#that wouldn't be true of any other planet anyway

[messier51]

"no other planet in our solar system gets total solar eclipses" ok so i guess jupiter, saturn, uranus, and neptune are not planets anymore

y'all thought the iau was mean to pluto and yet here we are demoting all the gas giants too

[shiplessoceans]

I am seeing some garbage takes out there so quick reminder:

Izzy himself doesn't hold a grudge for what happened to his leg because he fuelled the fire that took it.

Izzy knows he suffered the consequences of feeding the darkness and doubt and misery he saw in Ed.

If Stede's leaving led Ed to a cliff, Izzy was the friend who should have helped him and instead he shoved him over the edge and broke him. The man Ed has known longer than anyone in his life, his 'only family', severed the last hope Ed had that he was worth anything without 'Blackbeard'.

Izzy trained a shark to viciously kill... Blackbeard says you taught him everything he knows... tormented him in his weakest moment...This is Blackbeard, Not some namby pamby in a silk gown pining for his boyfriend...and then dangled his legs in the water. Naturally, the shark took his leg.

As Izzy says: 'Served me right, too'.

Which is why people being so furious on his behalf and acting like Ed is an abusive monster is to invalidate Izzy having any agency at all.

Do you also blame Ed for the murder of his father and think he's a bloodthirsty monster?

Or can you recognise that the cycle of abuse and violence corrupted and traumatized him and that his father shares a portion of the blame for his own death?

Perhaps it's more cut and dried in that scenario because people haven't imprinted on Ed's father?

Izzy is not blameless in the loss of his leg and he would be the first to tell you that. He is a complex human who has made mistakes and his whole arc this season was about him reconciling, owning his mistakes and being his true authentic self anyway. And he did it. Fuck yeah.

"BUT ED NEVER APOLOGISED".

Izzy wouldn't have accepted it if he had.

Ed said 'Sorry about your leg', knowing Izzy wouldn't accept a larger apology. His response was to 'fuck off' as it is. Izzy Hands will never accept a full apology or genuine word of kindness and he shut down Ed's attempts because he didn't want or need it.

Izzy's last act on the planet was to let Ed know he's sorry for breaking him. For feeding him to the darkness so he could have 'Blackbeard' to give him his purpose in life when really, Ed had needed a friend. He apologized to remind Ed that he is loveable just as he is. He wants to undo the damage he did.

To love a character is to respect his right to be a fuck-up and own his mistakes. And to let him learn to accept himself despite those mistakes.

This season made me love Izzy. And I am sad he's dead. And I love that he got to redeem himself, find family and a sense of belonging and help Ed heal when he couldn't always help himself to.

You can feel how you want to feel about the ending.

But to sit back and blast creatives for 'Doing it wrong' because you can't process your emotions without projecting it onto others?

Izzy would be disappointed in you, the same way he was disappointed in Stede for picking a fight with Zheng instead of handling his emotions about losing Ed.

"Oh Bonnet, no..."

[txttletale]

could you elaborate on your thoughts on boom and 73 yards ( i agree with you i am just struggling to put into words why.)

boom was whatever. the initial conceit of the doctor being trapped and having to stay calm was really cool! i really like that. the ambulances that euthanize you if you're not deemed worthy of medical care and the tacky chatgpt hologram ghosts were both really cool ideas. it just doesn't stick the landing for me, the twists are contrived and fall apart given any thought whatsoever. like what the fuck were any of the soldiers Doing if there just straight up weren't any enemies. it's a twist that sounds cool to say more than it has any meaningful impact on the story or the stakes. i guess 'the arms manuifacturer created a fake conflict' is the intended emtional stakes there but that would hit like a hundred times harder if it was an actual conflict between two factions and people were dying, right? like if anything sending a christian militia to blow themselves up tae fuck on a nowhere planet instead of presumably killing actual living people is an improvement, surely?

also the resolution was dumb as fuck lol i am a huge hater of power of love saves the day shit not because i'm a cynical misanthrope but because it never fails to make me say 'oh so i guess nobody ever loved anybody before lol' and this is no exception like if one chatbot can shut down the whole operation beacuse he loves his daughter are we meant to believe that no other parents or hell nobody who loved anybody else for any reason died in this fake war before? it's cheap and schmaltzy and unearned. anyway the first twentyish minutes of this are all-time great doctor who and gatwa/gibson were incredible in it but it absolutely falls apart into a confused pileo f some of the worst Moffatisms at the end

73 yards on the other hand was incredible! obviously like it requires you to approach it with a different mindset to most of doctor who, right, doctor who usually furnishes you with the big explanation scnee where the doctor says 'well the ghosts were actually particle wave vectorforms created with the necros radiation from the god-king's techsceptre' or whatever--this is the usual narrative mode of sci-fi--but 73 yards is fantasy, right, this is the twilight zone, this is 'wouldn't that be fucked up?'. i interrogate the technical and logical specifics of boom so much when i think about it because that's the language boom is speaking, boom is framing itself within this logical, a-to-b worldview, the satisfying click-together puzzlebox. but 73 yards is a nightmare or a folk tale, right? kate stewart¹ says it herself, 'when faced with the inexplicable, we make up rules and apply them to it'.

so yknow reading it that way it all clicks together beautifully, right, (apart from russel t davies' embarassing swing and miss at Political Commentary in the middle. we get it davies you wrote years and years. we know. trust me we know). the doctor and ruby disrupt the binding circle, free mad jack, and are punished -- the doctor, as perpetrator, with being banished (perhaps in jack's place) and ruby with her worst fear coming true constantly, until ruby defeats mad jack, re-sealing him and fixing what she broke, at which point the circle rewards her by reversing the punishments. and the core horror i think is very effective and unsettling! the idea that there is something that someone could say to turn everyone against you, the closest people to you in your life, your own family, the institutions that are meant to deal with the exact problem you're having--that's fucking terrifying! and yknow i think especially as an autistic trans lesbian something that speaks to me a lot

so yeah. i think that boom establishes its logics and framework and then trips and falls onto its face while 73 yards does the same and then makes perfect use of them. that said i think in 20 years people who are autistic about doctor who will be like 'did you know in the 2020s there were two episodes in a row where the doctor caused the entire plot to happen by stepping on something' and thjatll be the main thing they're remembered for

[foli-vora]

the sun will shine again

joel miller x f!reader

A/N: just a little self indulgent something I wrote for comfort when I needed it, but maybe it can be a little reassuring hug for someone here as well? If you're struggling, please reach out to your local helplines, friends, family, doctors, teachers, coworkers - you're worthy of your existence on this planet, and you're not alone ❤️

Word count: 2k

Warnings: heavy themes. Depression, thoughts of suicide and intent, mentions of a weapon (gun), Joel struggles with feelings but he gets the message across, Ellie is Ellie with a little needed comic relief, hurt & much needed comfort

You don't want it anymore. Any of it. You just want peace. You want to be able to wake without the lingering presence of something heavy weighing down on your heart, your soul. You want to be able to smile, and feel it curl on your lips knowing it's nothing but true, and it's not there hiding the ugly thoughts and feelings stirring in your mind. You just want to be happy.

Is that even possible? Does happiness even exist anymore? The world had been torn apart long ago - there is very little to smile for now. Maybe it wasn't worth the effort. Maybe this is all there is.

