#like that it's thirteen years old and people do continue to be teenagers even to this day: Telling You About It

[unproduciblesmackdown]

also enjoyed some delightful behind-the-scenes bonus material sort of videos for a:tdd from frictional:

the sound design demonstration video is a complete gift

the soundtrack composition and a tour of the composer's digital setup (so, all at one desk here lol):

a funny little edit presumably just serving as some teaser material:

and this video on Story:

which pairs really well w/an ye olde dev blog post i read abt their approach to immersion as well by trying to make the player feel like they Are the protagonist / doing what they would do, vs thinking of themself as just operating within the constraints of piloting a specific guy around, and had comments on what they chose to do to enhance this / what they think did or didn't work....sure noticed that frictional overall focuses on Story a lot, which i think is neat even if it comes at a tradeoff for how the game itself works sometimes, though the game serving the story and story serving the game works so well in a:tdd for sure, i also felt that the story did enough in the bunker, though the focus felt on the gameplay itself more so....it was funny hearing that apparently many players interpreted daniel's Read Aloud Diary Entries as being read aloud by him Now, Speaking in the Present, and would then be confused why he doesn't speak aloud to agrippa, though agrippa acts like daniel's responding....got the lore that agrippa was added fairly late in development, and that they considered removing the voiceover for diaries (which: noooo lol i love it. Eye didn't interpret it as [daniel is doing a dramatic reading for us Now] & it's so fun. but i note henri (& lambert's? i think) notes are Voiced Over in the bunker, so, win) or some different approach for agrippa (which, i also still really enjoy As Is imo, and sure interpret as either [imagine that daniel is speaking but we don't hear it] or [assuming agrippa is telepathic what with the mouth situation & we aren't hearing daniel's Thought Responses, which also aligns then with daniel just declining to have those thought responses for alexander lol)....talked abt Not doing cutscenes or anything where control was taken from the player, though there could be "reflexive" instances of forcing the View onto some event/item, and saying most ppl didn't mind this but they were wondering if even that was unnecessary....estimating that fifteen to thirty percent of players were annoyed by the Auditory Responses of daniel's reactions like, the heartbeat sfx, gasping, audible breathing, but to hell with them lol. i suppose i'd say that maybe daniel's Reactions like so were really what makes him feel very Present as a character, not as Necessarily an extension of the player, but (a) when Eye was playing i'd had the bonus confidence of enough familiarity via playthroughs to not be taken by surprise for the most part; the blog also said that Most Players were either neutral or felt daniel's noticeable reactions Enhanced the effects for them & (b) also Thee Story just serves to make daniel A Character in the first place, even if he didn't react thusly....but it'd be like, oh, gotta look after the guy separate from me, daniel, and make him feel a little better by standing in torchlight or collecting an item or something. but it's also like how it says in the video there, wherein this is Like having to mind your avatar's health stats. i realize I'm not wounded, but you find some laudanum about it (versus anything more like a Heal Kit lol. hangin in there), maybe I'm not crackling with fear rn, but i find daniel some light about it. and if i Was really in this creepy castle i Would be really quite scared i bet....you have to carry on....whilest it's also like, of course impossible to Ignore how well daniel's doing on that front, since even though he Doesn't become more easily found by enemies by any direct mechanic, having darkened shaky/blurry vision ft. hallucinations & that if you upset daniel enough he falls over for a few seconds = you really are in more danger b/c of all That....anyways obviously i like daniel's Presence as Past & Present character.

[suzukiblu]

more of the one where Clark panic-adopts his teenage clones, yes including the supervillain one:

"I don't know why people keep doing this," Superman sighs as they stop in the air high above the cloud cover between them and the Lyon lab. 

"Stealing your DNA?" Match asks. 

"Kidnapping a sixteen year-old," Superman says like he thinks it's some kind of correction. Match frowns. 

"Superboy is two," he says. And closer to physiologically eighteen at this point, even accounting for the temporary stall in his aging process. Definitely not sixteen by either count, though. 

"I–well, yes," Superman says uncomfortably. "But you know what I mean." 

Match doesn't, actually. 

"It won't be difficult to crack the lab," he says instead of admitting that. "Security won't be prepared for an external assault from your full powerset." 

"Because they think I wouldn't come," Superman says, sounding resigned. 

"Yes," Match confirms. 

"Because of your reports?" Superman says. 

"Yes," Match says. "And you never did before, either." 

Superman frowns, sparing him a confused glance. 

"Why would I have come before Superboy was even here?" he asks. 

"I was here," Match says. 

Superman's frown deepens. He looks over at him again. Match isn't sure why; the lab is the current concern. 

Maybe he assumes that he's lying about the security. Or that he's going to tell the Agenda that he's here. Those would both be fair assumptions. 

"The Agenda thought I might come for you?" Superman says. 

"The theory was presented, initially," Match says. "But you didn't, so external security in the newer labs is less intensive." 

"Why did they think I'd do that?" Superman asks. 

"Superboy and I only exist because of you," Match says. "And the Agenda knew he'd reported my existence to you." 

"I wasn't actually involved in either of your creations, though," Superman says, still frowning. "My DNA was stolen." 

"Yes," Match agrees, tilting his head. Did Superman think he didn't know that? "Because you made your DNA valuable." 

"What?" Superman frowns at him again. 

"Your DNA was stolen because it was valuable," Match clarifies. "Because you demonstrated it was valuable. You don't use science or tricks or magic or owe any gods or countries or labs any kind of allegiance. You just exist on this planet and you're the most powerful thing on it just because you're here. You can do anything you want, whenever you want, and no one else can stop you. Not even if they kill you." 

Superman doesn't say anything. 

"And you told everyone that," Match continues. "You told everyone that you were the most powerful thing on this planet just because of your very valuable DNA and the fact that we happen to be revolving around a yellow sun. That you can't even die. That you'll always do whatever you think needs done, no matter what anyone else thinks or who tries to stop you from doing it." 

Superman still doesn't say anything. 

"So Superboy and I only exist because of you," Match finishes, and then looks back down at the lab below through the cloud cover. Thirteen is down there right now. Or he should be, at least. 

Maybe he's already escaped. 

That's a very Thirteen kind of thing to do, after all. 

"That's how you feel?" Superman asks, all careful-voiced again. 

"That's what I know," Match corrects. "Would you prefer to go straight in or should I provide a distraction first?" 

". . . I'll be the distraction," Superman says, still watching him with an absolutely indecipherable expression that Match doesn't understand the purpose of. "Find Superboy and say my name when you do. Then I'll get you both out." 

"The Agenda will want me back, though," Match says with a frown, not understanding. 

"Do you want to stay with them?" Superman asks. 

Match has absolutely no idea how Superman can even ask him that. It's not a choice if he stays with the Agenda. 

It's never been a choice. 

"They made me," he says. "They own me." 

"That isn't true," Superman says. "You don't have to stay with them just because they made you. Not if you don't want to. Superboy didn't stay with the people who made him, did he?" 

". . . Superboy lives at Cadmus," Match says, more than a little confused by that statement. "He works for Cadmus. He's a field agent." 

"He–what?" Superman blinks. 

"Did you not know that?" Match asks. That really seems like something Superman should've known. Especially since it's something the Agenda knows. "They're under new management. But it's still Cadmus." 

"I–he's still there? I thought that was just . . . why would he still be there?" Superman asks, looking troubled. 

Match really, really doesn't understand Superman as a person. 

"Because he requires food, shelter, and financial support," he ticks off on his fingers. "Also presumably other resources. And he has no legal identity or legal guardian to either obtain or provide said resources. Therefore: Cadmus." 

Therefore: the Agenda. 

It really doesn't seem like something that should need explained, to him. 

Superman looks at him for a very long moment. 

"Find Superboy," he says, finally. "Then say my name." 

"Understood," Match says.

[thebluestbluewords]

and soon it’ll be spring

testing out some character voices. Set in a vague future timeline, fandom-typical discussions of child abuse.

+

Carlos hasn't seen his mother in years. Hasn't spoken to her since he left the isle. There's phones, and computers, and mail service to the isle, and sometimes the reception even works now, but he hasn't reached out. 

Evie sends letters to her mother sometimes. She addresses them to her old castle, encloses herbs and chocolate and eyeshadow. She doesn't read the responses that come back, but her mother sends them anyway, and Evie keeps sending her packages even though she can't bear to see whatever her mother has to say back to her. 

Carlos can't even do that. 

He's a bad son, probably. An ungrateful brat. Useless. Worthless. His mother could have drowned him as a baby, killed him like an unwanted puppy, and they'd all have been better off without the bother. He's been a bad son since he was born. Weak. A vulnerability. 

He breathes, keeps his voice steady. "Yup. That." 

Diego moves in a flurry of violent motion. He's facing away, towards the river, but Carlos still has to suppress the urge to flinch. Diego wears heavy boots, steel-toes even though he's never been in a real factory in his life, and every Isle kid's seen the damage they can do. 

The rock he kicked goes flying into the river. 

"Fuck." his cousin snaps. "Fuck! I remember that." 

Carlos can't laugh, but there's a sort of bubbling fear that's catching in his throat, and he can let some of it out. "Hah. Yeah. Um, I sort of — I cried a lot, that summer? It was hot and awful and you wouldn't come by the house, and I wasn't allowed to be at yours, so we started looking for a better hideout that year. D'you remember when Ivy found that place by the forest—" 

"—the one with the metal roof, where we got trapped by Kaa and you rigged a crossbow out of guitar strings." Diego finishes. "Fuck. I knew we found a new hideout that year, but I thought it was 'cause we got those drums for Sierra and couldn't keep them quiet down in the warehouse." 

Carlos shrugs. He's always been the little one, the tag-along. Diego's gang didn't tell him anything when he was a kid, and they still don't really talk. He's magicam friends with Sierra and Ivy, but Mia won't even accept his follow request. They didn't want him then, they don't want him now, and it's not even really a sore point anymore. He's got his own pack. No teenagers really want a little kid hanging around them, especially a kid who's already showing that he's a weak point.  "Might'a been. I dunno." 

"Nah, it was 'cause dad didn't want you hanging around the house anymore," Diego says firmly, shaking his head. "We found a new place so you'd have somewhere to go'n hide when your mom went ballistic. You were tiny, y'know."

It's sort of a logical leap, but sort of not.

 "I'm still short." Carlos points out. "You don't feel compelled to protect me now, right?" 

"Hah. Hah. Very funny, nerd." 

"I'm just saying—”He ducks the hand that shoots out to scrub his hair into a rat's nest. Score one for Isle kid instincts. "I'm say-ing," Carlos continues, undeterred. "That you didn't have to protect me back then. I could've taken care of myself." 

"You were a kid." 

"And you were what, twelve? Thirteen?" 

"Older," Diego says firmly. He's still looking out towards the water. "Old enough to protect my baby cousin." 

"Mom didn't kill me. I'm still here." 

Diego's arms are smooth and unmarked by the round cigarette burns that cover Carlos's arms, hands, chest, belly. Anywhere he was soft, she liked to burn. 

"She could've," Diego rasps out. "She almost did. I wasn't big enough to stop her."

"The spell—”

"FUCK THE SPELL." he shouts. Too loud. People are looking at them. People in Auradon love to stare and judge VKs, even when they're dressed just like anyone else in the city, but shouting was a reason to stare even back home. 

Diego notices, and drops his arms down, swinging the cup in his hand back and forth like a melting pendulum of coffee and sugar.  "Fuck it," he repeats, quieter. "If Auradon wanted us alive so bad, they should've put in the work themselves instead of relying on the barrier to keep bouncing us back." 

Carlos lifts one shoulder in agreement. He's pretty sure that the spell does a lot more than just keep them in their bodies, what with the healing factor and the way it won't kick you back in unless you've got a body to go back to, but it's a solid enough argument if you don't go into specifics. Claudine and the religious types at Dragon Hall had a whole rant on tap about how the barrier was being used to bounce their souls out of their path to heaven, so that they'd rejoin their bodies again and keep them alive even longer, but thinking about the concept of souls makes Carlos feel an emotion that Mal calls "stabbing" and Jay calls "a working bullshit sensor." Evie calls it "a rational emotional response to religious guilt-tripping bullshit", which sounds better than stabbing, but like, the point still stands that souls aren't real and listening to Claudine's lecture about them makes Carlos feel mostly doubtful, and also sort of like he's a shitty person. Which is probably the point of religion.

"S'not really bouncing," he says quietly, keeping his voice low and face turned down. People stare less if they're not obviously talking to each other, because Auradon has different standards for communication and watching VKs shout-talk directly at each other makes people stare. "It's not like we ever really die."

Diego levels a flat look at him. 

