕͉̔̈̄́ͤͪ͝m̡̗͔̞̟̲̔̿ͩ̌̽ĕ͚̦̩̥̪̍ͅ.̞̩̫͖̗ͫ̓ͨ̌ͩͥ̽.̴̥͓̦̺̌̇ͬ̈́͂̂͒.͔͕̫̼̾͞ “

-”This way Mr Razor, look sharp!”  Was that pun intended

Floor 1056. huh.

-That’s a whole goddamn city in there

WHAT THE FUCK

-NOPE

-THAT’S A NOPE FROM ME, A NOPE FROM YOU, A NOPE FROM ALL OF US, I AIN’T RHYMING SHIT WITH YOU!

-(...what.)

-”It will help with the horror to come.”  “What horror?”  “Mainly the tea.”

BEHIND YOU BILL

-”Drink it while it is very hot. The pain will disguise the taste.”

-me cooking be like

-Wait, if she’s been here for weeks then the Doctor and the rest of them have been up there all this time?!

-So if the ship’s top is ‘fast’ and bottom is ‘slow’ then the ‘top’ must be closer to the event horizon.

-That explains the date number thing up there.

-So Bill was in here for weeks, maybe months, but only a short time passed up top. Okay.

Thanks Doc, I still kinda needed that cleared up

-”If you’re standing in your garden, your head is travelling faster through time than your feet.”  WHAT

-Okay, I didn’t know THAT, that’s actually new.

-Although I’m not sure if I should go flaunting this new knowledge willy-nilly, seeing as Doctor Who is generally not considered a credible source of scientific facts.

Awwww;; Ahahahahahaha

-”He’s been raising that eyebrow for a week.”  That really puts things into perspective.

-What’s with that woman seriously

-”Don’t change the channel.”  “A week, raising his eyebrow... why would I change?”

I find it kind of cute and sad at the same time that Bill has been watching the Doctor in excruciatingly slow motion for months and hasn’t gotten tired of it

-...Why did the window affect the patients?

“How many more years?”

-wait

-YEARS?!?!

-HOLY SHIT

-...Holy shit...

Just think of seeing that guy’s involuntary backflip for weeks on end

“Wait for me.”

There’s people down here?!!

-Are you saying that city was built by the people who came down here to fix the engine and those people’s descendants

-”Soon we will all be upgraded like them.”

-UPGRADED

-UPGRADED

*TRIGGERED*

dafuq

-Reminds me of the time I pulled a winter cap over my face just because I could.

-And then I put glasses on top.

-It didn’t help. I couldn’t see through the yarn as easily as I’d hoped.

-”That was good.”  “Venusian Akido.”  “I thought you needed four arms for Venusian?”  “I’ve got hidden talents as well as hidden arms.”

Okay, I’m REALLY hungry.

-”When you hug me it hurts my heart.”  “Aw, sweet.”  “No, your chest unit. It digs right in.”

Just brilliant.

He’s wearinf a fucking mask I can’t;;asdaf

JESUS CHRTISY

WHAT THE TABLEFLIPFLAPPING FUCK

-THE GUY WAS A BACKSTABBER

-YOU BITCH

Oh yeah? If it’s so good then why don’t you go upgrade yourselves alrready?

“This won’t stop you feeling pain, but it will stop you caring about it.”

oh yeah that guy totally doesn’t care about his pain

-In fact he looks dead inside

-That actor might as well have been thinking ‘shit, my eye hole slipped and now I can’t see properly.’

-”It fits over your head.”  Yeah I can tell that mister but I don’t want you or that ridiculous pipe thing you got there drilling willy-nilly into my brain

-”But I’m the computer guy, that’s always me.”  “Sorry, she’s cleverer.”  “She’s more evil.”  “Same thing.”

Uh oh

-”Hello, ordinary person. Please maintain a minimum separation of three feet.”

-”I’m really not trying to kill anyone today, but it would be tremendously helpful if your major arteries were out of reach.”

-Annnnnnd now I’m veeeeery suspicious of the scraggly man’s identity as well.

-Like, even more so than before.

same

-“There’s always a scary thing with you isn’t there?”  “Are you only getting that now?”  *Empty Child flashbacks* *Silence in the Library flashbacks* *fucking BLINK FLASHBACKS*  ...yeah I see what you mean.

And here we see another example of BBC’s Photoshop attempts, here used to tamper with stock footage of Earth to create an alien version of it.

-(I know it’s not Photoshop it was a joke)

-Wait.

-IT’S MONDAS ISN’T IT

-Yes I read up on the Doctor Who wiki before and apparently Mondas was a very Earth-like planet, only its people opted to ‘upgrade’ themselves for survival at some point in their history

-Remember kids, if you don’t have time to binge on Classic Who, just read up some long articles in the TARDIS wiki.

WHY IS THAT GUY’S HEAD SO SMALL AND THAT DOOR JUST OPENED BY ITSELF

I have a bad feeling about this

-Oh yes a VERY bad feeling

yep called it (Not really. It was in the trailer.)

-Wow Missy is so salty today

-Not sure if ‘salty’ is the right word... Let’s say ‘verbally homicidal’

-GOD THE SUSPENSE WITH THIS DOUBLE POV’S

-Like, holy fuck, that’s some awesome screenwriting there. Switching between two scenes while maintaining the suspense in both, without making it too fast/all over the place or too long.

-I’m getting chills.

wHAT

-Sheesh, the way his voice changes at the end of that sentence... Jesus.

same

-I’M SCREAMING HOLY FUCK OVER AND OVER AGAIN

-I THOUGHT MISSY WAS GONNA REGENERATE INTO HIM (which is kinda weird) OR MAYBE HE’D BE APPEARING IN A FLASHBACK OR SOMETHING BUT NOOOOO THAT ONE FISHY GUY WAS THE MASTER ALL ALONG

-MOFFAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT

HOLY FUCK

Is it just me or does the Doctor look really scared here

-Maybe he thought he got rid of them for good hundreds of years ago, and now they’ve come back and they took his friend and it’s all just...?

shit

-SHIT

-NO BILL

-NOOOOOOOOOOOOO

-WE’VE LOST OUT GAY DAUGHTER

I CAN’T

-BELIEVE

-THIS

-IS

-HAPPENING

-THE FOUR BEATS!! WTF!!

no.

oh no.

oh shit.

oh hell no.

shit

-THE FOUR DRUM BEATS.

-AFTER ALL THAT TIME, AFTER 8 YEARS, THEY’VE COME BACK TO HAUNT US AGAIN.

-THAT WAS BACK IN THE RTD ERA OH MY GOD

*SCREAMING*

SDHHSJKSHJKASKJERIHIERHIRGHJSDHJGAGSLDJFAH

-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

...

-FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK

HOLY FUCK??

“I did my duty for Queen and country.”

“I waited for you.”

-...

-*cue end credits*

-HOLy sHIT

-THAT DID NOT JUST HAPPEN

-WHAT AN WAY TO END THAT EPISODE

-MOFFAT

-I’M SCREAMING

-I SCREAMED SO LOUD I ALMOST DEAFENED MYSELF

-MOFFAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!!!!!