No.

No, this isn't all of it.

You're sure you feel happiness, even if it doesn't manage to make it across your features most of the time. You feel the tender warmth of it in your chest, the blissful ease of the never ending pressure threatening to crush you under its weight.

It happens now, despite the horrific events that seem to follow your footsteps. Ellie's a sweet thing. She hides it behind her stubbornness and sarcasm, but you spy a slight comfort building within her as time rolls on—a peace.

Joel mirrors it, and he fights it - God does he fight it. Of course you know why he keeps her at arms length, why he desperately fights to keep that void present, but lately, it's wavered. He smiles, laughs even. It's beautiful to witness. He deserves it all and so much more.

You on the other hand? The shadows have seemingly only grown outside of the QZ despite being free, creeping along and filling every vacant space in your mind. It's so damn heavy. Something's there, a presence that seems to know exactly when to strike with its poisonous words, and it's not long until a part of you starts to believe them.

You don't belong here. You don't deserve them. You don't deserve this. You should've died long ago. Why are you still here? They would be better off without you.

It's those thoughts that have you here now, staring numbly at the sun beginning to shine over the horizon with a weight in your hands. There's a harsh chill in the air that bites at your skin through your thick, tattered long sleeve, but you don't care. You won't be here when the snow eventually hits.

You had left your jacket draped over a sleeping Ellie, her cheeks and nose tinged pink from the low temperature. It wouldn't go to waste - she'll get a lot of use out of it. Your pack you'd left in its spot beside Joel's - he'll take whatever they need before they move off. You have nothing else of worth.

They'll be better off. You don't belong here. You don't belong anywhere. Everyone will be better off.

Your gaze drops to your hands where they cradle the handgun, the steel barrel now warm from your touch. You only have one bullet - you left the rest behind. You wouldn't need them, anyway. Joel'll get a use out of them. They'll both be safe.

Safer without you. Better without you.

So why can’t you do it? Why can’t you just get it over with? Why are you hesitating?

The last few months roll through your mind. Blurs of memories, of you and Joel, of you and Ellie, each one rolling through your mind and bringing that sweetly craved warmth back to your chest. You know why you’re hesitating.

It’s a battle between love and darkness, and you hate that the darkness is winning. You’re weak.

They deserve more than you.

“Watching the sunrise?"

The unexpected but familiar gravel has you jumping about a mile high out of your skin. Your head whips to where Joel is approaching quietly from behind, and you discreetly tuck the gun into the waistband of your jeans as you nod, forcing a strained curl of your lips.

"It's a nice view," he continues quietly, voice still roughened from the few hours of sleep he managed to get. "I wasn't expectin' you to be gone so long."

He had been resting when you left the little campsite, eyes closed and merely grunting in reply when you mentioned needing a bit of privacy. How long had it been since you left? How long had you been dragging your feet in carrying this shit out?

"I got distracted," you explain weakly, shifting slightly over on the unforgiving boulder you sit on so he can rest on it beside you, "sorry."

He notices your clear lack of jacket.

"You cold?"

"No," you lie.

He's watching you, studying you. You can feel it. You keep your eye on the horizon, taking in the pastel mix of blues and oranges stretching across the sky as the sun starts to rise further above the landscape in an effort to escape his scrutiny.

"You needin' these?"

Glancing towards him, you watch as he sticks his hand down the front pocket of his jeans before holding it out to you, noting the bullets rolling around his palm. Your bullets. There's something hanging in his gaze as it remains heavily fixed on you. Maybe a slight edge of suspicion? Challenge?

You don't manage to hold it long enough to find out.

"Uh, not that I know of. I think I'm good."

He makes a low noise of thought, "Alright. Well, why don't you let me check. Better to be safe than sorry, right?"

"Joel—"

"Come on."

The cold's long seeped into your bones now. You weren't meant to take this long. Another thing you can't do right. Moving takes a small bit of effort, your fingers now numb as they struggle to keep a firm grip on the weapon and pass it over.

Joel swiftly pops open the cylinder once he has the gun in hand, taking a long, quiet moment to examine the one single bullet residing in there. His thumb briefly brushes over the top surface of it, before readying the other bullets in between the grasp of his fingers.

"Not gettin' far with only one," he comments dryly, nimbly filling the cylinder and then flicking it shut with a noticeable click.

He doesn't give it back to you.

Instead, he reaches behind his back and tucks the gun down the waistband of his jeans beside his own, before fixing his jacket above them. He sighs, a deep heave of breath that blows out from his lips with a wispy cloud that carries away with the breeze as he seems to lose himself in thought.

You say nothing. There's nothing for you to say.

"Don't you ever," he starts thickly, voice cutting suddenly through the quiet, "think about doin' that again, you hear me?"

"Do what?"

You feign ignorance.

Whether it's because you don't want to acknowledge your earlier thoughts, or Joel to know about any of it, you don't know. It's silly—he would've found you eventually anyway. Maybe you're just a coward and don't want to face the reality of what he would think of you.

"Don't play with me—not about this.”

An apology sits on your tongue, but it doesn't make it past your lips. You should've known better than to play him as the fool. Joel's anything but stupid. He probably saw through you the instant he laid eyes on you sitting in the cold morning light without a jacket.

“I don’t say it, and maybe I should start, but I can’t lose you,” he rasps, deep brown eyes falling away from your face to follow the soft swirls of the clouds, “I can’t. And I know that’s selfish of me to say, I know it’s not what I should say when you’re feelin’ like this, but—Jesus. Ellie wants you here, needs you here. I need you here, and I know you’re carryin’ a lot in that head of yours but—I just... I’m here for you, alright?”

“Joel—”

“Quiet.”

Your mouth snaps shut immediately.

“I know it’s a lot, and I know it hurts—believe me honey, I know it fuckin’ hurts, and you’re tired and the other side just seems so damn good… but it’s not. It’s not. You… you can’t do that. God, you just can’t.”

The wind chills the hot tears that spill down your cheeks until they feel like ice. He looks at you then, as if sensing the heart ache making wet paths along your skin.

You’re weak.

His hands are hot as they cradle your face carefully, roughened calloused palms covering your cheeks and soothing away the agony filled droplets with a quick brush of his thumbs.

You can’t help but turn into the touch, your own hands coming to wind around his wrists in an effort to keep him close. He’s so warm. You let out the lungful of oxygen you’d been holding onto in your worry, watching the fog of it hang between your faces before fading away.

“I don’t know what to do, Joel,” you admit in a choked whisper, eyes dropping from something close to shame, “My head… I-I don’t know how to fix this—”

His hands press tighter against your cheeks as he angles and holds your face until your eyes are flicking up to meet his. Sincerity fills them, mixing with the ever present concern he hides behind those high almost impenetrable walls. It’s hard to focus on anything but him.

“It’s gonna take time, and it’s gonna be damn hard, but I want you to put it on me, understand? Put it all on me. I’ll carry what you’re strugglin’ with, alright? Hell, I’ll carry you. For as long as I need to. For the rest of my—fuck. Just—just let me help you. Please.”

He wants to do that? For you?

“What if it’s too much?”

“Then we’ll handle it together, like we’ve handled shit hundreds of times before.”