"Okay, yeah, they should've put more work into keeping us alive," Carlos agrees, because it's true. Auradon locked them up and threw away the key, and didn't even bother to check on their island of villains once they'd settled down from the initial bloodshed and power scrambles. "But the scientific basis for being bounced back into our bodies by the spell just isn't there. If they're using the barrier to trap our souls or whatever in an impenetrable bubble, then how're new souls getting in for the kids born on the Isle? If it's a true closed system it doesn't make sense. And I know--" He sucks in a breath before Diego can get a word in edgewise, because he knows. The souls aren't the point. The magic isn't even the point. "It doesn't matter how they're keeping us there so long as there's still kids starving and being killed on that rock. I know. But I can't push the wheels of government any faster, because I'm not the fucking king, or a representative, or anything. I'm a testimony at best,and it's not like being born on the Isle gives me the power to do anything about it."

Diego snorts. "Wow, you can't fix twenty years of systematic disenfranchisement on your own? Call the presses, my genius cousin can't fix something in five years that took twenty to break in the first place." 

The guilt that lives in the place where other people keep their feelings swirls up in Carlos's chest again. "I could've tried." 

"In between what, surviving high school? Petitioning the king to listen to us? 'Cause it seems like we're a lot further than we'd've been without your crew's work." 

"I built a machine to break the barrier," Carlos tells the river. "Back home. Before we left. It nearly worked." 

Diego kicks another rock into the river. "I know." 

Carlos feels his heart stutter-stop. "You—what?" 

"I know," Diego repeats. "You built shit all the time. You'd talk about it in your sleep. I stopped by that treehouse of yours one time, and you had the whole thing torn apart. You were talking to your crew about it. I listened for a while."

"When?"

The cold bottom of his cousin's coffee cup bonks into Carlos's skull. "Before you left, genius. I dunno. You didn't have it working yet."

"I thought I was being sneaky about that."

"You were. I'm just sneakier. If you'd been reverse engineering the whole barrier, you'd've built it better right?" 

"I would've given us the dignity of dying, if that's what you're asking." 

"Yeah." Diego says quietly, and then. "Fuck. That's morbid." 

Carlos shrugs. Maybe thinking about better ways to die makes them morbid, but it's still comforting to think that if he'd been the one to engineer their prison, that he'd've been able to give them the mercy of actually dying. "We're villains. It's our speciality. We're supposed to be all about death, and murder, and stuff." 

Diego laughs. They laugh the same way, the two of them. More of a bark than a real laugh. There's probably some irony there, if they wanted to go digging for it. "Didn't you hear, little cousin? We're supposed to be good now. No more murder. We're reformed villains, no more claws and fangs." 

They're reformed, but Diego still calls at 3am sometimes, just to make sure that he's still breathing. 

"Damn, guess I'll have to return the axe I bought," Carlos drawls, hefting his cup up like it's a weapon. "And the rat poison, and the chains for the dungeon..." 

"Kinky." 

[evita-shelby]

They didn't know we were seeds

Chapter 6

Cw: sex trafficking, prostitution, allusions to child sexual assault

@justrainandcoffee @call-sign-shark @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings

Eva knows he’s staring even as he tries to hide it.

Jack hasn’t spoken to her in the week leading up to the games and given that he’s on 2 and she on 10, their paths hardly cross until the big event begins.

Then they are shown to the grand hall where the games are viewed, where you schmooze sponsors who pay good money to be in the room and mingle with other mentors. It’s the first night of the games, all the big people are here, and attendance is mandatory.

Jack’s tributes have both made it to the career pack even if the boy isn’t strong enough to wrest control from the girl from 1. Eva’s lost the girl, Silvia, to blood loss, but Matty has made like a thief and gotten himself safe and in possession of a hatchet.

Matty is eighteen, has been working at a butcher shop since he was old enough to hold a knife and has been taking out tesserae since his dad was executed for cattle theft and poaching when he was thirteen.

She continues buttering up her favorite sponsor to convince him to sponsor him, hoping to get him into the finalists at least. Luca will do it, and she will pay for it the same way she paid for it four years ago: by fucking him.

Luca had paid an exorbitant fee for the honor of being her first, and while Eva would’ve never done that sort of work in a million years, there were worst candidates and becoming another cautionary tale like Haymitch made him incredibly desirable.

He was, as the Capitol tabloids called it, her sugar daddy. 16 years older than her with a penis that would shame a horse and controls the Capitol’s underworld and the very legal gambling dens.

Well, until he runs out of money or falls out of favor with Snow who chooses her customers and everyone else’s. Luca was her second client because his dear old dad kicked the bucket, and he did Snow’s dirty work for a price: his pick of the litter.

Besides, he could be worse and forced monogamy was easier than what some did to the others.

Enobaria from after her games had not fared as good as she did and after discovering that her filed teeth made her repulsive to these people, she went all out on it until she was taken out of the list. Cashmere, who won after her brother two games ago, had to pretend she was enjoying having men and women pawing at her and her brother and Finnick Odair wasn’t even allowed to wait until his dreaded 18th nameday going by the way the biggest donor leers at the fifteen-year-old boy.

The arena never ends, if Jack knew how right his words were, he would’ve never said them.

“Long time, no see, stranger.” Eva doesn’t mean to flirt, but it has become second nature to her these days. Just an angle she plays, the mysterious and sexy woman who needs a big strong man to satisfy her.

“You’ve become quite the whore since I last saw you.” He is blunt, a thing people attribute to his upbringing and not the torture inflicted upon him by the Capitol…or his mother’s slightly treasonous views.

“Your mentor never told you what happens to the pretty ones, didn’t he?” It sickens her, sometimes, to see what the Capitol made of her and hearing it from Jack stings.

Brutus pretends not to know because to say that he turns a blind eye when his former tributes are pimped out to pay for the games and other favors the president needs is as bad as doing the raping himself. And because he keeps his mouth shut and everyone knows he’s got the biggest crop of hot teenagers in his keep, they let him be.

Jack was spared because Lyme refused to let him join as a mentor claiming he was unstable after Laurie’s death, or so Eva heard. Except Lyme had to fold her hands and step away when Enobaria almost bit a client’s dick clean off last year and Snow demanded him to be put on the list.

Now Jack’s being put on the platter for deranged people who recapture their youth by stealing theirs. Eva hates how the women look at him, even worse, how some look at the two of them standing here together.

“That explains how they can afford it all.” Jack hides his disgust with a sip of his high-end whiskey. “Am I unattractive enough to be spared, Miss. Smith?”

He is flirting right back. Eva supposed time does heal all wounds going by the way Jack leans in close enough for him to smell his expensive cologne mingled with the whiskey. He’s still a dead ringer for his dad, and he’s outgrown the last of the softness of his teenage years making him rather striking leaving some of his resemblance to the boy she murdered behind him.

His confidence and envied pedigree make him almost as desirable as Cashmere and Gloss these days. He could drive the attention away from Finnick if he takes one for the team, let the kid turn sixteen at least. Some victors stick together to make this hell bearable, but others refuse to even give you a heads-up out of self-preservation.

Too soon to tell with Jack.

“Nope. Even if you were, your pedigree would make you as irresistible as poor Finnick over there.” She is honest with him just as he is with her and to keep the façade of flirtation going, she takes his whiskey with a wink. “You are trapped in this hell with me, pretty boy.”

“Laurie would’ve hated this.” He says quietly as grief gets a hold of his heart and gives it a good squeeze.

“Yeah, he would have.” Eva sobers up and drops the mask completely. The dark-haired woman gives him a genuine look of sympathy and a comforting hand on his arm.

He doesn’t flinch away as she expected.

“Do you think I’d be able to get the hag eying the little boy with my good looks?” he asks not hiding his disgust at the woman harassing 15-year-old Finnick all evening.

“You don’t have to, Jack.” Eva points out wondering if Laurie’s protective nature was something he and Jack shared too.

“We’re all trapped in this hell together, Evie. Besides Laurie would do the same if he was here.” Jack steels himself and offers her his arm as they scare the vultures off the youngest victor in known history.

It was never in his plans to seek her out.

Jack had promised himself to ignore her and do his job and yet he’s here sharing a cigarette after his first taste of the true burdens of being a victor.

He's practically raw from the scrubbing and essentially trying to power wash the sensation of shame and disgust he’s felt since he spoke to the old bat.

“Luca is not so bad, actually. He’s very possessive about his toys which keeps me off the table these past years.” Eva sports a gaudy and pricy diamond chocker she’s referring to as a dog collar and seems to have gotten past the initial stages of this new life.

Her strategy at the arena has worked here too, everyone knew what Changretta was capable of and even Snow seemed to fear his displeasure. No one dared to make a move on the sexy district 10 mentor even when he wasn’t around.

“I’m sorry I called you a whore.” Jack apologized for his initial assumption. Never in his life had he considered there is a punishment for winning the games. Well aside from the trauma that comes from being a tribute and then the kin of one.

“Whore, murderer, pet. Doesn’t faze me anymore, Jackie darling” she says imitating the grating voice the woman had after they succeeded in prying her off the boy. “But thanks anyways.”

She is nice underneath the mask she wears around the Capitol people; he has to admit. No longer the fragile shell of a girl he met during the victory tour, but still broken like all of them are.

“My real talent is woodwork, actually. Built myself a whole cabin in the woods with all the amenities.” Jack doesn’t know why he shares that with her when everyone else is told he likes hiking. “I also fix up cars for the hell of it now that I’m done.”

She smiles, “I make medicine, learned midwifery and bribed a medic to teach me the rest I didn’t know. I don’t like sitting still either.”

They were more than just pretty Capitol slaves; he thinks bitterly as he took a drag of her fancy cigarette before giving it back to her. These were hard to come by even in Two, and Eva was given all the contraband her heart asked for as long as she played the whore for her protector.

“Allies?” He asks knowing Eva won’t stab him in the back, in this arena at least.

“Allies.” Eva agrees, taking back her cigarette and adding quietly as if to herself, “You fix things, I fix people. Quite a team we make.”

Somehow, he finds himself in bed with her on the fifth night of the games.

She killed his brother, he tried to kill her and yet when Luca nuzzled and kissed Eva like he owned her, Jack wanted nothing more than to square up with the mobster.

So he waited to corner Eva at the elevator and kissed her like he wanted her. He did, in a fucked up way he wanted her, he had to admit.

“He will kill you.” Eva warns but doesn’t push him away. She wants him too. “He doesn’t like sharing his whores.”

“You’re not a whore, you’re not his, Evie.” Jack wasn’t afraid of Luca and tore off the diamonds from her neck to prove it.

It was worth the risk he thinks, see how far Luca’s power truly extends. He can’t kill a victor, especially one so publically adored like either of them.

“Jealousy is a good color on you, Jack.” She chuckles and kisses him back as hungry as he is for her.

There are no rules about fraternizing with a fellow mentor and even if there were neither care about following them.

Eva’s tribute is the only one to survive an arena event and becomes the winner of the 66th Hunger Games.

“See you in November.” He says as he kisses her goodbye.

What a pair they make, the victor who’s brother died in the games and the victor who killed him.

[silveny-dreams]

I’m not sure if what was you — I think it was! But my memory is like… the equivalent of a colander — but a few years ago, in 2019/2020 (I think), I was on the KotLC Discord server, and I was dealing with some things, and you and I somehow began talking.

When I left Discord, we kept in touch via email, and you helped me with a whole lot. I remember that. It was a very difficult time in my life, and I couldn’t turn to anyone in real life and you… you just let a complete stranger email you all of their insecurities, and you gave advice and comforted me, and looking back, I honestly cannot believe that you did all of that and did it about a month (or even longer — I’m not sure, my memory is… Not It).

I will never be able to express how much that meant to me and words are inadequate for the difference and positive impact you had, and have, on me. I shudder to think of where I may be now, or if I might even have been here now, had you not been such a pillar of strength when I needed it most. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, thank you, with all my heart. Words truly fall short, but I think of you sometimes, and how selfless and kind you were to a thirteen year old who didn’t know how to talk to people, who was dealing with more than she could keep up with. Just… again, I’m not sure if I have the right person (I think I do! But it I’m wrong, I’m so sorry, just delete this). But if I do: thank you, Em. Thank you for everything.

I’m sixteen now, taking life by the horns at every moment. I have friends, both online and offline. My family and I are much closer. I am mostly at peace with myself. Just, in case you ever wonder about that email chain of ours: I turned out alright, and so much of that is thanks to you. I think you saved my life. And I do not have the words to express the depth of my thanks for that, but I just hope that life has been treating you with the same happiness and goodness that it has granted me. You are such an amazing person, and I wish you all the best. I hope you’re doing well, amazing, great. I hope that you have people in your life who know how lucky they are to have you.