[classysassy9791]

Fandom Favorites

Rules: Choose any three fandoms (in random order) and answer the questions. Then tag some friends.

Tagged by @grapefruitwannabe. Thanks love!!

I choose: 

Inuyasha, Fairy Tail, Bleach

The first character you loved: 

Inuyasha: Kagome. She has this feisty attitude straight from the beginning that I loved so much. She’s 500 years in the past battling demons and gets pissed that a half-dog demon is calling her the wrong name.

Fairy Tail: Gray. The first impression we get is him in his underpants, and when he’s told to put on some clothes, he says he doesn’t have time for that as he storms off to join the dust cloud of guild mates fighting. I laugh every time. 

Bleach: Orihime. A sweetheart from the start, with a quirky personality and a little crush on our favorite soul reaper. And her character development throughout the story is just spectacular.

The character you never expected to love so much:

Inuyasha: Sango. At first she just seemed like the second female in the group, a secondary character, but her story is so intertwined, deep, and tragic, that she immediately starts taking a front seat. I love her strength, her kindness, her anger, and her pain. She has lost everything, and then through this crazy adventure, she gains everything. I just love her character so much.

Fairy Tail: Gajeel. When he first comes on screen, he’s just bad news, not only beating up Levy, but torturing Lucy as well. And then character development hits, and he’s like one big teddy bear now. I loved that about him, and I love him and Lucy as brotps. 

Bleach: Renji. The first time we’re introduced to him, he’s just some lackey doing the dirty work, and he almost kills Ichigo. But after he’s defeated, he turns over a new leaf, and becomes one of the best characters in the story. He’s comedic relief is pretty spot-on, too.

The character you relate to the most:

Inuyasha: Kagome. Because she’s a strong, independent woman who will put her life on the line for a friend. And although stubborn, she just as quick can be kind and sensitive. She’s also all about those first aid kits and healing abilities. (Nurse, anyone?)

Fairy Tail: Lucy. Even though her father basically abandoned her, she realized that family isn’t just about the blood we share, but also about the bonds we form. She found that family in Fairy Tail. Also, she’s pretty badass when it comes to fighting, but cares so deeply for her spirits it makes you want to cry.

Bleach. Orihime. She’s had a lot of loss in her life, but she always manages to smile and see the sunshine in the day. She consistently looks toward the future, and is willing to sacrifice not only her happiness, but herself for her friends. And I’d totally rock the healthcare field if I had her healing abilities.

The character you’d slap:

Inuyasha: Jaken. With a passion. His voice is excruciatingly annoying and all he does is whine or worship Sesshomaru. I feel like he’s simply there for comedic relief, and I can’t stand that.

Fairy Tail: Ichiya. He never seems to really have a purpose to me. Like, Blue Pegasus can definitely be run without him. Although, his role in this latest chapter is starting to change my thinking about him. 

Bleach. Kon and Don Kanonji. They didn’t have any purpose whatsoever. And all the filler episodes with them made me want to strangle myself. They can go burn in a trash can. Worst thing about Bleach was all the forced comedy.

A character you liked at first but not so much anymore:

Inuyasha: Magatsuhi. Right there with you, Grape! He was supposed to be the big, bad demon in the jewel whose been battling Midoriko since the jewel’s inception, but his ending fell flat. I wish they had spent more time on him. After all, Midoriko is mentioned throughout the series as this amazing priestess, but Magatsuhi only got, what? A few episodes?

Fairy Tail: Zeref. His existence was such a sad predicament, but even though he was the major villain of the story, there was always a sense that he still loved Mavis and still had feelings for her. But this last arc has just turned him into a sadistic villain who literally wants to destroy the world. I feel like his character development fell flat at the end.

Bleach: Aizen. He seemed like a huge, awesome villain with some major power, but between all the fillers and such, he got old in the anime. And in the manga, after 3/4 was about defeating Aizen, they brought him out of confinement to beat a bigger evil. His end-game was stupid, and I wish they did him better justice.

A character you did not like at first, but they’ve grown on you (by a lot):

Inuyasha: Kikyo. I was definitely a Kikyo-basher in the beginning (I was like 15 at the time, give me a break), but I have absolutely fallen in love with her character. Her tragic backstory and her fight back to redemption is wonderful.

Fairy Tail: Happy. Surprisingly, I wasn’t a fan of the little guy in the beginning. After dealing with Jaken in Inuyasha and Kon in Bleach, I thought Happy was just going to be another comedy relief that made my ears bleed. But he quickly changed my view on him. Not only is he such a hug part of the series, but his jokes have been on point since almost the beginning. He consistently makes me laugh, and his comedy never seems forced.

Bleach: Kenpachi Zaraki. When we first met him, I was like “this arrogant fool needs to die, he’s getting on my nerves”. But by the end, he’s just a teddy bear who wants a challenge, and he even becomes one of Ichigo’s greatest allies, while still wanting to spar. I actually love his character now so much.

3 OTPs: 

Inuyasha: InuKag, MirSan, and InuKik. They’re the main three I write fics for (although KogAya comes in a close 4th), mainly because I love their dynamics and their character development. I can spend all day sitting down an analyzing them.

Fairy Tail: This ones hard because there are so many!! But I’d definitely have to say GrayLu, Jerza, and Gajevy are high on the list. NaLu and Miraxus follow closely behind.

Bleach: Ichihime, Renruki, and HitsuHina. I think they’re pretty self-explanatory.

I’ll tag the usual suspects: @iliveondaydreams, @wenchster, @lockandk3yfiction, @jeanbeannie, @hireikotsu, @vividxdreaming, @darlingdontletmego, @supertimetravelmiko, @flowersfangsandfeathers, @lonestorm, @stoatsandweasels, @kuddle-cakes, and anyone else who wants to be tagged ^.^

[tomahawk-swing]

Broken Innocence

Dingo felt drained. Each day dragged by, excruciatingly long and tiring, and his nights were restless. He couldn’t tell when was the last time he'd slept for more than three hours in a row.

The boy climbed up to his room with deliberately slow steps. He wasn't looking forward to the loneliness that awaited him there. His empty PET felt heavier than usual in his sweater's pocket. Without the Navi that usually inhabited it, the device felt useless.

As Dingo pushed his bedroom's door open, he felt the tears he'd held back all day long sting at his eyes again. The only good side of being perfectly alone was that he could crumble onto his bed, and let them all out. He could be weak and pathetic, when nobody was watching.

Dingo switched on the lights, ready to let the dam break, but had to hold the tears back again when he glanced at his desk chair.

He wasn't alone in his bedroom.

"Dingo !! I've been waiting forever !" A familiar voice boomed, making Dingo's heart skip a beat. Tomahawkman was there, in his Copyroid, with one of his usual smiles plastered across his face.

Dingo took a step forward, ready to throw his arms around his Navi and hold him tight, when he felt a pang of sudden doubt. His instincts where whispering to him, warning him about a danger he couldn't see. With a second glance at Tomahawkman, Dingo could finally feel it. The foul aura that emanated from this Navi, encapsulated in his grey eyes. His cold, light grey eyes.

All traces of relief and joy faded from Dingo's features, replaced by a deep frown. "Who are you ?" He growled, reaching behind his back to seize his tomahawk.