A few more moments of searching his eyes and you’re breathing a quiet okay. The heaviness still rests unforgivingly on your mind, but maybe you won’t struggle so much if someone was there to help you carry the load. Maybe, with time, it would get lighter.

That’s what you could fight for—the days where it won’t hold you down, and threaten to break you completely. The days where, maybe, it won’t be there anymore. Is that even a possibility? It doesn’t matter, you think you’re willing to find out.

His own eyes flicker between yours when your voice reaches his ears, before he gives a slight, barley there nod. His throat bobs with a swallow and then he’s resting his forehead against yours in apparent relief, lashes brushing his cheeks as his eyes flutter closed.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t ever need to be.”

“I fucking knew you guys were a thing.”

Ellie’s voice suddenly picks up from the tree line, her heavy feet trudging through the dense forest floor with the crunch of leaves and the snap of branches. Joel’s hands drop as he pulls away with a slight frown, levelling it on the girl making her way over, but it doesn’t seem to deter her in the slightest.

Despite missing the physical reassurance from Joel, you welcome the change Ellie unknowingly brings to the heavy atmosphere. You even manage a small smile, and it doesn’t feel strange as it stretches along your lips. There it is again—that lovely warmth from within you.

This is it. This is what you want, what you have. It’s just buried most of the time, but—but it’s definitely there. You weren’t imagining it. It’s there.

You’ll fight for it. You’ll fight for her, for Joel. You’ll fight for your peace.

“You didn’t need to hide it for so long—I’m not fucking stupid. I appreciate the jacket, by the way, but I don’t need you turning into an ice block on me,” she says, dumping your warm jacket over your shoulders before moving to your side and looking out towards the sunrise. “Holy shit, look at that view.”

[andy-aka-lilcsca]

Kinger and Queenie headcanons before Queenie abstracted pretty please 😁

Kinger and Queenie HC's

Ooh this is gonna be a cool one to cover!

Its only been Jax with you simps lately (this is a positive joke)

Anyway, here, I tried my best!

Remember, these are out of MY head, and aren't proven to be canon.

-They would read to each other, like how your mother or father used to read you a bedtime story at night, it was very calming, soothing even, and sometimes the other members would listen as well!

-Kinger would always keep Queenie in his 'castle' (pillow fort) always wanting her by his side, it made him feel, full, and she was the only thing pushing him to stay un-abstracted through their time.

-When Kinger joined the circus, he was at the ripe age of 27, the first one of the new bunch, while Queenie joined in at the age of 25

-They cuddled everywhere, it wouldn't matter who was around or watching, Kinger wasn't ashamed of his beautiful Queen. And she knew it too, they were the cutest couple you could've laid your eyes on.

-Be live it or not, Kinger was an artsy (sorta) person, he would (attempt) to paint paintings of Queenie and no matter what they looked like she was always impressed in her King..

-He would definitely sing to her, and on some occasions she would sing to him as well!

-You'd hear them through the hallways, it was a true melody, they sounded perfect, especially when they sang together.

-They'll gently flirt with each other and call each other pet names, again, anywhere in front of anywho, Kinger would often be heard saying the same one, calling her his majesty, while she would call him kingie, and every time it would make him a bit flustered, every single time.

-Kinger would build excessively large, unique 'pillow castles' just for Queenie's delight, he loved seeing her happy, gosh, her being happy was enough to make him the happiest thing on the planet.

Remember people, I'll do about any request I get! So please, do request, it makes me happy, and able to produce something you'll enjoy! Remember, requesting is just sending your request through the ask box!

[a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire]

Made it to chapter 16 today which means Feyre and I have both had our first impressions of Rhysand's Inner Circle and ohhhhhhh boy

Its hard to pinpoint why exactly, but theres something so discomforting about watching them interact. I think the main thing is that for all their "casual-ness", theres still clearly a rigid hierarchy between them and they all seem to 'know their place' so to speak, its not at all like Lucien and Tamlin's relationship in the first book which genuinely felt like a friendship that was unburdened by their status or positions. Like, theres this one moment where Mor and Amren are like kinda bickering with each other i guess, and Feyre remarks that Mor is probably super powerful if she dares talk back against Amren (in an incredibly minor matter Im pretty sure but I already forgor ngl) and because this is the book where Feyre's perspective starts being Objectively Correct all the time, I guess that's true, I guess the only reason someone would dare voice their opinion on something to this friend group is if they were physically more powerful because otherwise you just level a fucking mountain during an argument

Anyway, Im gonna switch topics for a short moment but I promise this diversion is relavant to the point above. So, sometimes when I go into the anti-tags on here looking for criticisms or complaints of the books, I instead find anti-ship posts that are mainly just about trash-talking some ship, mostly ones relating to that whole Elucien/Elriel/Gwynriel shipwar, which I already have thoughts on but I'll save those for later. In any case, one day I stumbled upon this pretty long anti-elriel post about how the gifts Elain gives Azriel on winter solstice arent actually cute and it describes how she gave him like, herbs that help with headaches "because his friends are always giving him headaches" apparently. And then that post went on a whole rant about how insensitive that was of her and that she doesnt actually understand Azriel's dynamic with his close friends, but honestly, judging from this chapter Elain was absolutely spot on

And I usually wouldn't say this because yknow, its only one chapter and we're probably gonna get the nuances of their relationship later, but this is a book written by Sarah J Maas, her characters and their relationships are rarely particularly deep and, more importantly, her writing is incredibly unsubtle. If Azriel was in any way fond of his friends shenaningans I wouldve noticed it, because Feyre wouldve noticed it like 15 times during that whole dinner. But she didnt.

Its especially bad for Cassian and Azriel because it feels like Cassian thinks they have this great rapport but Azriel just genuinely kinda dislikes him. Not to mention that whole fucking mess with Azriel and Mor and Cassian and Mor having sex so she wouldnt get married off or whatever, good god how is every conversation between them not insanely awkward

Even beyond that, idk man, theyre all just so insufferable. I dont understand how Amren, ancient eldritch being trapped in a fae body that she is, can stand to be around them, I wouldve left them 5 centuries ago if I was her. I guess the explanation is that she finds the government position interesting but its like, youre SECOND to the most boring and annoying man on the planet only kinda ruling over a court that you dont even actually care about from everything Ive heard. Again, if I was in Amren's position I would not be hanging out in an APARTMENT in a boring ass city at the behest of a quartett of stupid bozos, I wouldve weaseled my way into being the personal advisor of Beron or some shit so I could watch the Vanserra Family Drama unfold live

There was one good thing about this discomforting dinner though, and that was how inexplicably gay Cassian was for Rhysand. He was really out there, looking at him with such love, calling him pretty twice in like two minutes being all "I knew I wanted a piece of him the moment I first saw him, the high lord's pretty son" like okay. I know what you are

[effloradox]

I loved your Jasper fic so much!! Could you write something else for him?

Of course! I’m really glad you liked it :)

"I like how good your hand looks in mine." If your heart could still beat, you know it would have stuttered at the words Jasper mutters into your hair. You might not have caught them without the aid of your enhanced hearing, but his words ring in your ear in a way that consumes your every waking thought. His accent always seems that little bit thicker when the two of you are alone, like he knows how much you appreciate his southern drawl and makes a point to let you hear it as much as possible. It’s a pleasant contrast to all the voices you grew up hearing back when you were human. You must have told him countless times over the last few years and you imagine you’ll continue to do so for a few more at least.