But most of all: thank you. You… saved a kids’ life. And you won’t get a news article for it, as people who do things like that often do, but you will have kept a teenager on this Earth for longer than they thought they would be here. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

You obviously don’t have to post/reply to this. I… just wanted you to know, you know?

Oh my goodness!!! Nonnie!!!! I am so so glad to see this ❤️❤️

I am so sorry to say that I don’t think this is meant for me! I do not remember emailing with anyone in kotlc fandom, although I imagine we ran into one another on kotlc discord if we were there in 2019/2020 ❤️ if whoever you remember goes by “Em”, the only people I could imagine this meaning would be either @suldreen-saga or @three-gulons-in-a-trenchcoat ? If anyone knows who this anon is meant for, PLEASE reach out and let me know so I can signal boost ❤️

I am SO SO GLAD to hear that you are doing better, regardless of whether it was me you spoke to or not 🥺❤️ I am so, so glad to hear that there was someone there for you to talk to and to bond with during such a difficult time for you! Being 13-16 is SO hard, I remember how much I hated it, and I am beyond relieved to know that you’re making it through ❤️❤️ things really do get better, I promise! There are better and better things in store for you and I am so proud of you for continuing on through the hard stuff to get there ❤️

[rn-zane]

TIMING: past SUMMARY: How long could you hold out hope and continue looking for a family to call your own? OR Zane's journey to Wicked's Rest.

Carson City’s Home for Boys didn’t smell anything like a home. It smelled of sweaty boys, old wood and cigarettes. The fresh smell of grass Zane had gotten used to back home was nowhere to be found, even on the playground where it got suffocated by the smell of cars and something sour. There was grass here, sure, but the fond memories of picking daffodils for his mother had been suffocated as well when he first got shoved into the dirt splotched grass. He wasn’t alone in enduring this terror - most of the boys here were angry and abandoned and took it out on each other. There still wasn't a connection to be found since Zane approached it all with an outward calm and humility and even angered the boys with his messages of hope. ‘Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.’ So during the day, he waited for a meaning to his new situation, for God's and his parents' plan to be revealed to him. When the lights were out, he cried until it felt like his lungs would never be able to fill with air again. 

His first foster parent called him Simon for most of his time there. Opportunities to correct him were scarce as conversations were limited to demands. Take out the trash, go do your homework, grab me a beer from the fridge. The ones who followed were either a slight improvement or subtly worse, especially the ones with other foster kids. Zane was infringing on their space, eating part of their food and taking away from any sliver of attention their foster parents could afford. ‘Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.’ There was less crying in the foster homes, rooms usually shared with other children who laughed at him or surrounded by thin walls where adults shushed on the other side. 

High school was a blast. At some point, his grades became the entertainment at every classroom break. Each fleeting glance at another boy meant weeks of less than charming slurs and when there was refuge to be found from that, his thrifted clothes became the center of attention. No matter how many hits he brushed off, they kept coming. A few friends came and went, just as lonely as Zane in the chaos of teenage hormones but jumping at the chance to move up the ladder if a chance presented itself. ‘For God alone my soul waits in silence, for my hope is from Him. He alone is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall not be shaken.’ One thing he did learn quickly in high school was that boys didn't cry.

College was calmer in some ways but even more confusing in others. It seemed like the logical choice since housing was incredibly difficult to come by under other circumstances. Still didn’t smell like home, more so like beer, different scents of perfume and a moldy smell he would later realize was weed. Parties were hard but better than spending nights alone with McDreamy yet again and for once, there seemed to be some hope. A first kiss. Not quite the romantic moment his soap-opera infused brain had imagined - more sloppy and accompanied by the bitter taste of beer but still. It was a start. Or an end, Zane realized when Monday’s history class awarded him with nothing but a dismissive glance from his not-so-McDreamy. He didn’t go to parties after that. Stopped praying, too. 

Finally, a new cause. No more tests that made his brain short circuit or strange social rules he never got the hang of despite his best efforts. Zane had a group of like-minded people in Shining Light. Spreading good and making a family grow at every stop. For some, a temporary family. Still, it was the best he’d found so far. He’d share his secrets with someone and wave them off on another adventure the next week. Try things, under the covers with another man, that his thirteen year old brain never could have fathomed before sending him back to his girlfriend who apparently lived in Costa Rica. Then they all disbanded and the search continued. Nursing school was a large community and sitting through lectures made him feel like screaming. So he studied alone while others formed groups and bailed on the parties until they no longer invited him. He went for runs and hoped, secretly prayed in some secluded corner of his mind, that his actual family could still be out there. 

When Zane’s consciousness was fading from blood loss and teeth piercing skin, it was a relief to see so many faces staring and waiting. Wanting him to be a part of their community. Their family. They knew his name, they knew where he came from and who he wanted to love, and they still wanted him there. It wasn’t really a question, giving up a ‘normal’ life for this, when everything up to this point had been so lonely. Maybe he could finally stop searching. 

‘Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity! It is like the precious ointment upon the head…’

[roobylavender]

i know you’ve talked a bit about your own version of events that diverge primarily concerning damian’s origin (if i recall correctly) but i’m interested in how you would handle tim? would he still be robin, what would his arc look like, do you think he should’ve been robin at all ? (just cause i know some people believe he shouldn’t in canon)

i actually really enjoy tim's introduction as robin bc (next to jason) it's the perfect example of how ludicrous robin is as an entity. with dick while there's a day-to-day life he lives that we get to see in parallel in earlier comics, a lot of it is taken in jest. bruce and dick's adventures in the golden age and even parts of the silver age are mostly comical and there's little continuity to speak of so there aren't really any consequences to speak of until dick goes to college. with jason's run we only really get to see hard-hitting consequences once he dies, and most of his run prior to that is plot driven with very few moments spared to showcase what his civilian life is like (most of which can be attributed to mike w. barr). what i appreciate about tim's robin run (and what i imagine other people comparatively find mind-numbing and boring) is that it delves into all of minutiae of being a teenager and a vigilante at the same time. the bizarre sudden absences, the sleeplessness, the school situation, the danger, the rift with your parents because they don't know where you are or what you're doing, the pressures of keeping your identity secret from your peers when you're only a kid and you want to have relationships but you don't know how to maintain them. tim being an outsider to bruce's family is precisely what makes his robin run so striking and revelatory. unless it runs in the family (and even then there are problems) it's hard to be a kid vigilante. delusional almost. and this status quo is even more exaggerated for tim bc he happens to become robin at one of the worst period's in bruce's (and consequently gotham's) life. a thirteen-going-on-fifteen-year-old is led to believe he is one of the only pieces of duct tape holding all of this shit together to the point his activities merit his father moving them to an entirely different city for a while. it's crazy! and eventually, it is going to get to him! it literally did! and personally i think it should have stayed that way

tim became robin not as part of a long-form response to trauma (albeit the trauma of what happened to his parents obv factored into some things) but bc of his own misconceptions as to what gotham needed to survive. he was a child, acting like a child, thinking like a child, etc. and albeit along different parameters the same would apply to jason as well. robin was more like a temporary phase for either of them than it was necessarily as a central identity around which to develop themselves entirely (a la dick). it should not have been permanently in the cards, and while the concept of legacy within dc is certainly interesting, this is one area where the compounded history, imo, should have espoused every reason why not to continue the robin identity's existence. every question and concern posed at the onset of tim's transition into robin should have been resoundingly answered rather than forgotten and left to the wayside as he was plunged deeper and deeper into the abyss of vigilante violence and death. he was a kid! he had a misconception about his own place in the world. and little by little he realized that while he would always have an inclination towards saving others he wasn't sure that this was the way he wanted to go about his life. i'm not opposed to tim staying connected to bruce and everyone else, but i don't think he has to remain a vigilante to do that. in fact, that to me is one of the greatest crimes of modern batman canon in general: the idea that every relevant connection bruce maintains has to be a masked villain or hero of some kind. bruce used to be friends with socialites! reporters! doctors! and it's not to say he isn't still but they're certainly more severely peripheral than they used to be. every other major dc hero has a significant civilian cast but for some reason bruce's own collective either steadily dwindled or was recharacterized and manipulated into playing a part in the grand game (think vicki finding out bruce was batman and the whole blackmail and death shtick that happened after)

so. to address your first question. i do want tim to be involved in that time period in everyone's life, but i want him to be involved as tim. not robin. as someone coming to terms with what he's been through and what he can do going forward. kind of like a singular greek chorus if you will. an observer to the party who occasionally interjects with striking gravitas. someone who enters and exits the story at leisure. that guy over at the manor on a saturday while all hell breaks loose in the parlor (they've found damian, they know he exists, what are they going to do, what do they even say). that guy committed to his new life as a boring and ordinary teenager with a video game addiction but also a perpetual itch to scratch who breaks his abstinence rule one night to stalk the red hood and ask what the hell, man? you know bruce still loves you more than anyone, right? while jason (bewildered, bereaved) tells him to buzz off before he puts a bullet through him (he never would). that guy who meets up with cissie the first friday of every month to talk about what it's like to live with this void where they feel like they're doing nothing even though they know the horrors of picking it all up again are worse. that guy who has to sit with this weird pit in his stomach while his girlfriend comes to terms with her own place in the world bc he knows now that he can't do it for her any more than bruce couldn't do it for him. that guy who still visits barbara in the watchtower and does homework while they trade jokes and jibes about whatever gotham's got going on and maybe sometimes he gives a stray opinion. that guy who has to convince his dad that there's nothing out of the ordinary happening to explain why suddenly he's always here, he's answering phone calls, he's showing up for dinner. that guy who finds his old corkboard with photographs and newspaper clippings and pushpins and red string and goes to the store the next day to buy a camera bc hey, maybe there's no reason to stalk batman anymore, but he still likes the feel of a camera in his hands and someone told him last week there's an internship for a junior photographer at the local newspaper with vicki vale. maybe this is how he helps. maybe this is how he feels useful without sacrificing so much of himself in the process

[rokhal]

Life’s not fair (when your life is a horror movie): obstacles to Robbie Reyes’ identity formation in All-New Ghost Rider

In All-New Ghost Rider #11, Robbie asks Gabe’s psychologist for advice about Gabe’s uncharacteristic crankiness and sudden desire for privacy. Dr. DaCosta tries to give him a frame of reference. “He is thirteen years old. It’s an age of discovery...of wonder, insecurity, restlessness. Think about it. What were you doing when you were thirteen?”

We don’t know much about Robbie’s backstory. We know Robbie is Gabe’s legal guardian and that he’s on his own to pay the bills while trying to finish high school, which means no living family, no godparents, no family friends he can rely on. The simplest assumption is that Robbie and Gabe grew up in the foster system.

Foster kids move from household to household frequently. Gabe would have been placed with fosters prepared to care for children with special needs, but Robbie didn’t have the same needs. It is very likely that caseworkers would have considered separating the boys, and possible that they actually were separated. Robbie would have understood from an early age that contact with Gabe was contingent on his being perceived by their caseworkers as a reliable caretaker for his brother.

This is childhood parentification.

Parentification of children is usually a result of parental neglect or incapacity; in Robbie, it would be a result of the limitations of the system. Parentified children lose the opportunity to experiment, make mistakes, develop social and conflict-resolution skills through play, and accept help. They tend to be independent problem solvers; on the positive side, the early responsibility can create self-confidence; on the negative side, they may refuse or even feel threatened by offers of help. Children who are raised to fill a rigid role, like Robbie may have inadvertently been, may struggle to recognize their own emotions, personality, and values.

The human brain doesn’t fully mature until the late twenties. Robbie is still forming his personality when he meets Eli.

Required viewing: Christine (1973) dir. John Carpenter.

All-New Ghost Rider is basically what you get when you stick Christine, Rumble In The Bronx, The Fast and The Furious, Chucky, A Nightmare On Elm Street Part II, and The Wraith in a blender and hit frappé. In Christine, a teenaged boy acquires a haunted car, and the car warps his morals and personality until he becomes a reincarnation of its previous owner. There is reason to believe that this is Eli’s back-up plan or end-game when he possesses Robbie.

Borrowing from real-life plural terminology, Robbie and Eli spend a great deal of time co-fronting, each aware of each-other and of the outside world, before and after Robbie finds out about the whole hitman/satanist/serial-killer thing. First, because Eli glued himself to Robbie’s brain pretty firmly, and second, because I think Robbie is just that lonely. If we continue to crib from real-life plurality, Robbie may experience Eli’s emotions and opinions second-hand through blending and passive influence, and if we ignore the internal mechanisms that may be at play, Eli is straight-up filling his ears with terrible advice. 