'Tomahawkman''s expression shifted as well, from fake enthusiasm to a scowl. "Oh, no, not the toothpick. That weapon is so ridiculous, I don't know why you even bother to carry it around all the time. You'd be better off throwing it into some river." The Navi commented, his voice full of mean sarcasm.

"Well, I guess I tried ! I know you're not completely stupid, but it was worth it. " The Navi went on, as he slowly stood up from his chair. "It's time for a proper introduction !"

A whirlwind of bright blue pixels suddenly surrounded the Navi, shielding him from Dingo's view. As the tornado gradually faded, the Navi's true appearance was revealed, from his feet to his head, and the mane that fell down to his boots. He retained several elements from Tomahawkman's design, making the resemblance uncanny, at least at first glance. The clawed fingers, pointy teeth, and the wolf's head that replaced his helmet were the most striking changes, along with those lighter eyes, that made Dingo's blood freeze in his veins. He knew who these eyes belonged to.

"Ugh, I that was awful. Having to look like that loser again …" The Navi faked a shiver of disgust, before he smirked at Dingo again. "But it was all to trick you, so I guess it was worth it. You should have seen that look on your face, when you thought that your Navi was back ! It almost made me tear up !" A mocking laugh escaped the Navi's throat. "I like your current face better, though. Very nice desperate expression. 8 out of 10."

Dingo's face was nothing like the expression the Navi had just described. Horror stretched his eyes wide open, filling them with the tears that he could not hold back anymore. He still brandished his tomahawk in the Navi's direction, refusing to lower it, even if he knew how useless it was. His strong, but shaky grip was the only thing that still connected him to reality.

"I guess I should introduce myself, before you lose your mind." The Navi spoke up again, his malicious smirk growing even wider. "I'm Shiftman, and I'm your worst nightmare !"

Another sinister laugh filled the room, but it soon turned into a wholehearted cackle. "Was that too tacky ? I'm evil, in case you haven't noticed, but I don't wanna be a complete psycho like Sandman … And I sure don't wanna be a stupid airhead like Tomahawkman, either. I've gotta find the right mix, you know ?"

The question went unanswered. Dingo was unable to utter a single word, as the brutal truth was suddenly dumped onto his fragile shoulders. He now fully understood who this Navi was, and why he looked and sounded so much like Tomahawkman, without quite being the Navi he knew.

This wasn't Tomahawkman. This wasn't Sandman, either. It was a brand new Navi, made out of two different sets of data.

"Do you get it now ? I'm not your stupid little Navi. I'm not Sandman either. These two are gone for good, but don't be sad, they're very happy where they are !" Shiftman claimed, putting a hand to his chest in a very prideful gesture. "Because they were used to make me, and I'm a billion times better than them !"

This was all Dingo could take. Hearing this monster of a Navi confirm that Tomahawkman was gone broke something inside the boy. With a roar of rage, Dingo threw himself at Shiftman, aiming a slash of his tomahawk at the Navi's core on his chest.

The attack never landed. Shiftman's arm shot up, and grabbed Dingo's wrist in a crushing grip. "I still have both Sandman's and Tomahawkman's memories, you know. I know you better than anyone, because I got to collect two different insights on you. And you know what I've concluded from that ?"

"You're weak."

"You're so weak that I could probably destroy you with a couple words. I could also slice your heard off your shoulders, but now that'd be a boring way to break you, wouldn't it ?" Shiftman laughed, his smirk stretching even wider, to better reveal his pointy teeth. "I know all your weaknesses, but also your strengths, and I know they're nothing compared to all the flaws you have. That's why I can tell that you're so weak."

"All those lies you've been fed, all the lies you keep telling yourself, about how you can be strong again, how you can protect the people you care about, blah, blah, blah …" Shiftman gave an idle wave of his free hand, without letting go of the boy's wrist. "They're all garbage ! You were never strong ! You've never had a chance to protect anyone ! Do I really have to remind you of when your parents died, suffocating in the basement of your burning house, when you were outside, playing with your friend ? Do I need to remind you of all the times you've failed to protect people ?"

"You were never cut out for the job, Dingo. Give up." Shiftman suddenly dropped Dingo's wrist. His smile morphed into a gentler expression, almost reassuring. "Take it as a friendly advice from the half of me that still cares about you."

A glint of hope shone in Dingo's eyes. Was this really Tomahawkman speaking ? Was there any chance that his Navi was still in here, trying to reach out to him ?

An outburst of laughter tore Dingo away from his hopeful thoughts. "Wait, you really fell for it ? I take it bad, you're stupider than I thought !" Shiftman cackled. "No, really, you thought that your Navi was still in there, pitifully calling out for you ? If you really wanna know, Tomahawkman's dead. Deleted, destroyed, whatever you wanna call it. His program was torn apart and mashed up again to make me. End of the story."

Shiftman's clawed hand shot up again, this time to grab Dingo's collar, his fingers digging in the boy's throat. He locked gazes with Dingo, all traces of fake compassion gone from his cold eyes. "I'm done playing around. I came here because I wanted to try out something, so let's start the experiment now. I'm sure you'll love it."

A faint yellow glow shone in the Navi's eyes, at the sight of which Dingo gave a strangled gasp.

"Oh, no, it's not what you think it is." Shiftman cackled. "Or rather, it is, but not quite … It's much, much worse."

It didn't take long for the visions to start. Shiftman's version of the Sleep Wave didn't take long to start messing with its victims' mind, and Dingo's defenses were already at their lowest.

The boy felt his knees buckle, and crashed down as soon as Shiftman released his grip on Dingo's collar. The Navi stepped back, and sat down in the chair again, his eyes still glowing with the same yellow light. He propped his elbow on the armrest, and set his chin in his palm, curious to see what would happen next.

Dingo's free hand came up to hold his head, fat tears still rolling down his cheeks, making his vision blurry. He heard the distant crackle of flames, and raised his head again. The sight that awaited him made him wish he'd kept his eyes on the ground.

Shiftman's silhouette, still sitting in the desk chair, was engulfed in roaring flames. The Navi's image disappeared behind a wall of smoke, but when it dissipated, another Navi sat in his stead, his wrists and legs bound to the chair. Tomahawkman's gaze met Dingo's, despair and fear shining in the dark grey irises. Tomahawkman was calling for help. The flames were getting closer, and soon they would devour his Navi.

Dingo found the strength to stand up again. He seized his tomahawk, and rushed into the blaze, not minding the flames that licked at his ankles. He was about to reach his Navi, and slice away the bounds that tied him to the chair, when another silhouette rose from the fire.

The barrel of a buster came to face Dingo, blocking the way to his Navi. Cold grey eyes peered at the boy, while the short robot they belonged to readied his buster.

Pain tore at Dingo's cheek, when he expected his entire head to be blasted off. He still stumbled back and lost his balance, his eyes closing shut when he hit the floor. By the time he could open his eyes, Sandman was gone, but so were Tomahawkman and the fire.

The sound of clapping brought Dingo back to reality. "Good, good ! Look at you ! You're bleeding for real ! And those burns on your ankles ! See, I told you that my weapon was a lot better !" Shiftman was almost giddy with excitement. He stood up from his chair, and crouched beside Dingo, who had managed to sit up. The Navi ran a clawed finger against the boy's cheek, digging into the cut that had opened in his skin.