"You're such a sap." You lift your entwined hands up from your lap so you can press a soft kiss to Jasper's hand. You can practically feel him smiling into your hair as you pepper light kisses down his hand until you reach his wrist. The man behind you tightens his grip around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

"Only for you darlin'." You can't help but beam at his words, knowing how sincere he's being. When you was still human, the idea of having a soulmate felt like something that was reserved for the movies; a rare series of happenstances that few people on the planet got to experience. When you got your second chance as a vampire and found out you had a soulmate, it had all seemed too good to be true. It's been three years since Carlisle brought you into his family, three years since you met Jasper, and now you can't think of your life being any other way. You could spend an eternity with him and it wouldn't be long enough. You can't wait to try anyway.

"Better keep it that way." He might be the empath, but you can practically feel the love radiating from him. Even without being able to see his face, you can picture the serene smile resting there. It could rival the sun for how much it warms your very being. You might be perpetually cold but something about being in Jasper’s presence warms you to your very core. You feel him press his chin gently against the crown of your head and you feel his response more than you hear it.

“Always.” He kisses you head once again, taking a deep breath as he does so. You’re more than content to let your eyes flutter closed, happy to just have some alone time with your mate. You’re not sure how much time passes until you hear Carlisle from somewhere in the house, asking everyone to come downstairs for a family discussion. You can’t help but laugh at the frustrated groan Jasper lets out at the interruption, his arm snaking away from your waist so you can stand up. Once you’re on your feet, you extend a hand to him to help him to his feet.

“C’mon lover boy.”

[edgeofn1ght]

all you conceal, let out: ch. 1

After the death of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, in his grief, takes off on a mission half-cocked to find a lost holocron on Jedha. The next thing he knows, he's waking up injured on a planet he's never seen before, surrounded by calm and an unsettling quiet. Then, after passing out again, he wakes up in a strange home, patched, clean, and safe. And his savior is someone he loved who he didn't think he'd ever see again. Will he be able to get back to his own universe, and does he even want to?

i finally managed to fill another square on my @obikin-events bingo card well after the event was over 🫡 (i tried my best to finish it before it ended, but oh well)

alternate universe travel • obikin • 5.1k words • read on ao3 instead

Anakin knew his mission wouldn't be easy. He was warned against going, specifically going alone, but he insisted on taking it anyway. He needed to be away from the Temple, from everything that reminded him – 

“You still need time to mourn!” His own padawan had cried out in the hangar as he strode away from her, his responsibilities, and any bit of sanity he was still holding onto. 

Death is a natural part of life, he thought bitterly as he jogged up the Twilight's ramp, followed quickly by Artoo. I guess you forgot that lesson. 

If he had bothered to turn back, he would have seen Ahsoka's deeply troubled countenance, but he wasn't concerned about that. He had a mission to carry out – one that had been important to Obi-Wan. And he would see it through.

But as Anakin slowly lifted his head out of the dirt, he was no longer so sure he could see it through. He didn't even know where he was anymore. His head throbbed as he became aware of the blood rushing through his ears, drowning out all other noise. Not that there was much to hear anyway – no blaster fire, no clankers yelling in their tinny, robotic voices, no shouting clone troopers, no explosions… nothing.

As he became more aware of his being, his whole body ached, hurting so much he wouldn't have been surprised if every single bone in his body was broken. If Obi-Wan were here and could read his thoughts, he would have undoubtedly told him he was being dramatic.

‘Get up, my young padawan, you’re not so old yet.’ He heard his master’s voice so clearly, just as if he was standing right next to him, looking down at his old padawan with a wry grin and his hands on his hips. He frowned – wishing Obi-Wan was here wouldn’t make him appear, no matter how much Anakin wanted it. He turned his head left then right, searching for his ship, for Artoo… for anyone or anything, but he was completely alone. 

Anakin gingerly pushed himself up and made it halfway before his arms gave out and he dropped back into the muck with a disgusting squelch . And that, too, was different. Last he could recall, he had been on Jedha, surrounded by orange dust and sand as far as the eye could see, even inside the old temple ruins. But as he looked around now, there was nothing but vibrant multicolored trees, green grass, and a brilliant blue sky. 

So where the hell was here? 

Anakin really had no chance to think about his location or predicament because, unsurprisingly, he had passed out again. He didn’t know how long he was out, but when he awoke, he was still on the mystery planet and dusk was settling on the land. It was just as quiet as before, but now the silence was punctuated by the sound of night coming to life. 

He always found the night strangely unsettling when wasn't at home. Coruscant’s night never deviated from its day – the ecumenopolis was a constant hum of traffic and pulse of billions of lifeforms. And Tatooine’s night had been… well, when it wasn’t eerily silent, it was a howling sandstorm or some other form of danger such as raiders, Hutt cartels, or baying creatures that could eat you whole. 

He’d forgotten the true sound of silence, the feeling of it. The way it crept into your bones, enveloped your senses, and made you feel uneasy and cold. Not long after the war began, they all became quickly accustomed to being constantly surrounded by dozens, sometimes hundreds of other beings all the time, whether on board a star destroyer or in battle. Then add to that, life on Coruscant, in the Temple, and pair it with his own constant loud thoughts, feelings, and anxieties, and he really couldn't remember the last time he'd experienced a true quiet like this. Had he ever?

Anakin summoned enough energy to roll over with a grunt. His face was covered in muck and dirt, he could feel it in the pull of his skin when he winced. His cloak was wet, but he still used the voluminous sleeves to wipe it away. All his clothes were wet as it turned out – not exactly soaked , but damp enough to be uncomfortable and annoying. He became more aware of every pain in his body – temples throbbing, joints aching, and most inconvenient of all, the sharp stab of pain in his side. It was most likely a fractured or bruised rib… he hoped anyway. 

As he continued to lie supine in the grass, he took stock of the rest of his body, curling and straightening his fingers then rolling his arms across the dirt to test the movement. Next he tried wiggling his toes inside his boots then flexed his calves, and finally pulled up his legs to bend his knees. Nothing seemed broken. He finally pushed himself up until he was in a sitting position, swaying a bit as his vision swam. 

Forgetting about all his physical aches, his gloved hand moved to his belt, searching for his communicator, but it was nowhere to be found. Then it flew to his left hip where his lightsaber usually sat, a comforting weight always at his side, but it wasn’t there either. 

"Shiiiiit," Anakin whispered. He looked at the ground around him, blinking, his eyes straining to see anything at all in the grass in the low light. It could be anywhere. He would find it – he would – but he couldn’t focus right this second. He scrambled to stand but it was too much, too soon and he fell back into the dirt. 

He groaned long and loud into the rapidly darkening night. 

But then, he heard the most beautiful sound to his buzzing ears – the sound of help. Help was on its way in a beaten-up X-34 landspeeder, which sounded like the combustor of the axial compressor needed to be replaced. He’d never been so happy in his life to hear the low rumble of an engine that needed some serious maintenance, or more happy that he had not completely forgotten everything he knew. 