Because Robbie is a parentified teenager whose brain is still developing, his ability to distinguish Eli’s emotions and opinions from his own is handicapped. 

Robbie has values, but he doesn’t have mature moral reasoning. That takes experience and study. Eli clearly doesn’t care about the morality of his own actions, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t judge other people, and with experience on his side, he can talk circles around Robbie.

Robbie’s insistence that Gabe comes before everything works to deflect Eli’s arguments for violence...until Eli hits on the idea to use Gabe’s welfare as a lever, and it suddenly doesn’t.

We haven’t even talked about the Eternal Spiritual Bond yet.

Eli states that his and Robbie’s mystical connection has become so strong that it will warp Robbie’s psychological makeup. There’s an unseemly amount of speculation available about the psychological makeup of serial killers, but imagine, if you will, a prey drive that is improperly aimed at other people instead of at turkeys or deer or any other animal that Americans pay hundreds of dollars for the privilege of hunting once a year. People can have sex drives that improperly target feet, and hunger that improperly targets rocks; why not a prey drive that improperly targets people? Something that creates positive feelings at the idea or the act of hurting other people. Imagine Robbie finding these feelings developing within himself through no fault of his own, a sort of serial-killer puberty.

But it’s not just Eli that Robbie must struggle against. He is anxious, lonely, poor, and had a childhood full of neglect and adverse experiences, all of which is a perfect set-up for depression. Depression in young men often manifests as rage.

Robbie has plenty of challenges to overcome in order to mature emotionally and learn how to maintain positive and balanced adult relationships, even without adding Eli into the mix. With Eli’s nagging, negative influence, and personality bleed-through, Robbie faces tragic and unreasonable obstacles to self-actualization. Being a Ghost Rider is a curse, and half of All-New Ghost Rider’s literary heritage is horror movies. He cannot survive his relationship with Eli without damage, and even if they can be separated, that damage will take considerable time and effort to heal–time and effort that his responsibilities may never allow.

One common consequence of childhood neglect and parentification is unwillingness to accept outside help. Robbie’s independent streak is clearly portrayed, but he seems to hold people at a distance and fails to recognize when people are genuinely looking out for him. This is a weakness that Eli exploits, and an opportunity for Robbie to strengthen his resistance if he recognizes this and begins reaching out to people more worthy of his trust.

[burningchandelier]

Okay, I think I am ready to write about this. I don't know if I can post it. We'll cross that bridge later.

A lot of people who know me know that the man who raised me was a murderer. I don't make a secret of this. It is just as much a part of my story as it was a part of his. When someone you love was a killer, it becomes a part of you, too. I loved him. He was, for all intents and purposes, my dad. That's what I called him. He was an incredible musician. He told amazing stories. He was a violent drunk. When I was nearly thirteen, my mom and I had to run away from our home to stay alive.

So, as a young teenager, I had a lot of dark, complex emotions rattling around in my brain and not a lot of outlets. I had inherited my love of music from the man who ripped my family apart. I clung to music because it was all I had.

The saying I had grown up with was "When you don't know what to listen to, put on Bach. If that doesn't work, put on Donovan." We were old school. We listened to sixties rock and classical and nothing else. I can sing you all of Beethoven's concertos and everything pre-electric Dylan from heart.

The stuff from my own era? Forget it. It was verboten.

For me, teenage rebellion began at the record store.

Up until that year, I quietly listened to my own records in my shitty walkman through my headphones in my bedroom.

Setting: 2004, my best friend's basement. We're sitting on her ratty sectional that often doubled as my bed. The TV is on the channel that played music videos, since MTV is all about reality shows now. I glance up and there is this band singing "I'm not okay"

I understood how baby ducklings fall in love with the first thing they see after they hatch. I was enthralled. Obsessed. My life became an alter for My Chemical Romance.

I was really, really not okay. I was going through the aches of adolescence, but dialed up to eleven. My life had been violently interrupted in the cruelest way and I had been made to confront humanity's worst truths. And here were-- well-- some dudes playing music about how I felt. More than that, it was good music! It was music that would never have been allowed in my childhood home, and therefore, I could make it my own.

The aesthetic of the band-- blood and aggression and violence, but in a comic book, cartoon kind of way, helped me to process so much stuff that I needed to work through. The concepts that they reveled in, particularly Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, made me feel like I was not insane or alone for dwelling on the reality that had been my life. It also made me feel like there was a life beyond that reality.

So, sure, did that come with some social weirdness? Well, who the fuck cared? I was already weird.

I had the freedom to examine and move through this heavy, heavy trauma through the scope of art. That meant, and continues to mean, more than I can possibly express.

This band has been a major influence for good for more than half of my life at this point. Even when they were not together, they were there for me through their solo work and in their past catalogue. Watching this tour, both live and through the incredible lens of the streams and fan reactions has shown me that, although we all come to this music on different paths, we share a bond both with the musicians and each other.

I do not know if I will ever be able to express my gratitude for what this music has given me. I do know that I will continue to love it and this band for as long as I am lucky enough to be here.

[demidevildiva]

welcome to marina, SEBASTIAN HOLM ( male, him/he ) ! they are a 31 year old who has lived over on PROSPET HILL for HIS ENTIRE LIFE and works as a FARMER. everyone says they look a lot like BILL SKARSGARD. what do you think? —

Name: Sebastian Holm Gender: Male, him/he Age: 31 years old Sexuality: Pansexual Occupation: Local Farmer Neighborhood: Prospect Hill D.O.B: August 9th Height: 6'4" Body: Tall, Slim Hair: Black Eyes: Green Definable Marks:

Character Summary:

Bash can be seen as rather awkward and quiet to strangers. He doesn’t go out of his way to speak his mind much, but loves to make friends. To his friends he is nothing but loving. Providing them comfort in any way that he knows how, but also being blunt with them when needed. He can be a bit naïve at times, and nervous if anyone becomes confrontational with him. He’s just out here living his best life, and that doesn’t include arguing or fighting with people who don’t agree with his thoughts and believes. He loves to have a good time drinking, smoking, and running his motorcycle around town. He is a local farmer and loves farm talk.

Intro:

Sebastian was born to two loving parents who would do anything for him. They struggled a lot in their lifetime from having had ran away as teenagers and being homeless for half of their lives. It wasn’t until they became pregnant with Bash that his parents decided to turn their lives around. They contacted a relative in Marina that allowed them to live in their farm free of charge as long as they worked the land and sold produce and meats. Pork, chickens, eggs, milk, honey, you name it. They raised and sold it all to local businesses as well as opened up their own booth in the farmers market.

From a very young age his father taught him to work the land with him as well as teaching him how to cut, pack, and and sell all of their meats. Bash could be seen around the island dragging a wagon packed with produce to go sell from home to home as well as park himself outside businesses to sell to bystanders.

When he was around nine his parents welcomed a new baby into the home, a little girl, and Bash hated it. He became scared and jealous that his parents wouldn’t love him the same, and that he’d have to share their love so he began having nightmares and wetting the bed. His jealousy only pushed him to work harder so that he cold become the pride and joy of his family forever.

By the age of thirteen he had learned how to do everything and even was allowed to ride the tractor. His relationship with his little sister was nonexistent as he avoided her at all cost. Erasing her from his head like she was never truly born, but she was always bugging him. It had all been an accident. She wouldn’t leave him alone while he worked, and he pushed her, causing her to fall and hurt herself. He hadn’t meant to harm her, but his parents didn’t listen.

For the next two years Bash was punished by sleeping in the barn Not on the daily, but whenever he stepped out of line. So he made sure that he never did again. Working hard to gain his parents love back, and make them proud. He dropped out of high school in his junior year and getting his GED to focus more on the farm.

His entire life he had spent working to make his farm one of the most profitable in town, and so far he had done an amazing job. His farm provided to almost all businesses in the island, hyper focusing on the restaurants and the super markets because that’s where most of the money came from.

Over the years his family wanted to leave the island and so Sebastian stayed behind on his own. This has been the only home that he knew and he didn't really care for what else was out there in the world. He chose to stay behind and continue farming.

Headcanons:

tba

Wanted Connections

tba

[godofdystopia]

Sashannarcy Week Day 3: Jealousy

Another day, another entry in @phrogfrommars Sashannarcy week! This time it’s jealousy.

While hosting a booth at Comic Con, a particularly smitten fan decides to ask out Marcy in front of everyone. Sasha and Anne take exception to this.

words: 2.4k. slightly longer now

“Thank you and enjoy the rest of the Con!” Marcy said to the leaving family.

The teenage girls, about the same age that she was when she was thrown into amphibia, thanked her for the autographs and ran off to check out a Demon Slayer merch booth, with the father chuckling as he walked off after them.

Marcy leaned back into her chair and just sighed with contentment. She’d managed her childhood dream: she had her own booth at Comic Con! She liked to believe that it was for her growing talents as an artist even though she knew it was probably for the ‘Helped save the entire world at 13’ thing.

She knew she had fans though, cause after the news died down about one of the LA Saviors writing her own webcomic, and the deluge of people who read it to get close to her had faded, what was left was apparently a pretty sizeable fanbase of people who just… liked her work because it was good.

She fought down the urge to start handflapping in excitement again, last time she’d knocked over her laptop and the stack of informational fliers about how to start your own webcomic she’d brought with her.

She remembered the first few people who had shown up to the booth in homemade merch of her webcomic: One elderly man leaning on a cane he’d carved to resemble the staff of Malekith the Arch-Magister, The incredibly muscular woman who had on a pretty good replica of Warlord Tormund’s face paint and warhammer, a couple who were cosplaying as Lady Olivia and her faithful knight Ser Yunnan (She couldn’t resist!) and two twins dressed up like Gelamir the Golden King and Horace the False Hero.

She’d cried, she’d actually cried at that. Anne and Sasha had to hold her for a few minutes just because she wouldn’t stop crying from happiness. It was almost as bad as when Anne and Sasha proposed.

Almost.

She leaned, looked at the ceiling above, and just let the noise wash over her.

Here she was, married to the loves of her life, with a job that let her physically manifest her endless imagination into the world, and people actually enjoyed what she wrote.

She wished she could take thirteen year old her by the shoulders and shake her, telling her that things will get better and she doesn’t have to go into medical science like her parents, her teachers, and everyone else want her to.

… oh, and to hurry up and confess to Anne and Sasha already, cause if she didn't she'd end up getting stabbed in the back by an evil salamander who gaslights her into believing he’s her new dad.

Speaking of Anne and Sasha… ‘Where are those two?’

They’d wandered off to go get some refreshments but surely they should have had them by now? How long were the lines for the refreshments?

“Oh my god, you’re Marcy Wu!”

The excited shout drew Marcy out of her thinking and she sat back up in her chair, putting a smile back on for yet another fan.

He was pretty nondescript: Brown tousled hair, five o’clock shadow, glasses, and a brown tweed jacket over a blue sweater. He looked friendly enough, and had something behind his back that he was clearly fumbling with.

“Yep, little old Marcy: That’s me!” She said cheerily, reaching over to grab a pen. “Do you want an Autograph?”

“No, I… Well, actually yes I would.” He looked a little embarrassed as she offered a gentle smile, writing out her name like she had so many times now. “But I would also like to ask you something?”

Marcy just smiled and waited for him to continue.

“I would like you…” He got down on one knee and thrust out a bouquet of roses. “... to go out with me!” He shouted the last bit loudly, causing a few heads to turn towards them.

Marcy just blinked owlishly, staring at the man like he had grown a bunch of new heads and started talking in tongues.

“Bwuh?”

“I’ve been a fan of yours since you saved the world! I followed all your socials-”

‘Okay, that’s a bit weird, but nice I think…?’ Marcy thought to herself as her smile turned increasingly awkward.

“I’ve been sending you fan mail for a whole year!”

‘Wait, that was him?’ Marcy thought, now creeped out.

“I’ve even wrote this twenty seven page essay on why you should go out with me and-”

“OKAY!” Marcy yelled, wanting this conversation to be over but not wanting to be rude. “Uh, thank you but I'm good. Anyway, uh here’s an autograph. Next plea-”

“To help convince you, I have prepared-” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an I-phone. “-A serenade!” He fiddled with the phone for a bit, and then cheesy upbeat music began to play.

He then, to Marcy’s absolute horror, began to sing.

‘Oh my frog.’ Marcy thought to herself. ‘This is worse than getting stabbed. I wish Andrias was around to stab me again.’

**********

Anne and Sasha walked through the con, hand in hand, and fast food bags in their free hands.

Marcy hadn’t been the one to convince them to dress up like the characters she most certainly didn’t base the three main female heroines in her webcomic off of, not at all! Yeah, sure: they were all in love with one another and all had suspiciously similar lives to the ones they led in Amphibia but it’s all a coincidence!