"Does it hurt ? Of course it does." Shiftman laughed again, and patted Dingo's cheek before he stood up. "Well, I got what I wanted from you. Sandman was right to use you as his lab rat. You make a really good test subject."

"We'll meet again soon, Dingo ! Until next time, don't die ! I wanna be there when it happens !" Shiftman cackled. Without giving Dingo a chance to reply, the Navi disappeared in a flash of light, leaving the empty Copyroid to crumble to the floor.

Dingo was unable to get up again. He brought a hand to his bleeding cheek, unable to admit that the hallucination had harmed him for real - but that was nothing, compared to Shiftman himself.

Tomahawkman was gone. Worse, he had been used in another of Sandman's experiments, and turned into an even worse enemy than the robot himself. Shiftman was sadistic, unpredictable, and worst of all, he possessed all of Tomahawkman's memories. He knew the weak points of every person the Navi and Dingo cared about.

Nobody was safe anymore. Dingo had to warn them all of this threat, and quick. But first, he was going to bawl his eyes out until he passed out from exhaustion.

[sarahw-world]

My first fanfic: A Dark Heart

Chapter 13 : A Saiyan's Voice     

Summary: Bulma listens to Vegeta's message...

I watched a small snail, crawling

on the edge of a straight razor.  

That's my dream.  It's my nightmare.  

Crawling, slithering,

along the edge of a straight razor,

and surviving.

[Colonel Kurtz; “Apocalypse Now”]

  Bulma wiped her forehead as she tiredly sat on the floor.

She was exhausted.

She’d been working nonstop on Vegeta’s ship for three days now, trying to repair the circuit system as fast as she could. The fact that her Prince had left a message for her in the memory system of the vehicle was enough to keep her motivated, but truth be told, the whole experience was taking a toll on her.

Hard work didn’t bother her, but the harsh conditions surrounding them didn’t help. The weather was unbearably cold, and the days on this frozen planet were short, which made the nights excruciatingly long; and lonely, of course.

Being inside the warrior’s ship all day made her realize how much she really missed him. This was the ship she’d first built for him, the one where he’d trained in order to prepare himself for the battle with the androids, and the one where she’d slowly come to realize she’d fallen in love with her man.

She sighed, allowing herself a few moments of nostalgia, lost in the memories of her feelings for him. The heiress didn’t fully understand why or how she’d end up falling in love with Vegeta; sure, things between her and Yamcha had been strained for a while, especially considering the fact that they’d been trying for a baby for over a year with no success. But out of all the eligible men on Earth, why the Saiyan Prince?

She knew why.

He was different, just like her. They were both incredibly stubborn people, born into wealthy and powerful families. Obviously, their lives had been very different, while hers had been filled with harmless adventure, his had been full of only Dende knew what… One thing was certain, he’d suffered a lot, and the fact that he’d freed those slaves instead of just taking them for himself was proof, at least to her, that he’d actually known what being owned by someone else meant.

She shook her head.

She still couldn’t believe she’d been afraid of the possibility of Vegeta being evil. Deep down, she knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to his old self. Not after all the things they’d been through on her planet. The blue haired woman recalled her conversation with Dende, where the young God had basically warned her about the possibility of Vegeta losing his mind one way or the other. Khalla’s words had also brought her a reason to be concerned: she said the Prince had looked lost.

Bulma slowly stood up, wiping off her jumper. She believed that her man getting rid of Frieza’s scummy monsters was good, but she also knew that they were all still in a lot of danger. After all, what was the warrior going to do once he got rid of those guys? She knew Vegeta was someone that always needed a goal in life, something to keep him going, motivated. First, it had been defeating Frieza, then the androids, then Goku. What a mess the whole thing had turned out to be…

She felt sorry for him, she really did. The scientist believed that his place should be on Earth, with Trunks and her, and she hoped she’d eventually be able to make him understand that or, at the very least, to make him give the possibility of a life in peace, without violence or revenge, a real chance.

“Alright, baby” she said to the machine as she proceeded to run the first tests, “let’s see if I managed to fix you…”

Meanwhile, Yamcha and Krillin waited outside, inside a little Capsule Corp. house Bulma had installed, with Khalla’s permission, in the old woman’s backyard. It was small but comfortable, with only two bedrooms, which meant that the two men had been taking turns sleeping on the couch, chivalrously allowing Bulma to sleep on one of the beds full-time.

They were in the middle of a card game when the scientist’s voice sounded through the intercom.

“Guys?” she asked.

Yamcha approached the communication device, pressing the button.

“What’s up?”

“I think I fixed it! The system seems to be working! I’ll check if the memory hard drives are working properly and if the recording’s still in there…” she replied, sounding really excited.

“That’s great, B.! Do you want us to go in there with you?”

There was a short silence.

“Um… No… I think it’s better if I listen to it by myself first if you guys don’t mind…” she said almost shyly.

“Sure, no problem… Just let us know when you’re done…”

“I will… Uh, I gotta go…”

Bulma disconnected the intercom and Yamcha turned towards Krillin, who had been avidly listening to their brief conversation.

“You think she’ll be alright?” the bald man asked worriedly.

The scarred faced warrior exhaled tiredly, sitting on a chair in front of his friend.

“Probably not…” he mumbled. “Knowing Vegeta, his message won’t be very nice, uh?”

“I guess…” Krillin replied, deep in thought. “Especially if he was pissed off when he recorded it. Who knows what the fuck goes on inside that head of his…”

“I don’t know, pal…”

‘But what an idiot he is…’ Yamcha thought to himself.

Back inside the ship, Bulma was sitting on the pilot’s chair, impatiently waiting for the system to run.

It worked.

She typed in the security codes and she saw a red light blinking on the corner of the screen.

Vegeta’s message.

Bulma took a deep breath and she pressed the OK button…

The sound of the recording wasn’t very good, and she could hear a lot of noise in the background. And then she heard it, hard breathing, which she immediately recognized as Vegeta’s.

A deep voice spoke, just for her…

 “Woman… What the… What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

He sounded furious, panting heavily, and she could tell that he was unsuccessfully trying to keep his anger in check.

“What…? WHO SAID YOU HAD THE RIGHT TO FOLLOW ME? STAY AWAY FROM ME!!!”

Bulma was trembling, utterly distraught. She’d never been on the receiving end of Vegeta’s fury. Not like this. They’d had their little arguments here and there, but deep down she’d known they’d both enjoyed pissing off one another.

But this was different.

This was pure, unadulterated rage.

“Where is he? Did you bring him with you, just like you did with the androids?”

Trunks.

He was talking about Trunks.

Was he finally showing concern towards his son?

“Just go back, woman! Go back and take care of YOUR child!”

Her tears started to fall.

Her child?

Fuck!

More harsh breathing.

“You had no right… No right…”

His voice was lower now.

“No right… I don’t… I don’t understand you…”

Confusion.

“You were safe now… You and the child… You were both safe…”

The woman listened to the Prince’s voice, which had started to change, almost as if he were talking to himself now, trying to gather his own thoughts.

“You were safe from me…”

“No…” she whispered, as if he could hear her.