A wave of dizziness and nausea came over him, but he leaned forward and stretched out his arm as the speeder rumbled closer.  “Help?” He could barely muster the single-syllable word. Not that he could be heard over the noise of the engine anyway, but he had to try. 

Then, unfortunately, he blacked out once again.

Anakin slowly came-to, aware of warmth, comfort, and a voice, calm and gentle, like home . He suddenly remembered being lifted, a hand on his cheek, his forehead, the cool night air then – 

Nothing more.

For the third time in less than half a day, Anakin awoke from slumber. Except this one had been much more fitful than the others. He still ached, but at least he was no longer lying face down in mud in wet clothes. Instead, now he was lying on a sofa under a blanket, his head cradled in a soft pillow, and he was clean and comfortable. The thought was concerning, but he'd get to that later.

Golden sunlight filtered in through the room’s shades. It was certainly no longer night, and it seemed rather bright, but he had no idea what time it could possibly be. He squeezed his eyes tightly and tried to remember… He could recall nothing at all of how he got here – on the planet or in this room. He had been on Jedha with Artoo and a couple of troopers from 501st (who showed up at Ahsoka's insistence), combing through an old excavation site. It was the last-known location of an unknown holocron, apparently buried amongst the ruins, and looking for it had felt like searching for a single star in a nebula. 

When the Jedi first learned of its existence (or ‘ potential existence’ rather, as Obi-Wan had insisted), neither he nor Obi-Wan had truly believed in the presence of such a holocron on the planet. Something like that would surely have been recovered long ago! Obi-Wan’s incredulity echoed in Anakin's head.  But t hey were instructed to at least look, as it would have been rather foolish to allow something like that to languish untouched with the potential of falling into anyone’s hands. And if the rumor was true and they did find such a thing, they could study it. Incredulity aside, Obi-Wan wasn't very good at completely hiding his interest (or at least not to Anakin), and he had remarked several times on how he'd love to study it and learn all its secrets. Anakin had adored the way the older man’s eyes lit up just talking about it. He wouldn't have dreamed of ever telling his old master that.

Then he would never get a chance to. Obi-Wan became one with the Force, leaving Anakin behind forever, and he was forced to go on, to live the rest of his life without his best friend and master. It had been three months, and the wound was as raw and as fresh as the day Obi-Wan was taken from him. He couldn't find peace no matter what he did or who he talked to. They weren't Obi-Wan. 

Master Kenobi’s loss was felt keenly by all the Jedi, but Anakin was sure he didn’t mean as much to them as he did to him. His master was gone and Anakin would never have peace again. 

So Anakin had gone to Jedha on a half-cocked mission to find the holocron, because Obi-Wan had wanted to find it, and Obi-Wan wanted to study it, and that was a last wish Anakin could honor even though every fiber of his being cried out for the loss of the man he loved. 

Perhaps the holocron held secrets to eternal life. Perhaps there was a way to see or speak to him again. Feeling delirious with the prospect, Anakin had run headlong into the temple ruins built inside a cave mouth of a large plateau, feeling as if he was getting close. The pull of the Force was strong, like a nexus of power. He remembered a thrumming and buzzing in his head then nothing at all after that. 

And now he was in some house he didn't know, on a planet he didn't recognize. 

He carefully stretched out with his senses and found that all was calm. He reached further looking for someone, anything , but didn’t get much beyond the general course of life on the planet. Then suddenly, on the edge of his consciousness, a single life form appeared, close… It was inside the house with him.  Anakin should be on high alert, but he couldn’t find it within himself to be. Perhaps he would come back to the why later. Wherever he was, he felt safe and not in any danger. The life form felt calm, relaxed, and slightly amused. Then suddenly he heard a low humming, but not like the humming of the Force, but a living being softly humming a tune. It wasn’t in the room with him but it was close. Then it stopped. 

"Ah, you're awake."

Anakin whipped his head in the direction of the voice. THAT VOICE. A voice he knew better than anyone else's. A voice he had heard most every day since he was nine years old, a voice he'd grown to love more than anyone else's. He twisted around to get a better look, hissing when his side and back protested, clearly still in no shape to move so quickly. 

“Take it easy!” The voice warned. 

He watched in disbelief as the source of the voice set a tray down on the small table in front of the sofa. As he took in the man before him, his chest constricted and tightened and his breathing shallowed. He stood on the precipice of a panic attack with no way to ward it off. Because here was Obi-Wan Kenobi in the flesh, standing in front of him, whole and alive . 

He was older than Anakin knew him to be at the time of his death – by five years or so, maybe more. His hair was longer, not quite as long as it was right before the start of the war, but long enough so the ends curled around his ears and sat on the collar of his shirt. There were more strands of grey threaded throughout his hair and at his temples, more lines etched into his face, particularly around the eyes. His skin had taken on more of a golden hue than Anakin had ever seen – like he spent most of his time outside – which also meant more, darker freckles dotting his forehead, cheeks, and the bridge of his nose. 

He was wearing a light colored work shirt with the buttons undone to mid-breastbone and the sleeves rolled to the elbows. His trousers were the color of rust and he wore tall, brown boots. The clothes hugged his strong figure as if they were tailor-made specifically for him. Anakin couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Obi-Wan in anything but his loose, cream-colored tunics, robes or under blacks and armor.

He looked like a man untouched by war, healthy and content. Anakin had forgotten that once Obi-Wan did look like that, but it was long ago. He stared, slack-jawed, as he thought of Obi-Wan’s pale face and lifeless, clear blue eyes as he held him in death. This was Obi-Wan as he could have been – should have been. Anakin's heart clenched in his chest. 

"I brought you some breakfast," the man finally added, still hesitant and wary of what Anakin would do next.  

Feeling panicked at the strange normality of it all, Anakin attempted to fully sit up so he could defend himself if needed, but he was still in quite a bit of pain. He grabbed his side and winced as the aching muscles in his core contracted. Then his fingers came in contact with a large bandage stuck to his left side. 

"Careful now!" Obi-Wan rushed over to grab Anakin's arm and steady him. The touch was like a brand in his skin. He ripped his arm away and stood quickly, hitting his shin on the small table as he stumbled away from the strange Obi-Wan. He blindly reached again for where a lightsaber should be at his hip, only to find it still wasn't there. 

Instead, Anakin brandished the knife he'd grabbed off the tray in his haste to distance himself from the imposter. "What kind of trick is this? Who are you?"

Not-Obi-Wan put his hands up in a half-hearted surrender. "I'm not really thrilled about being threatened in my own home. Even if it is with a dull butter knife. I can assure you, I am unarmed."

"Obi-Wan… what… what are you doing here?"

Confusion colored the man's features, but it was there and gone just as quickly. "It's just Ben,” he said, slowly putting his hands down. 

Anakin's eye brows pinched as he frowned, “Ben? I– nevermind!” He thrust the knife out in warning and Ben's hands flew back up. "Where am I? How are you here??"

"Well this is MY house, and you're a guest in it, though I have half a mind to throw you out now for threatening me."