Anne and Sasha didn’t buy it, but nor did they care. They chose to dress up because they loved Marcy.sd

Anne was clad in a bright blue tunic over a simple white long-sleeve button up, a pair of black wool pants that led down to shining golden boots that went up to her knees, but matched with a pair of similarly metallic gloves made her look like a folkish knight. A simple belt held a sword that looked quite similar to the one that Anne used in Amphibia.

Apparently, Brenda was a normal teenage girl from San Francisco who got whisked away to the shattered realm of Arvanis, where she had to use the power of found family and the heart to save not only Arvanis, but all the worlds of the multiverse. She would go on an epic, continent-spanning adventure where she found out she was chosen by destiny itself to save the world as well as her newfound family alongside her girlfriend Haley.

Totally not Anne.

Sasha, meanwhile, was clad in blackened plate and faux wolf fur. She had one pauldron that had a spike big enough to make a Chaos Space Marine feel inadequate, the other had a dragon skull that Marcy called, ‘The Skull of Tyrannus the Dread Hunger.’ Her breastplate was carved to resemble a deer’s skull like she was a Dragon Age character, with a matching pair of hip armor and her hair had a crown of knives and was curled up like Carrie Fisher.

Princess Akana was the daughter of Warlord Tormund and was also his second-in-command, While he ruled over the black tower in the Mountains of Mourne, she led his war parties to oppress the people of the kingdom of Telchis. She knew no other life until she met Brenda and Haley. There, her long hard heart began to thaw and she began to wonder if this was the life she wanted to lead. Soon, she would be forced to join forces with Brenda and Haley, alongside their friends and companions, to face the Nameless God and his army of demons. And there they would learn that love does truly bloom on the battlefield as Brenda, Haley, and Akana fell madly in love with one another.

Sasha had laughed and gave Marcy a kiss for that one, even if the girl insisted it totally wasn’t them.

Either way, the two girls had gone out of their way to dress up for their wife to surprise her, which led to lots of happy squealing. Marcy’s smile made the long nights of trying to get Sasha’s armor just right all worth it.

“Just saying, we could have gone to the Thai Go truck. Ned would be willing to hook us up.” Sasha said as she drank her boba tea.

“Did you see the line in front of that truck? I like Ned but I'm not waiting for an hour just to get some of my parents cooking.” Anne said as she walked hand in hand with her wife. “We’ll just swing by their place afterwards.”

“I want Thai food though!” Sasha complained.

“... I can make Thai food, Sash. I can do it easily.”

Sasha was about to respond when she caught sight of the weirdest thing: Some dude was taking a knee in front of Marcy’s stand and seemed to be playing music while… holding… flowers.

Oh.

Oh, Hell No.

Anne blinked at the angry expression on Sasha’s face and, turning towards what she was looking at, started snickering. “What the hell is he doing?”

“He’s flirting. With our wife!” Sasha snarled angrily.

“C’mon Sasha, it’s probably something el-”

“Oh Marcy, you’re so fine! I wanna make you miiiine! Cause you’re so pretty!”

An explosion of blue light erupted in Anne’s eyes as she suddenly went very still.

Sasha, meanwhile, didn’t even notice when her fist clenched her Boba so hard that the drink exploded.

**********

Marcy sat in her own personal hell as the excited fan continued to sing, badly, about how much he liked her and wanted her to go on a date with him.

Marcy coughed into her fist, and made sure to use the hand that had both her wedding rings on it.  He failed to notice and continued to sing badly.

“Ohhh Marcyyyyy-”

“Hey!”

Anne stomped up to the fan, her metal boots clanking on the ground as she did so. She leaned over the man, glaring at him. “That’s our Mar-Mar. We already called dibs!”

The watching crowd all began to mutter and look between her and Marcy, who had proceeded to bury her face into her hands at Anne’s comment. The couple dressed up as Queen Olivia and Sir Yunnan began to chuckle.

“Wha- You can’t call dibs on a person!” The fan, who’s nametag read ‘Jacob’ said shocked.

“Well that’s too damn bad cause me and Sasha already did!” Anne yelled, holding up her gauntleted hand to show off her wedding rings. “We got dibs. Go find your own Marcy.”

“Wait, I thought she was married to that woman?” Jacob pointed behind Anne back at the Table. Anne turned back just in time to see Sasha make her move.

“Ohh Marbles. Have I told you how beautiful you are today?” Sasha said with a smirk, sitting on the booth table and crooking Marcy’s head up towards hers with a metal clad finger. Marcy had descended into a blushing mess at this and was now spluttering incoherently.

“Every time I see you, I remember how much I love you.” Sasha, looking Jacob in the eye out of the corner of hers, leaned in and began to kiss her wife.

Marcy’s face now perfectly resembled a tomato with how red it was, and if one were to listen to her thoughts they would find that her whole mind had begun to bluescreen from the situation.

“Wha- Hey! I want to kiss her too!” Anne, blushing up a storm, managed to stomp her way over to her wives and pulled Marcy away and cupped her face with both hands. Marcy had just enough time to stammer before Anne leaned in and began to kiss her as well.

Sasha smirked before turning her head to look down at Jacob, who looked crestfallen. Her face looked so imperious that everyone watching thought she was Princess Akana brought to life. Which made sense, since for all her protestations to the latter Marcy had in fact based them on her and her wives.

“Marcy is ours. Our wife, not yours.” Sasha channeled all her training from Toad Tower and all her teenage socialite training to perfect a look of such imperious disdain that all watching grew just a little afraid of her. “Go find your own Marcy.”

Jacob, not wanting to mess with the incredibly scary blonde in very realistic looking armor, grabbed his autograph and scurried off.

Sasha waited till he was out of sight before deflating with a sigh, leaning back to look at her wives. “You okay there Mar-mar?”

Anne had finally let up on kissing her wife and stepped back just a little awkwardly, remembering how public this all was and growing just a little mortified. ‘Can’t believe I grew that jealous…’ She thought to herself embarrassed.

Marcy meanwhile, was still trying to recover from the back to back make out’s with her wives. Her face had gone beyond tomato red and was rapidly approaching fire truck red. Her mouth opened and closed but no sound came out at all, or at least no sound audible to human ears. She looked between the two of them like a fish out of water, just staring.

“Hah! That was amazing!” All three girls turned to see the couple from before, the ones cosplaying as Olivia and Yunan, approaching with smirks on their face. “Took me and Cait by surprise when that guy just dropped to his knees and proposed like that! Good job staking your claim like that though, props!” The amazonian woman, dressed to the nines in a regal dress and tiara, gave them a thumbs up while her wife, and Sasha could see the ring on her finger so she knew they were married, giggled at them in her head to toe suit of green plate armor.

They walked off whispering to one another, and Sasha turned to look back at her wives.

“Well, I think that went well.”

“We- what the heck was that!?” Marcy yelled, her mind still trying to recover.

Anne rubbed her foot against the floor and looked away. “We just… we saw that guy and, well… felt a little jealous?”

“A little jealous? You both made out with me in open public after claiming me for yourselves!”

Sasha frowned a bit “How mad are you right now?”

Marcy breathed in, then breathed out, and looked them both in the eye. “I will be soo mad if you both don’t continue right now!”

Marcy tried not to laugh as she saw her wives blush up storms at that.

‘Two can play that game girls!’ She thought to herself.

[beyondtheciouds]

"Please don't, Dru." Jaime said, his eyes shifting to the small cluster of students gradually coming up the set of wedged stone stairs that led to the domed dorms. He smiled uneasily at Dru, his eggshell white teeth tight against his inner lip. They were in the hallway of her dorm at the Academy, arguing like stubborn children. The dwindling light and scent of spring filtered into the dark and dreary hall through the few open windows. He could smell the scent of the wildflowers in the fields like perfume, lilacs and jasmine tempting him to stay.

"Please don't what," Dru snarked back, her voice like the bite of a shark --- her oceanic eyes searching out her next prey as her teeth dragged along the skin of her anger. "Don't tell you what a piece of crap you are for not answering my texts?" She continued as her hands trembled and waved the newspaper he had unceremoniously thrown at her feet when she opened her door. "You can't seek me out for any reason other than this?"

Jaime frowned. "Dru---I---I..." He stammered like a child. He had thought about her every day. He had wanted to text her; call her. But if he done so, he would have destroyed himself in the process. " I couldn't."

"Why do you care about foolish mundanes, Jaime?" She asked, ignoring her own pride ruined. Dru's voice was lowered, and her eyes narrowed beneath the curtain of dark hair and long lashes. In the light she looked different; more mature but somehow still the same. He couldn't put his finger on it. This Drusilla was very different from the girl she had been in Los Angeles. "This has nothing to do with demons. Not in the literal sense anyway." she continued, her voice a vice gripping his heart.

He sighed; he wished she hadn't gotten so pretty. If she remained the cross thirteen year old she had been, it would have been so easy to walk away from eyes that resembled the tropical waters he'd swam in freely. Now she was close to seventeen; almost an adult. Close enough to be his. "I just do."

Dru was honestly starting to irritate him the way teenage girls do and his heart rallied at the encroaching argument. The light flickered above them; the thunder sounded closer than it was moments ago. The sound echoed in the stone hallway, the dorm doors light on their hinges, shuttering in response to the brewing storm outside. The cool air was settling in, giving way to cooler rain. "That is not an answer."

Jaime shook his head. "Just trust me, Dru. We need to go after these people." He couldn't give out any more details just yet, not until they were all together. Then he would form alliances and a plan.

He had travelled in a portal from Mexico where he had stowed himself in a quaint and quiet town for the last year carving out a mere existence, doing odd jobs. His peaceful life had come to a crashing halt when he received the newspaper in the mail. The moment he opened the paper, he knew he would have to come back for them all.

"What about the cops? Can't you go to them without getting me involved?" Dru asked; skeptical of his reason for seeking her out.

"Cops?" He nearly choked on the laugh that spurted from his throat, his hands slick with sweat in the pockets of his jeans. "They are doing nothing! We need to take care of these...killers."

Dru brushed off the side-eyed stares of her peers mulling around the hall watching them with open curiosity. Whispers and hushes rose through the small clusters of students. She ran the fingers of her free hand through her dark hair feeling like she was missing something. "You can't be serious. I didn't know you developed such a hero complex."

He frowned, clearly disappointed in her response. But he knew he shouldn't be. He was withholding information from her. Even so, it was evident she hadn't read the red, elegant handing writing on the margins of the article at all. "The Sight, Dru. They are targeting people with the Sight. Mundanes that can see us and want to Ascend. " He paused, giving the thought a moment to sink into her brain, make the connection he, Ash, Kit and Ty had already made.

Others moved closer, surrounding them in the narrow hallway. For once, Jaime didn't care he had an audience. He inched closer to her and put his hand gently on her shoulder as she dropped her arm to her side. It was warm beneath the softness of her olive sweater. Her dark hair hung loose, and Jaime was tempted to run his fingers over the glossy strands.

Drusilla was the last piece of the puzzle and if he didn't convince her, the others surely would. He spoke, his voice was cold as ice--driving down the seriousness of the situation. "Future Shadowhunters, Dru. They are targeting future Shadowhunters."

[maccreadysbaby]

CRASH AND BURN™︎

fem!oc x preston garvey

in which a strange girl shows up in the commonwealth to tell the minutemen that an old enemy is rising up from the capital wasteland, and they’re not just coming for kicks and giggles. oh, and an unassuming second-in-command manages to catch her silver eye, even on the brink of war.

❝ if this is what it feels like to fall for you, garvey, i don’t want to stop until i crash and burn ❞

this is chapter five. full chapter masterlist can be found here.

TW: none

❝ ANSWERS ❞

Vault 62, DC, Capital Wasteland

Aug 7, 2288, 1700

— “HOW ON EARTH COULD RIOT GO MISSING IN A VAULT?” Heartley’s mother questioned, shaking her head as she dissected something that looked vaguely like a brain. Heartley decided she wasn’t going to stare at it much. Instead, she sat at her mother’s desk, spinning around and around in the desk chair. That was most of what she did working with her mom.

“I dunno, but Alec was a massive dick about it. He hit Scout,” She explained. The incident had only been an hour ago, and it was still fresh in her mind.

Her mother glanced up at her, eyes wide. “He what?”

“He punched Scout in the face and made his nose bleed,” Heartley reiterated, spinning around in a circle. “Made Simon cry, too, I’m pretty sure. Disappeared after Alec blabbed about his mom.”

“Good grief,” The woman in the lab coat sighed, picking at the floppy pink thing on her table. “What a massive man child. If only he wasn’t our leader. Corrupted leadership is a definite way to destroy a group like the Enclave.”