Safe from him? Did Vegeta think he was a danger to them? The heiress knew the Saiyan would never hurt them. Maybe he thought he’d hurt them emotionally?

He didn’t talk for a while, but she could tell he’d been pacing and panting, probably as a result of trying to exercise some self-control.

Finally, he whispered…

“Bulma…”

She felt her chest tighten at the sound of her name on his lips. His voice was deep, masculine and intimate, and it reminded her of the private moments they’d shared during their nights together…

“Bulma… I see him… I see him, Bulma…”

There was something frantic in his voice, almost haunted.

“My father… What a joke…”

He laughed a sad, tragic laugh…

“What a joke…”

The blue haired beauty was now nervously biting the nail of her right thumb, eyes wide open, tears falling from them…

“He laughs at me, Bulma… I… I’m trying to show him… To show him what I’m capable of… But it’s not enough…”

There was a hard sound, like a blow, and she guessed he’d hit something.

“It’s never enough…”

He sounded like a child, like a lost, confused child…

“He wants me to stay away from you… He… You… He says you’re not good for me… Not good… He mocks me in my dreams… My nightmares…”

There were some unintelligible sounds, and Vegeta was almost whispering by now. Bulma held her breath, struggling to hear him…

“Can you believe that? He tells me you’ll only bring me pain… Pain and shame… I…”

His voice was trembling, and he let out a shaky breath…

“I tell him he’s a liar! A fucking liar! I tell… I tell him you take it away… You take the pain away…”

He chuckled, a laugh full of agony and despair…

“What a fucking joke… I ask him… I ask him why… Why did he give me away? Why didn’t I die with my people? I just… What a fucking joke my life’s been…”

No. Bulma nervously shook her head. No!

He wanted to die? Was that his plan? Was he on some kind of reckless suicide mission?

“You have to stay away from me, Bulma… I’m no good… The boy… You keep him safe… You two just… Stay away from me…”

“No!” she yelled.

“Take care of my boy… Just... Stay away from me! DON’T COME LOOKING FOR ME! YOU HEAR ME?! STAY AWAY!!”

She heard him roar in desperation, exploding in a cloud of raw misery.

And then, there was nothing…

 ****************************************************************************************************

 Yamcha yawned loudly as he realized he’d just lost another card game to Krillin. He stood up and stretched his back until something audibly popped. He then walked towards one of the house’s little windows, from which he could see the ship. It had been more than an hour since he’d last talked to his ex-girlfriend.

“You think she’s doing alright?” Krillin asked all of a sudden with a concerned voice.

“I don’t know… It’s been a while, right? You think I should call and ask her?” Yamcha replied.

“Yeah, I have a bad feeling… Use the intercom, just in case…”

The taller man approached the communication device and he pressed the button.

“Bulma?”

Silence.

“Hey, B.! Is everything OK?”

Silence.

He turned towards Krillin, who was already standing up next to him, and both men exchanged a questioning look.

“You think we should go?” Yamcha asked.

The bald man nodded, already walking to the door, ready to exit their new little home. Yamcha followed him, and soon both warriors found themselves standing at the vehicle’s heavy gate.

“Bulma?” Yamcha asked again, softly knocking.

Nothing.

“Bulma! I’m coming in, alright?” He warned, attempting to open the door and realizing it wasn’t even locked.

“Shit!” Krillin whispered as they both saw what their friend was up to.

In front of them, Bulma was sitting on the floor, with her back against the wall. She’d wrapped herself in her now familiar blue blanket, her slender arms strongly clutching her knees against her chest, rocking back and forth like a terrified child that had just seen a monster under the bed. She kept biting one of her thumbnails, her eyes wide open, red and swollen from crying, and she looked completely absent.

Yamcha cautiously walked towards her, as if he were a hunter afraid of alarming his prey. These new circumstances scared the crap out of him, for he’d never ever seen the heiress in this condition.

“Bulma?” He asked softly.

She ignored him, still staring at an indefinite point…

“Babe? Are you alright?” He asked again, kneeling in front of her.

“Khalla…” She finally whispered, still not looking at him.

“What?”

Bulma finally set her drained blue eyes on her ex-lover and she asked again.

“Khalla… P-please… I need her…” she said with pleading eyes.

“Uh… Um… Of course, B., I’ll go get her…” the now astonished man replied to her.

He stood up and walked towards the door, where Krillin had silently been observing the unnerving scene. They both looked at each other.

“She wants to see the older woman” Yamcha whispered, trying to prevent the scientist from hearing them. “What do you think she wants?”

“I don’t know” the bald man honestly replied. “Maybe she just needs to talk to a woman? Let’s just bring her in; I don’t like what’s happening here…”

Yamcha nodded and exited the ship with the intention of finding the woman, meanwhile, Krillin just stood in there with his arms crossed, not wanting to disturb the scientist but incapable of leaving her alone either. He was joined by his friend and Khalla a few minutes later.

“Oh, dear…” The older woman whispered. “May I ask what happened to her?” She asked in shock.

“We’re not sure” Krillin replied. “I think she finally managed to listen to Vegeta’s message. She didn’t tell us anything, she just asked for you…”

Khalla nodded in understanding, thinking it was very possible that the beautiful woman simply wouldn’t feel comfortable discussing private matters of the heart with her two male companions.

“I believe we should first remove her from the floor and place her in a more comfortable position”, the older woman finally said.

Yamcha didn’t hesitate in following her suggestion and he walked again towards Bulma, who still seemed to be lost in thought, and quite unaware of her surroundings.

“Khalla is here, B.” He whispered as if she were a frightened kid. “Would you like to talk to her now?”

Those large blue eyes looked up at him again, and she nodded, stretching her arms towards him in a silent plea for help. She was so fatigued she could barely find the strength to stand up on her own two legs. Yamcha gently held her in his arms and he walked towards the ship’s small living area, he sat her down on the couch and he made sure she remained wrapped protectively in her cozy blue blanket.

“Do you want something else, B.? Some tea?”

“Please…” she whispered. “And could you make another one for Khalla?”

“You got it, B.” he replied, inwardly relieved that she at least seemed to be slowly coming out of her cocoon.

Meanwhile, the woman had approached Bulma and she’d sat down next to her, silently waiting until the young scientist felt comfortable enough to talk to her. While she waited, she couldn’t help but look around, admiring the advanced technology surrounding her.

“I built it for him” the heiress whispered.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Bulma?” Khalla replied, slightly startled by the blue haired woman’s voice.

“Just Bulma, Khalla. You don’t have to call me Miss anymore, we’re friends now, right?” she said with a sad smile on her face.

“Um, of course, Bulma… What were you saying…?”

“Here’s the tea!” Yamcha happily informed as he placed a small tray in front of them. He thought chamomile tea would be a good choice and it would perhaps help sooth his friend’s nerves.

“Would you like some sugar in yours, Khalla?” he offered.

The older woman looked at the man, and he quickly realized she had no idea what sugar was.

“It’s, uh, it’s a substance we put in our drinks to make them sweeter…” Yamcha explained.