This ‘Ben’ was so much like his Obi-Wan, it took his breath away. The way he talked, even if the accent was slightly less of the clipped Coruscanti, and more of a slight brogue, then right down to the casualness with which he handled Anakin's threat… But behind the light-hearted jest, there was a definite wariness, a bit of fear for this complete stranger in his home. Because Ben clearly didn't know him. Anakin meant nothing to him. This wasn't his Obi-Wan. 

Anakin blinked as he tried to remember anything before he woke up, trying to make sense of this situation. Maybe he was actually lying in a cot in a tent in the middle of a dusty desert on Jedha. Or perhaps on a moderately comfy bed in the Halls of Healing back inside the Jedi Temple. Or maybe he was floating inside a bacta tank – injured, knocked out, and healing. Yes, that was it. He was asleep and this was a dream, and in his great grief, he'd conjured up this older Obi-Wan. An Obi-Wan who was not only alive, but content, happy, and healthy. Of course he would – that's what Anakin wanted for his friend and the man he loved. He had created a life that Obi-Wan didn't get to live.

Tears began to gather in the corners of his eyes. He squeezed them shut tightly and willed himself to wake up. 

"You seem to be very hurt," the voice spoke again, and Anakin opened his eyes. "Why don't you eat something then go lie down?"

"Maybe I am hurt, but this isn't real, you're not real," he said resolutely. "I am hurt, yes. But I'm at home, in the Temple." Maybe if he said it forcefully enough and without any doubt he would make it so. 

Not-Obi-Wan stepped towards him and Anakin stepped back. 

"I have no intention of hurting you, I think you need to lie down before you hurt yourself," Ben stepped towards him again, one hand extended, palm up as if he was trying to settle a wild nexu.  

“You know that I could hurt YOU,” Anakin said, his voice wavering. The knife in his hand trembled. 

“You won’t though.”

Their eyes fixed on each other as Ben stepped closer. Anakin didn't know whether he wanted to fight or flee, but he felt immobilized so he did neither. 

Before he knew what was happening, Ben lunged forward and wrapped his right hand around Anakin’s wrist, gripping it tightly, forcing him to drop the knife, then another arm came around Anakin’s neck and squeezed. 

“Sleep,” was the last word Anakin heard before he did just that.

Anakin dreamt of Obi-Wan. 

But not the Obi-Wan he had known since he was nine years old. It was an Obi-Wan he'd known for maybe nine minutes.  

In his dream, this Obi-Wan looked exactly like his Obi-Wan, he dressed differently but otherwise moved and talked like him. His gestures, jokes, and smiles were the same, even down to the lingering sadness behind his eyes that Anakin had always noticed when Obi-Wan thought he wasn’t looking. But in his dream, he was still on this other planet, and not Coruscant, and Obi-Wan wasn’t a Jedi, but a farmer. 

Anakin was inside a small house which sat in the middle of several acres of land covered in trees and lush fields. Directly behind the home was a large garden where the older Obi-Wan currently stood amongst many kinds of plants, small and large. He was naked to the waist, and the sinking sun's rays reflected off his sweat-shiny skin, making it glisten. Ben was a bit thicker than Anakin remembered ever seeing Obi-Wan, but he was still strong and lithe. The muscles in his back and arms flexed as he dug into the earth and bent down to plant new seeds. Obi-Wan finally stood and turned, wiping sweat from his brow with a bit of cloth he pulled from his back pocket. 

“Anakin,” he said with the loveliest smile Anakin had ever seen. 

This Obi-Wan loved him. Anakin knew it somehow. 

Anakin’s eyes flew open, he was sweating and his breathing labored. He sat up quickly, blankets pooling at his waist, and looked around. Daylight was fading, but it was enough to illuminate the room and he could see it was homey and cozy. He was now in a small bedroom he didn’t recognize in a very comfy bed. Far more comfortable than anything he'd grown used to in battlefield tents and aboard Venator destroyers. He looked to his right, wondering if he’d find Ben there, since this was surely his room, but when he found it empty, he exhaled, strangely relieved. 

The bed was a modest size, easily large enough for two, but not so big that two people would never meet in the night. A dresser sat pushed up against the wall opposite with a small mirror resting on top. From where he sat, Anakin could see there were some trinkets and other items there as well, but he couldn’t make out what they were. A large chair sat by the window with a blanket haphazardly thrown over and a discarded datapad in the seat. On the small bedside table next to his side of the bed, there was a lamp, and surprisingly, his communicator and his lightsaber. 

Anakin pushed away the covers and swung his legs over the side. He picked up his lightsaber to feel the familiar and comforting heft. Ben had undoubtedly found it, but it was a bit surprising that he had actually returned it to him. Maybe he didn't know what it was, didn't know what Anakin could do with it. Well, at least he'd be spared the 'your lightsaber is your life' lecture, though Anakin would have given up his lightsaber forever just to hear it again. 

He was still wearing only a pair of sleep pants and he was glad to find that the glove over his mechno-arm was still in place. He wiggled his toes then slid off the bed and stepped onto soft, cool carpet and stretched away some of the stiffness. It felt like he had been asleep for days. At the window, he pulled back the curtain slightly to peer outside. The sun was setting in the distance behind the foothills, painting the sky in soft pinks, oranges, and purples. The landscape was bathed in a soft yellow, but none of that beauty compared to the man standing in the middle of the large vegetable garden. 

Just like in his dream.

His heart rate picked up again. 

Was he even awake now? Or was all of this a dream? 

Suddenly small flashes of what he thought were recent memories returned to him – a pair of strong arms wrapping around his back and under his knees, the feel of a warm, wet cloth being dragged across his face gently, humming in another room, then Anakin threatening to stab this beautiful man with a butter knife. He flushed, hoping against hope that that was also only from his dream. 

He dropped the curtain and made his way through the house and out onto the back porch. Ben was practically glowing in the evening sun. It only took a second for him to look up and smile. 

“Hello there.” Ben thrust his shovel into the dirt, then rested his elbow on the handle. Anakin’s mouth suddenly became very dry. “Oh, I’ve hidden all the butter knives,” he added with a slight twist to his mouth. Anakin's face fell – so that one was true. “However, that thing I put on the bedside table seems like it could do much more damage than a knife.” Ben huffed as he pulled a cloth out of his back pocket and wiped his face. 

“That 'thing'??” Anakin scoffed as he crossed his arms over his chest. His still-bare chest, he was reminded. Maybe from that distance Ben couldn’t tell that he was blushing. “That thing, Ben, is my lightsaber. MY LIFE. You are… were always so fond of reminding me.” Ben chuckled but said nothing else. It felt so odd for him to say nothing at all about it. 

They stood and stared at each other for a few moments. Anakin allowed the stillness and quiet of the evening to envelope him once more. Was this really his current reality? Or was it possible that his mind had actually created some world so tangible, so intricate and detailed? An Obi-Wan who was both Obi-Wan and not simultaneously, and who had no clue who Anakin was.

Ben pulled his shovel from the ground and walked towards the house. He stopped below the porch and stared up at Anakin. “You must be hungry, would you like latemeal?”

As if right on cue, his stomach growled. “Yes, okay.”

“Let me get cleaned up and I will get it for you,” Ben said with a nod and passed by Anakin without a second look. 