Heartley huffed. “Why won’t he just believe us when we say we don’t know?”

Her mother shrugged from her spot, focused on her dissecting. “You guys aren’t exactly the most popular people in the vault. And, no offense, but Scout, Riot, and Chicago are pretty sketchy. I would understand why he didn’t believe you.”

“But Tuesday runs with us, and he’s, like, more morally upright than most adults in this place,”

“He’s also a teenager. Teenagers are fickle and unpredictable. And really good at hiding things.”

Heartley groaned like a child, tilting her head back against the back of the chair. “I mean, I’m glad you and Alec got all happy-slappy and had me, but I hate him on literally every other level.”

“Me, too.” Her mother stated simply. She poked at the brain a few more times.

“I’m… slightly worried for the answer, but I must ask: why are you playing patty-cake with someone’s brain?” Heartley questioned, scrunching her nose as she focused too hard on the gross, floppy thing across the room.

“It’s for Courser studies, honey,” Her mother sighed. “Oh, by the way, Dr. Jones stopped by for an evening check over. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Heartley shrugged. “I just… uh, you deserve to be happy, mom.” She deadpanned.

“No, you were trying to get your hands on Tuesday and Simon. I wasn’t born yesterday,” Her mom chuckled. “I don’t mind his company, but it would at least be nice if I got a little warning.”

“Sorry,” Heartley snickered. But her smile quickly faded into a blank stare, and she continued: “…mom?”

At the change of tone, her mother looked up and paused what she was doing. “What is it, baby?”

Heartley spun slightly, pulling at her vibrant red curls. “Do you think Riot’s dead? He has a lot of people in here that don’t like him.”

“Oh, honey…” Her mother cooed, dropping her tools and peeling off her gloves, heading over to the desk Heartley was sitting at. She seemed troubled, deep in thought and calculative with her words. “I… I wish I had an answer for you. The best I have is… I don’t know.”

Heartley may have been two years shy of Riot’s age, but she could remember meeting him when she was ten. That’s when they got moved into the vault, when their little friend group formed because they were the only nine kids in the whole place. She remembered sitting in the boring classroom with him, flipping pencils back and forth when the teacher wasn’t looking. She remembered when they were thirteen and fifteen, and he gave her her first cigarette. (She almost died.) He started drug dealing with they were fourteen and sixteen, and she always covered for him because he wasn’t sly back then. She had her first kiss with him when they were seventeen and nineteen — something she didn’t necessarily regret but definitely wouldn’t do again.

She knew everyone had their memories with him: Markus, Scout, Chicago, Mercury, Jericho, Tuesday, and Simon. They all loved him like a brother. A sketchy, drug-dealing brother, but a brother nonetheless. A brother that might be dead.

Heartley’s mother rubbed her shoulder gently. “Riot is resourceful. If he got out of the vault, like Alec thinks, he’ll survive.”

Heartley shook her head. “I don’t think he left, mom. I think someone killed him.”

Her mother stiffened. “Honey…”

“If the vault door opened there would’ve been sirens and lights and crap. And there wasn’t anything. Unless he climbed out through a hole somewhere, there’s no way out without alerting literally everyone inside. I don’t know why I didn’t realize that earlier…” Heartley trailed off, looking down at her lap. “I think he’s dead, mom.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions, sweetheart, it isn’t good for your mind,” She stated, brushing a hand through Heartley’s hair. “He could be hiding for whatever reason. He’ll probably come out of hiding and tell one of you guys what’s going on soon enough.”

Heartley sighed, rising from the chair. “I’m going to bed.”

“Okay, hon. Come get me if you need me, okay?”

Heartley nodded, and her mother gave her a quick peck on the cheek before she left the lab and headed toward the residential sector.

Surely Alec realized the lights and alarms would’ve gone off if the door was opened. Was he hiding something?

As she thudded down the stairs, she caught sight of Simon, by himself, in the medbay, cleaning. She took a quick detour and drifted up into the doorframe, leaning against the metal without him noticing.

“…You okay?”

He flinched, but when his eyes landed on her, his expression softened. He wasn’t even pretending to hide the dullness in his eyes. He had his lab coat on even though he was alone.

“Yeah,” He replied, turning back around and silently organizing supplies in the drawers of a starkly-clean worktop. She bit the inside of her cheek and sucked in a breath.

“I’m really sorry about your mom. I had no idea,” Heartley said softly, fiddling with her fingers a bit.

“It’s fine,” He murmured, not peeling his eyes away from the supplies ahead of him. “It was a long time ago.”

She tapped her fingers against her thighs, turning and pushing the button that shut the door of the medbay. Simon turned and looked at her in confusion.

“Where do you think Riot actually is?” She deadpanned.

Simon sighed, shrugging. “I don’t have a clue. Did you hear that Alec put out a vault-wide message about him? Showed up on my dads terminal earlier.”

“Yeah, my mom got it in her lab. Pretty funny that he labeled him ‘DNI, potentially dangerous’.” Heartley stated, glancing down. “Please tell me I’m not the only one who thinks he… maybe…”

“Made a few too many enemies? I hate to admit it, but it’s been floating around in the back of my mind, too,” He said slowly, leaning lightly against one of the rolling stretchers.

“Yeah…” Heartley muttered. “If he left the vault, there would be-“

“Alarms and stuff? Yeah, I thought about that when Alec was taking out his pent up anger on us,” Simon ran a hand through his dark hair, huffing. “Scout usually knows where Riot is even if he goes dark to the rest of us. And the fact that Scout doesn’t know worries me.”

Riot did have a habit of going dark. He had ever since they entered the vault. Scout always knew why and where, but he didn’t this time, which made it all the worse. Made Heartley and Simon’s deepest, darkest assumptions feel a little closer to reality.

“You know, we could… check the security terminal. See if the vault door was opened recently or not. Check if they have any files on Riot…”

Simon glanced up at her, creasing his brow. “You want to break in to the security office?”

She shifted. “No, I want answers. How I get them is different. At least if we know the door hasn’t been opened then he has to be inside.”

Simon ran a hand through his hair again. “How do you expect us to do that? Security is riddled with Coursers.”

“We just need to get them out of the room for a little bit, not slay them like Grognak. There are plenty of ways to do that.”

Simon snorted. “Like what?”

Heartley threw her arms up. “Like, we could blow something up.”

“With what?”

“Or we could… cause a power outage,”

“And shut off the terminal we need?”

“We can… poison them all!”

“If you want to be a spy, go ahead,” Simon chuckled. “But I just thought of a fool-proof way to get them running wherever we want.”

Heartley put her hands on her hips, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

—

Bela Devaroux, in all her black bob and blue eyed glory, pounded on the security room door at the front of the vault with as much urgent force as she could muster. It was night, ten pm on a Thursday, so the squad inside was short by two. “Hey! Hey!”

The metal door slid open, revealing two men in a white security uniform like Jackson Hannigan. There was a third, a Courser in the back corner, waiting for orders like an attack dog.

“What do you need, lady?”

“I just saw- I just saw Riot Kildare! And he had… he had a gun and… and something that looked like a bomb! Going into the residential sector! Please!” Bela’s bright blue eyes were wide and brimming at the bottom with fear as she pointed. “Please, I’m scared he’s gonna hurt people!”

The guards looked at one another skeptically. “Look, are you sure it was him?”

“Yes, I’m sure, he’s one of my regulars!” She shouted, sounding almost crazed. “Please, please, go!”

The security officers shared another glance, until the one at the door finally muttered. “Come on, Z9. Stay here until we come back, ma’am.”

The three of them jogged past a frantic Bela, heading back toward the Atrium. Once their footsteps echoed away, the girl snickered and cocked a hip, glancing at her nails. “Too easy.”

Heartley and Simon drifted out of the shadows, and Heartley handed Bela a bag of caps. “Thanks, you’re the best.”

Bela took the bag and weighed it slightly. “Hey, I’m doing it for Riot. I hope you find out where he is.”

Heartley smiled lightly, and Bela did, too, disappearing back into the main area of the vault. Simon nudged Heartley’s shoulder.

“Go. I’m sure they won’t leave this place empty for long,”

Heartley, without a reply, walked into the security room, steel gray eyes bouncing from the lockers, to the row of desks, to the terminal that sat on a nearby table.

“You better know how to unlock this thing,” She stated, crossing her arms as Simon hunched over the terminal in his lab coat.

“Trust me, terminal security is not the most secure thing in the world. A kid could break it if they payed enough attention to the words,” He replied. “It might take a minute, though.”

Heartley sighed, walking around the small security room, glancing at the empty coffee cups and clipboards that sat around. She wondered if Coursers drank coffee.

After a high-pitched, happy beep echoed through the room, Simon stated: “I’m in.”

Heartley drifted up by Simon’s side, bumping her shoulder against his. “That took way less than a minute.”

“Just preparing you for the worst,” He snickered. Heartley glanced down at the terminal screen ahead of them. There were four separate categories.

[INCIDENT LOGS]

[VAULT ACCESS LOGS]

[OPEN EVACUATION TUNNEL]

[MANUAL DOOR OVERRIDE]

Simon quickly navigated down to the Vault Access logs, clicking the file open. A blur of green words danced across the screen.

VAULT OPENED - 8/22/2077

VAULT SEALED - 8/22/2077

VAULT OPENED - 4/12/2217

VAULT SEALED - 2/1/2278

Heartley’s heart sunk as she scanned the worlds, and Simon sucked in a sudden breath.

“2278 was ten years ago, when we arrived. It… hasn’t been opened since then. Since they closed us in,”

Heartley stood up straight and ran a hand through her hair. That meant Riot was inside. Which meant, the odds of him having been killed raised exponentially. She got kind of dizzy thinking about it.

“But that… doesn’t mean he’s dead,” Simon clarified, backing out of the logs on the terminal. “He’s probably just… hiding. Or something. Riot’s weird.”

Heartley nodded in response even though he wasn’t looking at her. He navigated to the Incident Logs and opened them, and a huge list of names popped up. People who’d been put in confinement, she supposed. It was no surprise most of her friend group was at the top.

SCOUT BANELLI RIOT KILDARE TUESDAY JONES CHICAGO DUNBAR JERICHO AVANS BELA DEVAROUX JOHNNY HAILEN SANDY DEANGELO JUNE HOLLAND

She scrunched her nose. “Tuesday was in confinement?”

Is that how he knew Scout was, too?

Simon had the same look on his face. “I didn’t know he got in trouble. He’s like, the epitome of best-behavior.”

He clicked on the most recent file, Scout’s, and an entry almost ten pages long appeared.

“Geez, Scout sure has his hands dirty,” Simon stated, clicking all the way to the end for the most recent infringement.

8/5/2288

SCOUT BANELLI AND TUESDAY JONES WERE TAKEN INTO CUSTODY AT 0300 HOURS FOR THE ALLEGED ASSAULT AND BATTERY OF SCOUT’S FATHER, HENRY BANELLI. HE SUFFERED SEVERAL BLOWS TO THE HEAD AND TORSO. TUESDAY IS TO BE RELEASED AT 0800 HOURS ON THE SAME DAY, SCOUT IS TO BE RELEASED AT 1200 HOURS AFTER TWO CONSECUTIVE DAYS IN CONFINEMENT. NO FURTHER ACTIONS ARE TO BE TAKEN REGARDING THIS CASE.

Heartley quickly scanned the file. “Why didn’t they tell us?”

“Because Tuesdays scared,” Simon stated simply. “He’s never gotten in trouble before. Saying our fathers reaction would be catastrophic would be putting it lightly.”

“Does he think we’ll tattle?”

“No,” He huffed, backing out of the file and clicking on Tuesday’s. It had the exact same message on the screen. “He’s just afraid to tell anybody. Don’t know why I’d be included in that.”

She could hear the annoyance building in his tone as he backed out of the file and clicked on Riot’s. He also had a hefty amount of pages, so Simon navigated to the most recent one.

8/3/2288

RIOT KILDARE WAS TAKEN INTO CUSTODY AT 2100 HOURS FOR THE ALLEGED ASSAULT AND BATTERY OF DR. LEANNE HATHAWAY. SHE SUFFERED MINOR BLOWS TO THE HEAD AND TORSO. RIOT IS TO BE RELEASED AT 1200 HOURS AFTER ONE DAY IN CONFINEMENT.

“Uh, Heartley?” Simon questioned. As she finished reading the report, she leaned forward against the desk to read it again.

“Riot beat up my mom? And she didn’t say anything?” She questioned, brown knitted together in the center.

“She probably didn’t want you to be mad at him.”

“Why in the world would he do that?”

“Could’ve been high, I guess,”

Heartley huffed. “Riot doesn’t get high anymore, only Scout.”