“In that case, I’ll try it; thank you, young man…”

The scarred faced warrior finished preparing the women’s drinks and he excused himself, leaving the ship with Krillin and going back to their provisional house, not before reminding Bulma that they’d be there in case there was anything she needed. Both women took a sip of their herbal teas, and Khalla marveled at how delicious the beverage actually was. After a couple of minutes, Bulma felt ready to talk again.

“I was saying that… That I built the ship for Vegeta…” she said in a low voice.

“Really? All on your own?” the woman replied with honest surprise.

“Not really, although I could have, it would simply have taken longer to make it… No, I made it with my dad and a few of our employees. I come from a family of scientists… Well, at least on my father’s side…”

‘Impressive’ Khalla thought.

“So… You made this ship for Lord Vegeta so that he could leave your planet?” she asked gingerly, trying to understand the situation a little bit better.

“No…” she shook her head. “Well, yes… I mean, it is a ship but, it has other purposes too…”

“Such as?”

“You see this room around us? Well, it can also turn into a gravity room… It basically increases the density of the gravity inside the ship, and it makes it very difficult to move and even breathe in it… I built it for him, so… So he could get stronger…”

Khalla remained silent for a moment, trying to assimilate this new information. The woman had actually helped their new Lord to get stronger, which probably meant they were at least on friendly terms.

“There was a conflict on my planet… We were warned by… Uh… By someone… About an upcoming battle and all of my friends trained very hard for several years to prepare for it…” Bulma continued. She carefully avoided mentioning certain details, such as her planet’s name or the Mirai Trunks story, in order to protect her home and her people from any danger; but at the same time, she felt the need to talk to this woman, to make her understand what she and Vegeta had gone through somehow. She needed some wise advice, because right now, she really didn’t know what to do anymore…

“So… Lord Vegeta was your friend back then?”

“You could say that… He certainly vowed to fight by our side. Which he did,” Bulma proudly replied.

“I’m assuming you won the battle?”

“We did, although it was brutal… It turned out to be much harder than any of us had anticipated…”

“And Lord Vegeta left after the battle, I presume…”

Bulma nodded.

“Pretty much… Yeah, he did… I… He didn’t really say goodbye or anything, he just…”

The heiress stopped talking, feeling her lower lip tremble. He’d really ruined her, hadn’t he? There she was, Bulma Briefs, a woman that could literally have any man she pretty much wanted, and she’d managed to find herself on a frozen planet in the middle of space, chasing ghosts…

“Were you…? Were you expecting him to stay? Is that what this is all about, Bulma?”

The younger woman sighed and nodded again.

“You could say that… Yes, I… I thought he was one of us now… But… I just… I wonder if I’ve just been fooling myself all this time…”

“Perhaps you haven’t…” Khalla retorted knowingly.

“What do you mean?” Bulma replied, her eyes widening, full of curiosity.

“Well… It always seemed to me that he… That he was one of those people that weren’t exactly designed to fit in anywhere… Even if his race had survived, I… And again, this is just my opinion but, I really think he would have, at the very least, changed quite a few things about his people’s costumes…”

“Did you… Did you know more Saiyans, Khalla?”

The older woman nodded.

“I did. I was young once myself, young lady…” she said with a warm, nostalgic smile.

“I actually got to see Lord Vegeta’s father on a few occasions.”

“K-King Vegeta?” the heiress asked in shock.

“That’s right. King Vegeta himself. It was long after the Saiyans had lost their independence; I believe his son was already under Frieza’s custody at the time, and his father and a few of his people visited this planet a few times, always to retrieve whatever Frieza required back then…”

“You mean the pieces you built for him?”

“That and some other things, sometimes…”

“L-Like what?” Bulma asked, having the feeling that she wouldn’t like the answer.

“He sometimes retrieved people too, Bulma. Frieza was always in dire need of personal slaves, and sometimes he sent some of his men to select a few chosen ones that would serve our Master in his personal residences.”

“That bastard…” the blue haired woman mumbled.

Khalla exhaled tiredly, and she grimaced.

“That he was… Yes… I… I lost one of my daughters that way…” she finally confessed.

“In what way? Was she one of Frieza’s personal slaves too?” Bulma asked in shock, now experiencing a great deal of pity towards the woman sitting next to her. Who knew what kind of things she’d actually had to live through…

“She was. She was taken by one of the Prince’s friends. I don’t recall his name, he was… He was the one with no hair...”

“Nappa?”

“Yes, I believe that was his name. He was a brute…” she whispered angrily.

“I never met him, but I saw him fight once. He didn’t seem to be a good man…”

‘Then again, neither did Vegeta’ she thought.

“He wasn’t.” Khalla firmly said. “He was one of those men that seemed to enjoy abusing his power and just taking whatever he wanted… Including my daughter… He first saw her while she was working on one of our factories and… Well, I suppose he became a bit infatuated… My daughter was a really beautiful woman, Bulma. Beauty can be a curse sometimes…”

Bulma remained silent, knowing extremely well what the woman was talking about. The scientist had always been aware of her beauty, especially since she’d been one of those girls that had blossomed at such a young age, and while sometimes her good looks had helped her navigate through life, she’d also experienced a lot of unwanted attention and prejudice from those who still seemed to believe than beauty and brains were incompatible.

“So… Nappa took her for her beauty?”

“Eventually, yes… But the Prince stopped him at first…”

“How?” the heiress eagerly asked, now fascinated by the woman’s story.

“Well… I guess the man had decided to take her to Frieza, but he wanted to… To, you know… To ‘use’ her first” Khalla said with a voice laced in pain.

“Oh, Gods…” Bulma whispered in horror.

“One night my daughter came home later than usual, her wrists were wounded, full of scratches, as if she’d been fighting someone that had been holding her against her will… She was crying, very upset… She said Nappa had approached her after she’d been done with her day’s work and he’d tried to… To abuse her…”

“And?”

“Prince Vegeta showed up just in time and he released my girl from Nappa’s clutches, ordering her to go home… The Prince never mentioned the incident to me, but the day after, several people from our village swore they’d seen Nappa beaten up, really badly, and I’m guessing Lord Vegeta was the only one at the time that would have had the strength to fight that beast…”

An unruly tear fell from Bulma’s eye.

Vegeta had saved a woman from being raped, and then he’d punished that bald bastard. That incident alone showed her that her man had some principles, even back then.

“They both left a couple of days later, with a group Frieza’s men and a few people from our small town to serve as slaves.”

“They took your daughter?”

“Not yet. No… They… They came back, about two or three months later, and then Nappa took her to Frieza. She died less than a year after they enslaved her…”

“Do you… Do you know how she d-died?”

“Some kind of lung disease. My girl wasn’t physically very strong, I was told the working conditions were too hard on her fragile body and she didn’t make it…”

“So… Vegeta finally allowed Nappa to take her?” Bulma asked, now completely horrified about the whole story.

“I doubt it. He didn’t come with him the second time Nappa visited our planet. I heard some rumors that he wasn’t in good terms with his Master and Frieza had sent him away on some really dangerous mission all by himself… Of course, those were just rumors… Here, we never knew anything for sure…”

Both women remained quiet for a few minutes while they finished their drinks.

Bulma realized, once again, that the warrior had been raised in a very dark world indeed, and her father’s thoughts came to her mind one more time. Could it be conceivable that Vegeta thought he didn’t deserve a life filled with peace and love? He’d certainly never experienced it before, of that she was sure, and it was very possible that he simply hadn’t been able to consider that option in life.