Anakin sat at the small table in the kitchen and watched as Ben deftly moved around the space preparing the meal. It was strange how everything seemed so familiar, from the way he stood and held himself, to the way he drank from his own mug, even down to how quiet and focused he was on the task. It was strange to know and love the man so well, but to not know him at all. Because this still wasn't his Obi-Wan. No matter what his dream told him. No matter what he wanted to believe and be real. But he was so like him, it made his heart ache. He knew a mind consumed with grief could create fantastical things, believe the unbelievable, especially if it brought back loved ones. He'd also heard stories of beings traveling through time and space, but that’s all they were supposed to be, stories – ‘wistie stories' his mom told him before bed or outlandish yarns spun by his fellow padawans as they shirked their duties.

But if that was true, and he'd been flung into another time and universe… Where was Anakin Skywalker here? And why wasn't he with Obi-Wan Kenobi?

He snapped out of his reverie when Ben set some food down in front of him then took his own place in the chair across the table. It was intimate, but Anakin couldn’t think about it too much because he was starving and the food smelled amazing. It was a needed distraction. 

Between sips from his mug of tea, Ben finally spoke up. "I didn't see a ship. Or a speeder, for that matter."

"Uh well, I didn't have one," Anakin said as he pushed the food around on his plate. "At least not here." He shoved a large chunk of fried tuber in his mouth. 

Ben narrowed his eyes, "I'm not exactly close to the nearest town, are you saying you walked?" 

“No,” Anakin said around a mouthful of food. "I just ended up out there.”

Ben frowned, "How do you mean ‘ended up’?” 

"Just that. I was on Jedha then I woke up in a mud puddle… I think."

Ben took another sip of his tea. "You've still not given me your name. What do I call you?"

Anakin felt like sulking, "You really don't know it." It wasn’t a question.

"Well, I… you seem to talk a lot in your sleep, and I thought maybe you'd mention it, but strangely, I only heard my own name over and over.” He looked down then cleared his throat. “But I can't really understand how you know my given name.” He stroked his beard.

Anakin felt as confused as Ben – or actually Obi-Wan. But he did know he didn’t like the way that sounded. He couldn’t remember any part of his dreams except for whatever vision that he had of Ben in the field before he saw him out there. He was now afraid of anything he might have said. 

He toyed briefly with giving a fake name, but then decided against it at the last minute. This was Obi-Wan… some Obi-Wan, and with him he was always Anakin. “It’s Anakin.” 

"Anakin," Ben repeated softly. 

He ducked his head and continued eating, hoping that the older man would find something else to stare at for a little while. But he could feel his eyes still on him. 

After a prolonged silence, Anakin spoke up again. "I'm not from here, wherever here is." Ben stared at him but kept silent so Anakin would continue. "I'm from Coruscant. Well, that's where I live anyway… In the Jedi Temple."

Ben’s eyebrows raised briefly then he looked down into his mug. “You’re a ways from Coruscant.”  

Well now they were getting somewhere, and at least Coruscant existed in this universe. "And where is here?"

"Stewjon," Ben said as he sat back in his chair.

Of course. Of course! It was so obvious now – he’d been sent to Obi-Wan’s birth planet for some reason. Maybe it would be a starting point for figuring out the how and why. 

"And what of the war?" 

"What war?"

“What war?” Anakin huffed, "THE war, Ben, the war against the Separatists!?"

Ben shook his head in response. "I'm afraid I don't know it. I try to keep up with news from the Core Worlds as much as possible, but I've never heard of a war or the Separatists. Though, from the name alone, I can possibly figure out their platform.” 

Anakin leaned forward, settling his elbows on the table. "When I say I'm not from here, I mean, not from HERE – this universe." It was out there – now it was up to Ben to decide what to do with it. Ben's brow dipped slightly, but he remained silent. "I am a Jedi, a general in the Grand Army of the Republic, I was your…" He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. Did he even know the Jedi? He certainly wasn't his master here. "I was on a mission on Jedha, then… then, I woke up here."

Ben sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't believe him. Anakin could tell even though he said nothing. 

He huffed again and ran a hand through his hair. "I want to get back, I need to get back. I don't belong here." Even if he could be at Obi-Wan’s side again, where he did belong. 

Ben stroked his beard in thought. "Anakin, what you're saying… it's impossible. You can't hop to another universe. You can't travel through time or to another reality."

Anakin stood quickly, nearly upsetting the chair. "But I did it! And I’m here talking to you! An Obi-Wan who… who doesn't know or care anything about me!"

"Anakin, come now, that's not–" Ben started but Anakin wasn’t staying to listen. 

He left the kitchen quickly and headed back to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He threw himself down into the bed, wanting to scream into the pillow. 

If he couldn’t even remember how he got here in the first place, how in the hell could he find a way back? And Ben clearly wasn’t going to help him. Anakin had no holocron here or a way to get back to Jedha to check. He couldn’t even get back to Coruscant, to the Temple. Maybe others like Mace and Yoda or Plo Koon existed here, even if he didn’t. Maybe they would know and could help him.

Anakin closed his eyes to keep the tears from slipping free, but they fell anyway, wetting the soft pillow underneath his head.

[ornii]

Following that sort of crossover with Batman… what if a kind family from Smallville (Kansas) sent their son to Nevermore so he wouldn't have to worry about using his growing powers without fear of being rejected or having his true origins discovered?

I do Like The DC X Wednesday Crossover ideas of Teenage Heroes living at Nevermore.

The God Among Men

The Ride from Kansas to Nevermore was a toll. The dead silence, the unnerving wait of what’s to come. It all was a bit, too much for (Y/n). The boy say in the backseat with his bags, oddly quiet now. But it can all be directed towards the incident that happened at his last school, which lead to a few first degree burns and a hole in the roof. That is when the truth came out of his origin, a child born not from earth but from another planet. Soon his powers began to manifest from it all, turning him into a monster as some would say. The only place that could possibly assist him was Nevermore academy, the academic boarding school for “Freaks.”

“(Y/n), such a.. unique name.” Principal Weems, the head of the school at Nevermore and was more than such, tall, beautiful, elegant. Jonathan and Martha Kent, the parents of said (Y/n) sit across from her with their child in the middle, a bit awkwardly smiling.

“It’s a Name We gave him, something strong and passionate.” Martha says as Jonathan nods.

“Our (Y/n) is, different from the normal students and, we’re scared they’ll Bully him for it. Nevermore seems the place for different people.” Jonathan explains to Weems who nods.

“We’ll Just from looking at you, you don’t have any physical abnormalities I can decipher.” Weems says and stands up. “Can I ask a assessment of your, abnormalities?” She asks, and (Y/n) awkwardly shrugs.

“Sure.. i can fly, punch pretty hard, and nothing really hurts me, and.. I can..” (Y/n) says, but trails off, getting more somber.

“He can, I guess shoot lasers from his eyes.” Jonathan explains for his son. “They can be.. dangerous…” he says. Weems notices the slight awkwardness and smiles.

“Then you will fit on amazingly here, come we’ll show you to your dorm in Hamlet Hall.” Weems said, and the small group walked though Nevermore.