“Could’ve relapsed,” Simon suggested, clicking off the file and navigating down to Chicago’s.

8/1/2288 CHARLIE “CHICAGO” DUNBAR WAS TAKEN INTO CUSTODY AT 2300 HOURS FOR THE USE OF ILLEGAL PRE-WAR CIGARETTES INSIDE OF THE VAULT. SHE IS TO BE RELEASED AT 1200 HOURS ON THE SAME DAY.

“Too bad. I always thought Scout or Riot would be the one that got caught with cigarettes,” Simon hummed, backing out and clicking on Jericho’s, hopefully more interesting, file.

8/4/2288

JERICHO AVANS WAS TAKEN INTO CUSTODY AT 0100 HOURS FOR CAUSING A DISTURBANCE ON THE SECOND FLOOR OF THE ATRIUM. HE WAS UNCONSCIOUS WHEN TAKEN TO CONFINEMENT, AND STAYED THAT WAY UNTIL HIS RELEASE AT 1200 HOURS THE NEXT DAY. WE WERE UNABLE TO GET A TESTIMONIAL FROM HIM OR ANYBODY ELSE ON THE DETAILS OF THE INCIDENT.

“That’s not vague at all,” Heartley snickered, running a hand through her hair. “So now we know that Riot has to be inside the vault, and that he supposedly tried to beat up my mom a couple days ago. I’d be lying if I said any of this makes his disappearance clearer.”

“Yeah, I feel you,” Simon replied, backing out of the terminal and locking it back up. “C’mon, let’s get out of here before-“

“Before someone sees what you’re up to?”

Both Heartley and Simon flinched, whirling around to face the door. Heartley hoped it was a trick, that it was one of their friends prancing them, but when her eyes met the ugly, dark ones of Jackson Hannigan, SRB Head of Security, all hope died in her veins.

The man chuckled coldly. “Looks like we’ll be adding two more names to those reports, huh?”

[neyomiyi]

The Chronicles Behind My Purple Pink Skies

The First Strand of the Rainbow 

Even though I do not remember how it started, my parents told me all about it. 

This is mostly how I am hard to raise. From how I was born until I got in my hospital phase. I was born with jaundice and blood problems. Later on, I developed some kidney problems. I was hospitalized for a year. That’s why at such a young age, injections are something I do not fear. I remember how nurses play with me or how I show my arm just to get the medicine my body needs to intake. Until now, I have had a lot of medical problems but it did not become a hindrance for me to try new things or be adventurous in any way. I am the baby who doesn't finish any meal, until now I do that. But instead of wasting food, I am sharing it with people I love. Or mostly I gave it to them to finish it and not waste any. Either way, the first years of my life were hard but it never stopped me from taking the rainbow and its first strand.

The Strawberry Morning Shower

I was born on Wednesday of November 17, 2004. And based on that little rhyme, “Wednesday's child is full of woe.” When I was four, all I did was weeping on the floor. I am used to shed tears until my eyes are sore. I have 3 siblings with a 2 years age gap continuously. I was the 3rd among the four. I have an older sister, older brother, and a younger sister. Being 5 years old and growing up with my younger sister was not easy to do. She and I fight until we go to bed. If she pulls my hair, I’m gonna push her down the stairs. That kind of reciprocating the energy back. After being weak because of my medicine intakes, my siblings made me strong by bickering with them every other day. Because of that I became a strawberry who’s as sweet and a little sour (only with my younger sister) with the freshness of morning shower as I get to live like a kid again. 

The Sunshine in the Yellow Rain

I am sunny as the sun and active as the clouds. I am happy like the color yellow and mellow like a cello. 

Being 10 and trying to fit in was something I never knew I would actually do. Staying in the province for 8 years then switching in the city was terrifying enough if you would ask a child. They have this fancy stuff that I did not fancy at all when I was in my sub-urban hometown. I was raised with my cousins and siblings. I was raised in an extended family with my neighborhood casually coming in our house and kids my age playing everyday outside. This city was not good for me in my first years. I was bullied on my first day and I did not foresee many happenings in our new house. We have a lot of problems financially and about house management. More like a maid who has real anger issues to be honest. Yellow rains are toxic, like my life in these years. But I never lose hope nor happiness in those days, I am still the sunshine of my own life. 

The Blue Gray Clouds Entering 

The blue gray clouds are entering simultaneously with my menstruation and more serious problems with my family. 

All happened when I was thirteen in 2017. I was starting my years as a junior high school student, one thing in these years I wish I was told. “You have to strengthen your heart for every rain that might turn into a hurricane.” We had this family problem that was made when I was not even born. It was made by my grandmother and my parents and their siblings have piled up more problems above it. Now, me and my cousins also have to carry the burden of it. Doing it while struggling to be the top of the class was my own kind of torture, if you would asked me. I have one aim in junior high school and that is to be one of the director’s list. I strive for that validation. I think as a teenager, I thought a lot about how to help but I ended up crying day after day because I cannot solve anything. 2019 came and things became the worst. My parents’ mothers were both hospitalized and me and my siblings were left behind. All along in that dinner table waiting for them to get home. 3 months of waiting was too long. So I seeked some attention from some guy… yup, ew. It did not go well. My mental stabiltiy? Wreck. My heart? Broken. My reputation? Ruined. My solution? Death. But I didn't do it. I’m still writing this piece to tell my story. 

These days were awfully painful. Just like how the rain makes anything sad. The blue gray clouds remind me of how everything is painful at night. Begging for everything to change and make it alright. 

The Purple Pink Skies Devouring 

As I tried to bury myself while looking at the gray sky, I never thought that I could rise up to look up at my favorite purple pink skies. 

The pandemic started as well as picking my broken pieces. I have read and read romance books to get other perspectives to understand why I deserve to be treated the way people treat me. Online class started and I hung out with my friends while doing schoolworks. The only goal was to survive and to focus on academics. No other things until I was healed. 1 year has passed and I feel like I was stuck on the loop of the trauma I was in 2019. I thought I’ll never get better not until I finally have to get out again and meet people again. I have learned a lot of things by watching my friends grow up, they have created themselves and I was so proud. The sister I always fought with when I was a little kid was now one of the closest people I’m with. We are better at communicating now. The family problem was still the same but I can handle it better now. I have friends I can rely on and who can protect me from things I fear and dislike. I completely gave up reaching that director’s list. But just when I don’t give any thought to it, the universe gives it to me. I am enjoying my studies as well as the company I have in school. 

The thing I feared a lot was being alone but there is a rainbow after the rain. I feared that it would never be better. But at the end of the day, there would be purple pink sunsets that would not mark as an ending but a sign that there is going to be a new beginning. 

[beautyveined]

the mortal sun has risen and set a thousand thousand times, and helen of troy is yet bound to the earthly realm, the reincarnation loop continues. this time their mortal coil has taken the shape of eiza gonzalez, a human born on 26th of december, 1992, a capricorn and named isabella dolores da costa.

CHARACTER BASICS

NAME: isabella dolores da costa (maiden name) NICKNAME: bella, isa, izzy AGE: twenty-nine DATE OF BIRTH: december 26, 1992 ZODIAC SIGN: capricorn GENDER & PRONOUNS: demigirl, she/they ORIENTATION: pansexual STATUS: married (but it's complicated) HEIGHT: 5′6″ OCCUPATION: cleaning staff at white island hotel DEITY COUNTERPART: helen of troy ABILITIES/POWERS: the ability, whilst wearing or carrying a rose quartz, to lower inhibitions through her innate pheromones; the ability to use her natural charms to make others more susceptible to her points of view or suggestions whilst maintaining eye contact; their presence aboard a vessel guarantees a safe journey at sea. LOCKED POWERS: to harness the ability to compel people to do her bidding through eye contact and use of her charms, bless those who journey in the sea to guarantee them a safe voyage, and for those who have strong affections for her, she will harness the ability to compel them to commit literal or figurative 'acts of war' to win her affections. NEIGHBORHOOD: rose park RESIDING FOR: three months FREQUENTING AT: the library of muses

ABOUT

isabella is the product of an affair between a maid and a sotto capo. he was already married when her mother, camila, started working for them, but that didn’t stop him from pursuing the younger woman. upon realizing that she was with child, she immediately left because she didn’t want to raise her daughter in that kind of environment.

camila was only twenty-two when she had isabella; she struggled to make a living for the two of them since she was an undocumented migrant. to survive, she part timed here and there and they lived with her mother's boyfriends from time to time. her mom still believed that having a father figure for her could give them a better life. however, some of those men turned out be physically abusive towards her mom and bella swore to never be like her mother.

bella didn’t exactly grew up in a healthy environment but her mother loved her and cared for her as best as she could. she studied in public schools and they always had a roof over their head. however, things turned for the worse when her mother started getting frequent headaches. camila was then diagnosed with a brain tumor and that’s when she decided to finally reach out to bella’s father. as much as she hated that kind of life for bella, she knew that her father wouldn’t turn her away because she is still his blood and family meant everything to them.

isabella was thirteen years old when her mother finally passed away and she moved to her new home. for someone who lived in impoverished parts of the town, this was a drastic change for her. she wasn’t used to people attending to her needs and having a bedroom that’s bigger than their old apartment. her stepmother didn’t take kindly to her at first, but her half-siblings did welcome her with open arms—well except for her brother who was in the same grade.

she was enrolled to the same boarding school that her half-siblings were attending. although she had a hard time catching up at first, she slowly integrated to it. whether she liked it or not, this was her life now and she was nothing if not adaptable. she learned how to make friends, say the right thing to get into the right groups and even got good grades due to her wit. it was also during her teenage years that she began to notice the affect she had on people, how it was easier for her to persuade them to see her point of view. she also became popular with both the boys and the girls.

although they didn’t exactly tell her what kind of family her father had, the armed men coming in and out of their casa clued her in that it wasn’t exactly a legal type of business. but she didn’t know the extent to it until she heard her older siblings casually talking about the family business. isabella just finished high school around this time and it suddenly made more sense now on why some people they knew kept on disappearing.

isabella turned a blind eye to this and continued her studies, studying fashion in paris and new york. she didn’t really have any interest in the family business at this point, but that changed when her stepmother insisted that she marry the heir to another crime family to strengthen the alliance between them. it was obviously just a façade to finally get rid of her since she was the second oldest and was still a threat to the family line. her father thought that this was a brilliant idea and even if she didn’t want to, she also didn’t want to disappoint her father.

at twenty-four, she was married off to a man she barely knew. but over the time, she has grown to care for him. their married life is tumultuous at best and more often than not, she wants to strangle him. but unlike her family, he included her in their business affairs and she grew a likeness to it. her skills in persuasion came quite handy, especially when they needed information from tight-lipped people.

over the years, she has done despicable things and got her hands dirty. but she never crossed the line on taking someone’s life. she has seen people die but never in her hands. not until four months ago when she pulled the trigger on another high profiled ally they had. even though it was considered self-defense, the guilt was still eating her . what more is the rush that she felt, making her question if a part of her actually enjoyed it.

after the incident, she found herself packing her bags and leaving with enough cash to settle down somewhere. she never used her cards and always used cash, traveling from one place to another until she found magnetic island. it seemed like a place small enough that she can go off the grid and something about the island seemed to call to her.

currently, she’s living in rose park and working as a cleaning staff in white island hotel, trying to keep her presence somewhat low. she’s probably got some acquaintances here and there but only a few people that she would actually consider as friends.

HEADCANONS

she’s into sustainable fashion and likes to rework stuff she bought from the thrift shop. a lot of the pieces she used to wear were her own creations, but she’s also into designer stuff that she keeps at the back of her closet now.

the library used to be her escape during her childhood since it was the one place where she could get lost in someone else’s story. she didn’t exactly have much money back then to buy books, so she was always in the library during her free time.

could not survive without coffee. don’t even try to talk to her in the morning when she hasn’t had one yet. she’s not much of a morning person after all.

loves to travel by sea rather than plane

for some reason she couldn’t still quite fathom, she had a way to make others tell the truth while maintaining eye contact which was very useful when they were interrogating people.

more to be added probably

WANTED CONNECTIONS

acquaintances

maybe a good friend or two?

people she met during her travels abroad from before? they could have kept in contact or not.

antagonistic relationships where they just don't get along or even enemies

a will they won’t they kind of relationship? (she and her husband doesn’t exactly have an open relationship but theyve had their fair shares of affairs over the years, though it was more during the start of their relationship rather than the latter)

her husband (tho i’ll probably put up a wc for this one)

anything that could work tbh! just give this a like and ill slide into your dms for plotting

[i-believe-in-melinda-may]

Reading stories I have stared but not finished, whether posted or not and i think i might try and continue this, if people were interested.