And then there was that recording.

She shivered, the memory of his voice covering her skin in goosebumps.

Yes, he’d been furious at first, clearly trying to convince her to go home, to stay away from him. But then, as he’d gradually calmed down and he’d opened himself more and more to her, she realized that he probably felt he was protecting her by staying away from her and Trunks. He’d talked about nightmares, filled with his father’s voice, shaming and mocking him. That bastard! How was it even possible that Vegeta still felt indebted towards the King and his people when they’d all failed him so? He’d been just a boy, a young little boy surrounded by terrifying conditions. And yet, even though she was certain he’d done horrible things, Khalla’s story confirmed what she’d suspected all along: there was more to the Saiyan Prince than met the eye. Back on Earth, Bulma had already managed to slowly bring down those walls he’d so carefully built around him over the years, and she got the feeling he’d even started to enjoy life with her and their son…

“Take care of my boy” he’d said…

His boy…

Abruptly, Khalla’s voice brought her back to the present.

“Bulma, I hope you don’t find me too intrusive but… Did you… Did you two have more than a friendship?”

The scientist was quiet for a moment, calculating what she should and shouldn’t share about her relationship with the Prince. She knew he was now in a very powerful position, and that would make her and Trunks extremely vulnerable to anyone that would want to use them to try to hurt or manipulate the Saiyan warrior.

“No… Not really…” she finally replied. “But I admit that… That I was hoping our friendship would perhaps develop into something more meaningful in the future…”

“I see…” Khalla replied, unconvinced by Bulma’s answer but not willing to push the issue any further in case she’d offend the younger woman. Whatever the case, it was pretty clear she’d succeeded in getting closer to the Saiyan Prince than anyone ever had. This should be reason enough, in her opinion, to encourage her to pursue the young man…

“Do you think he was happy on your planet with you and your friends, Bulma?”

The blue haired woman shrugged in despair.

“I guess… I used to think he was… Our planet is very beautiful Khalla, and we’ve mostly lived in times of peace. I believe Vegeta would have been happy with us but now… Now I just don’t know! I mean, how could we compete with all of this? How?”

“What do you mean?”

“Lord Vegeta…” she said, mockery in her voice. “I mean… He is a Prince, isn’t he? He probably believes he was born for this. You know, world domination… All of that… How could a quiet life on some distant planet compete with the power he holds right now…”

“Child,” Khalla firmly said. “If you believe these new circumstances have brought joy to that man’s life you’re truly mistaken. I… I do not presume to know what goes on inside his head but… All I know is that the man I witnessed was not a happy man, and he should have been, given the situation… You’re right, he used to talk about this day even back then…”

“What day?” Bulma curiously asked.

“The day he’d take Frieza’s place, of course! I was around him on a few occasions when he was younger and he used to visit our planet and, well, he was a very different man back then… He used to talk about some legend… Some kind of power that he was born to possess and he said when that happened he’d kill his Master and rule in his place…”

“The legend…” the scientist whispered… “He did, you know?”

“He did what, child?” Khalla asked in confusion.

“He did it! He became a Super Saiyan! The legendary…”

“So, it was true then?”

Bulma nodded.

“It was, yes… I like to believe I contributed a little… I mean, I know he achieved it on his own, but I built this ship so he could train…”

The older woman pondered over what Bulma just said. If her words were true, her new Lord owed the beautiful woman a large debt, and he would never hurt her no matter what.

“Are you going to keep looking for him, Bulma?” she finally asked.

“I don’t know, Khalla… Honestly… I wouldn’t even know where to look… And now that he doesn’t have the ship anymore, I can’t even track his position…” the blue haired woman replied in defeat.

“I’m pretty sure I know where he is right now…”

“What? Where?”

“I think he’s on Planet Z365,” Khalla said with conviction.

“Wha… How would you know that? Did he tell you?” Bulma said, shocked that her man would have shared that information that freely.

“No, he didn’t, but I heard some of the soldiers mention it as they were leaving. Plus, there have been lots of rumors about him and his men having established their main base on that planet. It used to be one of the most luxurious places owned by Frieza back in the day…”

“Really?” The younger woman said, deep in thought.

“Why… Why would he want people to know where he lives? Wouldn’t that put him in great danger?” she asked worriedly.

“Not necessarily, child. No… You see? The place has great security. I believe it has some form of protective shield and not everyone can be granted permission to land on its surface.”

“Mmmm… I don’t know Khalla… I don’t think he’d be happy to see me now. In the recording, he… He made it clear he wanted us to go back home…” Bulma whispered sadly.

“I’m convinced he was just trying to protect you. If you’re friends, I’m sure deep down he’ll be glad to see you. You have nothing to lose, Bulma. If there’s a chance you two could be happy together, you must try.”

“You really think so, Khalla?”

Bulma held the other woman’s hand, looking for comfort and advice, her blue eyes now burning with unshed tears. Khalla squeezed back.

“I do. Bulma, I… I might not have the knowledge in science and so many of the things you know about but… But there’s one thing I know, child: life is precious. This can be a dark universe but sometimes, sometimes we find beauty in it, Bulma, and we must fight for whatever happiness we can get. Lord Vegeta… I’m sure he’s a man of many flaws, but perhaps he deserves another chance in life. Maybe he could share that new life with you…”

The heiress remained silent, quietly crying as she held Khalla’s hand. Her mind was bursting with thoughts, fighting an internal conflict: her brain said no, but her heart… Her heart was saying yes…

And Bulma Briefs always trusted her heart.

She let go of the woman’s hand, wiped her tears from her face and she stood up.

“Alright then. We’ll go find that stubborn Saiyan!” she said resolutely.

Khalla chuckled, glad to see the fire back in the young woman’s spirit. And as she saw her walk towards the console, sitting on the pilot’s chair, she figured that the powerful man had probably fallen in love with that spirit. The girl looked physically fragile, but her mind was strong, her soul brave, and her heart seemed to be in the right place.

“OK, Khalla, would you be able to give me the coordinates of Planet Z365?” Bulma asked, looking at the computer’s screen.

 **************************************************************************************************

 Yamcha yawned idly as he laid on his bed, covered by the cozy blankets, with his arms crossed behind his neck and his eyes staring at the ceiling.

It had been eleven days since they’d abandoned the frozen planet in search of Vegeta, and the loneliness of space was really starting to take its toll on all the inhabitants of the ship. Especially on Bulma.

This second trip had been different from the first. While before she’d shared most of her time with Krillin and him, the woman was now spending most of it by herself in her tiny cabin. She only joined them during meal times and, every now and then, to do something like watch a movie or play a card game, but mostly, the heiress had managed to isolate herself.

The scarred faced warrior got up and walked lazily towards his private shower. At least, his ex-girlfriend had repaired their ship as well before they’d departed, which meant this second trip had been much more comfortable now that they had access to hot water and heating.

Yamcha removed his clothes and he stepped into the hot shower, starting to get ready for their second adventure. Bulma had told them they would reach the planet in a matter of hours, three according to the information Khalla had provided for them. The old woman had proven to be a valuable asset. Not only had she helped them by giving them directions, but during her private conversation with the scientist, she’d somehow managed to cheer her up. By the time Bulma had left Vegeta’s ship to get into their tiny house, she’d looked like a different woman, a far cry from the nervous wreck he’d seen a few hours earlier…

The man closed his eyes and he allowed himself to relax as the hot water soothed his stiff muscles, praying that they’d finally find the Prince in this new planet.

While Yamcha was in the shower, Bulma and Krillin drank some tea in the kitchenette. The woman looked different, almost anxious, and the bald warrior couldn’t help but try to calm her down a bit.

“Are you OK, Bulma? Don’t worry, I’m sure Vegeta will be on the next planet…” he said softly.

“I know, I can feel him…” she simply replied.

“You what?”

“I… I can’t explain it Krillin, but… I can feel his presence the closer we get to the planet…”

She wasn’t lying to her friend. She didn’t know why or how, but for a few hours now, she’d been able to feel Vegeta’s energy somehow. She thought of Piccolo and his bond theory, and she really started to believe there might have been some truth to it.

“Do you feel his ki, Krillin?”

The man frowned, trying to concentrate.

Nothing.

“No, sorry Bulma…” he replied, secretly wondering if the woman was telling the truth or if she was simply going insane.

He knew Goku had telepathic abilities, and he felt that perhaps the fact that Bulma and Vegeta had shared an intimate relationship had something to do with her strong intuition where he was concerned.

Just as he was about to ask her a few questions, he felt the ship jolt violently. He was quick enough to grab Bulma before she fell on the floor, and he heard Yamcha yelp from his room.

“What the fuck was that?” Krillin asked.

“What…?” Bulma was shaken, her legs trembling as she struggled to find her balance once again. She took a deep breath and she walked towards the console.

“We stopped.”

“What? W-What do you mean we stopped?”

“I was expecting something like this to happen…” Bulma said, trying to remain calm.

“Khalla told me the planet had heavy security.”

Suddenly they heard Yamcha’s voice.

“Guys? What’s going on?”

Bulma turned towards him, only to find him wearing just a white towel wrapped around his waist.

“Yamcha! What are you doing?”  

“Uh? What do you mean? I almost broke my neck in the shower! What the fuck is…?”

The lights went out, and the dim emergency lights automatically went on. The travelers heard a buzzing noise and abruptly, a giant holographic screen appeared inside the ship’s main room.

All three of them turned at once towards it, only to be faced by a purple skinned alien whose face resembled that of a very strange fish.

“Identification” he said in a strong monotone voice.

The earthlings stared at each other and just as Yamcha was about to open his mouth, Bulma cut him off, holding her hand in front of him.

“Let me do this” she whispered.

She then turned towards the screen, cleared her throat and she firmly said.

“My name is Bulma Briefs, and I wish to speak to your Master, Lord Vegeta”.

The alien blinked and suspiciously squinted his eyes.

“Is Lord Vegeta expecting your visit?”

“I believe he is. Very much so.”

Krillin and Yamcha witnessed the exchange of words, absolutely dumbfounded by the female’s confident tone. If she was nervous or scared, she wasn’t showing it, and both men couldn’t help but admire her magnificent acting skills.

“One moment, please. I must go check this information with my superiors.”

The alien disappeared, but the holographic screen was still on, and the space ship almost in the dark.

“Yamcha, don’t you think you should go get dressed?” Krillin said.

“Uh, yeah, sure… I’ll be right back!”

Bulma tiredly sat down on the pilot’s chair and the bald man soon joined her, sitting right next to her. No words were exchanged as both friends waited impatiently. About ten minutes later, the fish faced alien showed up on screen again.

“Lord Vegeta has granted you permission to land on Planet Z365. We will proceed to tow your vehicle immediately”.

Oh yeah...

Who's ready for a reunion?

You can also find it on Archive of Our Own:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/9066958/chapters/21480368

[angelicutahraptor]

MIRROR MIRROR MIRROR

MIRROR MIRROR MIRROR [These ramblings are off-the-wall expressions of my own thoughts and emotions. Interpretation is open to the reader] x What does it mean to live a life, ‘worthy’ of being tormented for eternity? Sins and the devil are apt in every culture, every religion, every form of expression that can be shown whether its day-to-day talk, artwork, television-  there is always a distinction of what is Good, and what is Bad.

There are things that are Un-believable, without-a-doubt, horrible.  Inflicting pain on others with intent, manipulating people to get the worst in them, lying, breaking beliefs and souls, are all prime examples. Murder, rape, destruction and chaos in every definition is almost always the tier-top of ‘terrible things’ and ‘number 1 way to wind up eternally tormented’ What does it mean, then, in the animal kingdom when a wolf devours a deer? Or a fox eats a rabbit mother, and all of the newborns? Are they doomed to an animalistic hellhole for survival? For eating? Suffice to say all texts give the explanation that because we, as people, have the thoughts and the where-with-all for distinction between what is eating, and what is killing. We can tell right from wrong, we can choose whether to eat a rabbit, or kill it for the sake of desire. Don’t animals do this as well? A fox in a hen house often has that need to destroy all of the lives present- does that make it liable for torment dependant on someone else’s definition of ‘worthy for hell’? I had a dream once, wherein a beautiful Bengal tiger had been captured by a prince. Kept locked in an excruciatingly tiny cage, it paced and paced in hunger, for what felt like a life time, maybe an eternity. Finally, it was slaughtered, skinned for its pelt to be draped on the floor and walk across with dirt stained feet. Its thoughts-its energy- kept vigil, and more so, it was kept Enraged, stuck in a loop of broken-hearted aggression at its captors and the torment it had endured.  Endlessly it tore into the princes dreams every night, endlessly, chewed him up, and spit him out. Night after night for months this went on, the prince growing incredibly exhausted and terrified of these nightmares. One day, he broke, and found a shaman to come in and help him find out what evil spirit was causing such torment. ‘This spirit is something You brought upon yourself, young prince,’ she had said, gesturing at the rugged pelt ‘and it will Continue to torment you, until you have earned its forgiveness.’ Desperate and humbled, the prince got down on his knees each night for a month, prayed, and gave offerings. He buried the pelt along with the offerings, and the spirit of the Bengal Tiger was saited; with a final roar, and a heavy purr, its energy lightened, and dissipated. Wherein here, was hell? Was it the Tiger, stuck in a pitiful, endless anger? Was it the prince, subject to that rage, every night of every day? Were either deserving of that torment? Did one deserve it more than the other? Or was it all their own disposition of energy and emotion, fighting to find balance for something heavily acted upon? Hell is what you make of it- so is heaven. There are terrible, terrible situations in the world that would without a doubt be given the definition ‘hell on earth’ without a seconds hesitation, as is there are placed that could come close to ‘apradise/heaven’. But when it comes to Death- when your flesh is done and the ground is pulling you close- that’s the moment you need to realize our energy, your imprint on the world. Is it heavy? Is it light? Are you angry? Sad? Joyful? Content? Where are you now? Where do you want to be? and the most important thought, What do you Believe about yourself? Because You will be given that moment- to be in the high energies of paradise, or the heavy energies of betrayal.