June 2032

In one of the few remaining places in the multiverse, what looks to be a steel bunker, which is what it was in another life,  three teenager best friends are standing together staring at a screen; seventeen-year-old Alya Fitzsimmons, biologically thirteen-year-old Robin Hinton and thirteen year old Morgan Stark may only be young, but they have seen a lot, they know a lot, which results in all three of them seeming a lot older than they are; they have become wise beyond their ages out of necessity.  

“Another one?” Alya asks looking at the screen which Morgan is editing, and she can’t help but frown at what appears as she knows how incredibly bad it is.

“Another one,” Morgan says, turning away from the screen to look at her friends, looking incredibly concerned as she knows how bad this is.

“It shouldn’t be happening this fast,” Robin says, also frowning as while she sees a lot of things what she didn’t see coming is the destruction happening as fast as it is.  

“We can’t predict this, not even you,” Morgan tells her friend.

“Which is exactly why we’ve got to act,” Robin says, looking between her two best friends, knowing that they need to have this conversation, the conversation they have been avoiding ever since she first had her vision.

“No, we’re not there yet,” Alya argues as she doesn’t want to consider it until they have no other option, and right now she has to believe they have other options.  

“If not now then when? When another five universes are gone? Ten? Twenty?” Robin asks, knowing that chances are it’s going to happen unless they act fast. “We’re running out of time, if we are going to do this we need to start preparing,” Robin tells the others.

“Even for us it’s going to take months to create what we need to create,” Morgan reminds Robin, knowing that as event though they didn’t want to consider it they have discussed what it would mean, what is needed.  

“Which is exactly why we can’t waste a second,” Robin argues, feeling frustrated as due to her powers it feels like she is stuck in a loop, constantly trying to get the others to see what they have to do.

“Look, I love you Robin, but we both know that because you can see across multiple timelines, across multiple universes, your visions can sometimes be hard to interpret,” Alya reminds her friend, who honestly doesn’t need the reminder, doing so in the kindness way possible. “How can you be sure that this is what we should do?” Alya asks, even though she has never known her friend to be wrong.

“Because it’s the only solution I can see,” Robin admits, her voice having an almost defeated undertone to it. “I know what I’m suggesting, I understand what it will mean, and believe me I know how difficult it will be, but the multiverse is collapsing around us,” Robin reminds Alya and Morgan. “I don’t know what other option we have,” Robin admits as thanks to her visions she has seen multiple outcomes of what happens next and out of all the outcomes she has seen she knows that all but one will end in complete destruction of everything.

“It’s not just up to us,” Morgan reminds Robin and Alya, as now that they are actually discussing this she knows what they have to do. “I’ll go get the others, if we’re really going to have a conversation about this then we all need to be apart of it,” Morgan says and after seeing both Alya and Robin nod she heads out of the room.

After Morgan leaves the room Robin walks several steps closer to Alya because she doesn’t need her powers to tell her why Alya is so against this plan, and she completely understands her friends’ reasons.  

“You really hate this idea,” Robin says to Alya, it being a statement and not a question, feeling that it could help Alya to talk about what is going on with her.  

“They’ve sacrificed so much; they’ve saved timelines and universes’ so many times. They’ve finally earned their retirement and we’re asking them to do it all again,” Alya says, pain in her voice. “I don’t know, it feels like too much,” Alya admits, looking torn as while she knows what’s at stake, she also understands what they will be asking.  

“If we do this, we won’t be collecting all of them from after that last mission,” Robin tells Alya, as she knows that they will be collecting the people they need to collect from different, specific, points as it is the only way for this plan to work.  

“That’s not much better,” Alya admits and as she does Robin gives her an understanding look and takes a step towards her.

“I know why this is hard for you, I understand more than anyone,” Robin admits, and her understanding isn’t thanks to her powers, which Alya knows. “Do you think I like the idea of bringing mom back into all this? Of causing her the pain I know she’s going to feel seeing Coulson alive again, facing the possibility of losing him again because that’s a real possibility considering what they have to do? Because I don’t,” Robin admits, as due to the fact that she can see across multiple timelines, multiple universes every version of her will always consider Melinda May to be her mother. “But I don’t see another way, and when I’m the one saying that you know…” Robin starts to say.

“That there is no other way,” Alya says, with a sigh, as she has learnt that. “I hate this,” Alya admits.

“Me too,” Robin admits, feeling that there would be something wrong with them if they didn’t, before hugging her friend, and the two of them drift into silence as they embrace, both thinking about the consequences of what they may end up doing, and just how huge what they are asking is.

For a few minutes Alya and Robin wait in silence, eventually breaking apart, until the door to the room they are in opens and Morgan walks in with a group of people all looking to be in their teens or twenties; Tommy and Billy Maximoff, Riri Williams, America Chavez, Cassie Lang, Kamala Khan, Kate Bishop, MJ Jones, Lila Barton and two beings who were cosmically created who are now known as Flint and Love.

“We’re really going to have this discussion?” Riri asks, looking at Alya and Robin, as Morgan filled them in about what they will be talking about.

“We’re running out of time,” Robin tells the others. “If we don’t make a decision now, we won’t have enough time to do what we have to do,” Robin explains, needing the others to understand that this is do or die, literally.

“Robin’s right,” Billy says, knowing that for the same reason Robin does, and because of that he understands better than anyone. “With every day that passes our window closes, it’s now or never to make this decision,” Billy tells the others.

“Is there a decision?” I mean if we can make things better don’t we have to?” Lila asks, as from what has been said she is sure that they have a responsibility to make everything better especially considering they are the only ones who can.

“It’s not that simple,” Cassie reminds her. “This isn’t just changing one timeline, one universe, this will affect the entire multiverse, re-writing the entire multiverse,” Cassie says her. “This is a huge decision,” Cassie points out, as she isn’t sure they have the right to make this decision.

“Isn’t that kind of the point?” Kamala asks, as that’s what she thinks. “Everything’s ending, the multiverse needs re-writing,” Kamala argues, as from her perspective there is a lot of things that need fixing and that is what heroes do.

“But if we do this, aren’t we putting a hell of a lot on a single group of people?” Tommy asks, feeling worried that they can’t handle it as he doesn’t know them as well as others.

“They can handle it,” Flint says as he knows that without a doubt.

“I have no doubt about that,” Love admits as she has heard the stories. “But Alya made a good point last time we discussed this, is it fair to ask them?” Love asks as she isn’t overly sure that it is.

“As awful as it is to say I think we’re beyond using fairness as a factor when making a decision,” MJ admits.

“Okay, well ignoring fairness for the minute how do we even know that they’ll agree when we ask?” America asks as she can’t help but think that there is the possibility that the Agents won’t do what they are going to ask.

“They’re SHIELD, they’ll always choose protection, no matter the personal cost,” Alya says, knowing that if there is one thing she can be sure of it is that. “They’ll say yes if we ask,” Alya says, which is why she doesn’t like the idea of them asking, and Robin gives her a sympathetic look.

“And that brings us back to whether we should ask,” Morgan realises.  

“What if we don’t make that decision now?” Kate asks, getting an idea.

“Haven’t you been listening? We have to, the window….” Billy starts to say.

“Is closing, I get that,” Kate admits, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, as she has been listening. “But that doesn’t mean we have to make the compete decision now,” Kate argues, and the others give her interested looks, all wondering what she is thinking. “What if we create what we need if we decide to do this and then once it’s ready, we make the decision, that way we keep our options open,” Kate suggests.

“That is the most logical plan,” Alya says approvingly, as she realises that it will keep their options open.

“Then let’s get to work, if the window really is closing then every second counts,” Morgan says and the group get to work, discussing what they have to do and how to do it, something they can only achieve by working together, as the team, the family, they have become.  

September 2032

Three months have passed since the group of young heroes decided to create what they need if they decided to re-write the multiverse as well as coming up with the plan about how they will do it if they decide to go through with basically re-booting the multiverse. As well as all their planning the group have also had to do what they need to do to survive as well as doing everything they can to protect others as they are the last hope a lot of beings have.

While the others are standing around and observing Morgan, Alya, Riri, and Cassie are working on what looks to be an old fax machine, but what is actually so much more and will play a key part in what they are going to do.

“What are the levels like?” Cassie asks Riri, as Riri is looking at the tablet that is monitoring things.  

“Stable,” Riri answers, sounding relieved, looking up from her screen after checking a few things, there being a level of disbelieving in her voice as a part of her she cannot believe that the have pulled this off as even with Robin’s vision giving them faith, she was doubting that they’d be able to do this as it seems just so incredible.

“Then it’s ready,” Alya realises, not sure how to feel about that.

“Almost,” Morgan says as secures the final part. “Now it’s ready,” Morgan tells the others, looking between them.

“So, it’s time, that’s the last piece,” Flint realises, as the object they are looking at is only one piece of what they the have spent the last three months both collecting and creating.

“We’ve got to make a decision,” Billy says, knowing they can’t avoid it anymore. “In just three months everything has gotten so much worse, my vote’s that we can’t wait; we’ve got to do this, and we’ve got to do it now,” Billy admits, while he was hesitant about basically re-writing the multiverse after seeing firsthand how much worse things have gotten and how quickly he knows that this is something they have to do.  

“Alya, you’ve been the most against this, what do you think?” MJ asks, wanting her opinion as she is the most personally effected, and Alya signs, as she knew this was coming.

“I’ve been thinking, a lot, thinking about what they would say if they knew were debating this, what they would say if they knew we had a way for them to save the multiverse and I didn’t want them to do it because I didn’t want to drag them back into the fight,” Alya admits, as it is what she has been thinking about most for the past few months, honestly it has resulted in her getting even less sleep than ‘normal’.

“And?” Kate asks her curious.

“They’d be furious with me,” Alya admits, knowing that. “Nanna May, Robin’s mum, once told Uncle Lance that SHIELD is about sacrifice, not for you or me, but for the greater good, even over the ones you love,” Alya admits. “My hesitance is because of love, but I know them, they’ll always want to do what’s right,” Alya reveals, as she has always known that it’s what she was raised to know, but she still finds it difficult to accept.

“So, you’re saying we should do this,” Kamala realises, feeling a little surprised by that as she knows how against the plan Alya has been.

“I’m saying that they would be willing to sacrifice if they knew what was on the line, so we should give them the opportunity,” Alya admits, even though it is incredible hard for her to do so.

“Okay, then I guess we’re in agreement,” Cassie says, looking around at the others and she sees that now that Alya has agreed no one else is people hesitating, it being clear that Alya’s hesitance was the only thing that was holding the others back. “The multiverse needs a shield, it’s time we give it to them,” Cassie says. “America, Robin, Billy, Kamala,” Cassie says as she, Riri, Alya and Morgan take serval steps away from the object, allowing the four who Cassie said to have the space they need.  

As Riri, Alya and Morgan take steps away from the object that looks like a fax machine America, Robin, Billy, and Kamala stand around it. Once they are standing around it Riri presses a button on the tablet she is holding and after she does that each of the corners open and four circular sensors rise up from inside. The sensors are small, about the size of a large marble, but are big enough for America, Robin, Billy, and Kamala, to hold with their hands surrounding the entire sensor.  

“Ready?” Riri asks, as she knows that what is about to happen must happen in unison.

“Ready,” America, Robin, Billy, and Kamala say together.

“Then on the count of three, we do this,” Riri tells them. “One, two, three,” Riri says and as soon as she says three, she presses something on the tablet she is holding and as she does that America, Robin, Billy, and Kamala all cause energy to come out of each of them and into the machine.

After about thirty seconds the machine starts to make the sounds of an old fashion fax and a piece of paper slower comes out of the machine and into the tray that is connected. “That’s it,” Riri says once the paper is completely out of the machine, and she presses another button on the tablet as the others stop the energy form coming out of each of them and into the machine.

“How do you feel?” Love asks her friends concerned as it was never clear exactly how they would react to doing what they just did.  

“Okay,” Robin answers.

“Billy? Kamala?” Kate asks, also sounding concerned.

“I’m okay,” Billy answers.

“Me too,” Kamala confirms assures her friend with a comforting smile.

“Good,” Tommy says relieved, and he walks over to the machine and picks up the piece of paper. “So, this is it?” Tommy asks, looking down at the piece of paper, something which looks like nothing, but is incredibly powerful.

“That’s it,” Billy confirms. “Exactly where in time and space where we need to collect each of the Agents of SHIELD from,” Billy reveals, feeling a little shocked as other than Robin no one was completely sure that they were going to get this done.  

“So, who do we start with?” Lila asks, looking between the others. “Philip J Coulson,” Robin says, causing everyone to look at her. “He can put the pieces together,”