“You arrival was actually a bit short notice, we already had a student come last week, Miss Addams, perhaps you two will get along as new students.” Weems continues to strut leading them to the dormitory. After unpacking and giving his mother and father a Solemn Goodbye, he watches the car drive down the hall and the boy stands there, and reluctantly prepares for his first day. Sitting within his dorm room he places a picture of himself and his parents on his baseball tournament win, after hitting one of the most famous home run swings, but little did he know it was the trigger for his super strength, I guess that day was tainted. His attention was suddenly cut off by the dorm door opening and he looks up to see his dorm mate. Ajax.

“Oh you’re here already? Cool.” He says with an oddly slow enthusiasm. He walks over to fist bump (Y/n) who, a bit confused agrees.

“You must be Ajax, nice to meet you.” He said as the guy nods.

“Yeah I was busy with Enid, we Uh, that’s not important I guess, nice to meet you but for your own safety we probably shouldn’t look at each other.” He said, which raises the brow of (y/n).

“Why?”

“I’m a, Gorgon.. we don’t look at each other, wind up a stone statue.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that with me.” (Y/n) responds trying to jest.

“So, what powers do you have? Most in Nevermore got some freaky stuff about em.”

(Y/n) looks a bit worried but slowly builds up the courage to tell him. “I’m.. an alien.” (Y/n) said, and Ajax just stares at him for what seems to be forever.

“Like, E.T?”

“…No?”

“Aww.. anyway it’s, been cool. I’ll show you around tomorrow if that’s cool.”

“Yeah, that’d be cool.” (Y/n) responds and smiles, trying to make the best out of this situation. “Nice, I gotta head back out for some club stuff, be seeing you roomie.” Ajax says before heading back out, (Y/n) sits there and ponders more about his situation. Being sent to a new school, finding out you have powers beyond even what most monsters have, it’s a lot to take in. It’s best to sleep on it, hoping tomorrow brings better insight.

The next morning, Ajax was giving (Y/n) the causal Nevermore Tour. They enter the large social area, and (Y/n) sees the various groups, teams, and cliques.

“See, you got vampires, Werwolves, Ghosts, Sirens, and a few small ones like gorgons.” Ajax explains, (Y/n) notices a blonde haired girl who giggles and waves at Ajax.

“Who’s that?” He asks.

“Enid, She’s a Werewolf.” Ajax explains, but also has this sheepishly happy smile when he looks at her, (Y/n)’s eyes slowly scan the girl next to Enid, who stood out like a very sore and bleeding thumb. All black, dark hair, piercing eyes.

“And the girl next to her?”

“Oh that’s Uh.. Wednesday Addams. Total terror, best to stray from her.” Ajax says, and (Y/n) nods.

“Uh, Yeah.. i guess. She’s a bit scary..” you admit.

“That’s funny coming from a guy who says he can shoot lasers out of his eyes.” Ajax says smirking, unfortunately for him, Classes began and (Y/n) checked his schedule, and his first class was Mrs Thornhills Chemistry. Making his way there he chose not to mingle with anyone, keeping to himself mostly. Entering the class he notices the almost full seats, and Mrs Thornhill at the head of the class.

“Ah. Mr Kent, The Next Transfer, our class is slightly packed so, you’ll be seated next to.. Ah the other Transfer, Miss Addams.” Thornhill says, much to the shock and slight anxiety of (Y/n) he cautiously walks to the seat and sits down, feeling the intense tension in the air at this seat, he turns and tries to introduce himself to the jet black raven sitting next to him.

“Uh Hey, im (Y/n) Kent, Even though She already said that…” he says, realizing how dumb he just sounded. She turns her head slightly in his direction.

“Wednesday Addams.” She responds calmly and with meticulous detail. And she just turns her head back, completely different ignoring him now, he sighs and also looks forward a bit sad. His attempt to make a friend was a total failure.

Night Falls on Nevermore and as usual (Y/n) was sitting on the edge of the bed, and Ajax was gone for some “Club Activities”. (Y/n) waited until he was Sure Ajax was gone, he then walked to the window and opened it, the warm air sky filled his nostrils. He takes a running start and leaps out the window head first, suddenly his body halted in the air and he chuckles, and begins to fly, soaring though the air and around Nevermore, letting the dreary landscape be his ariel teacher, the wind blowing in his hair, the pressure against his skin all felt so, surreal. His travels along the sky were halted by music playing so perfectly, it was a melodramatic version of paint it black, and the chords, the strings were so enthralling that he had to see who was playing that, his attention turns to the large window clock tower like room and he slowly descended to the origin of the sound. And he was met to Wednesday Addams, playing. He couldn’t resist listening, and just watching her as she’s lost in the music. She finishes and lower her string, her eyes slowly look up to (Y/n), levitating before her, the two lock eyes finally and they stare at each other, (Y/n) in Amazement of her music skills, and her clandestine beauty, and Wednesday in Amazement of his abilities to fly, and his almost shocking appearance. The two stare for what seems to be forever, perhaps not wanting to spoil the moment, or..

Having ulterior motives.

[thecoffeelorian]

And now, for something slightly different...

Hello again, everyone...

...Okay, gang...before we get started here, there's something I think I need to confess here first.

I don't know how in the world I'm supposed to feel about this show any more.

I mean...in the beginning, I thought their arc was clear as a bell: start removing every single darned inhibitor chip they could find, start the evac efforts to an Outer Rim planet, and then start rebuilding new lives, the end.

Instead, it's turned into what looks like a never-ending negative feedback loop: don't lift a finger to rescue a certain person; get told to give a darn about said person by the child character; finally act on the child's orders...but then as a creepy consequence for giving a darn at all, the title squad/'family'(?) starts watching its members not rethink one side of an ideological/psychological divide and leave them; not give up completely on rescuing Troopers/join the Margaritaville Society and leave them; not remember that there are human weight-bearing birds on a certain mountain planet and leave them; finally agree to be caught by the Empire in order to locate Mount Tantiss and leave them...and oh yes, let's add a 'Will They Kill A Brother/Won't They Kill A Brother' game to the mix, if things weren't totally weird enough...I mean, all right, already.

If this show WASN'T about having all six title characters come back together as a true family on an asylum planet, what IS happening here?

How in the world am I expected to respond to repetitive, exhausting moments of disaster and family splintering when for three whole years, I was endlessly told that there was NO disaster, that this was the PERFECT family, that they would NEVER end up shedding members one by one, etc...and...everything that the big-name fans and fandom influencers said WOULDN'T happen IS, in fact, happening right this very minute.

In other words, the squad and family keeps on disintegrating a little bit more with each new season, and I'm left thinking the same thing a few of you must have thought at least once.

Why am I here?

Is it because I'm studying this series as a whole like a certain Chiss studies art, and searching for all of its strengths and weaknesses in order to better improve my own writing? Is it for the sake of wishing to learn how to draw better, and practicing the craft in the safety of something familiar? Or, am I instead becoming some manner of corporate counter-revolutionary, and taking up fanworks as my mode of protest against stories that revolve more around too-short moments of cuteness and horror, sometimes solely for shock value alone...?

I'm afraid I can't answer questions like these just yet, no, not even to myself. I can only read and write and pretty much grieve everything that these episodes/seasons were supposed to be...yet for Force knows what reason, keep getting relegated to the same few plot points over and over again while expecting different results. I can only hope that there's some eventual breakthrough to make it all worth it in the end, if only to rid myself of the thought that this could be the very first bit of Nihilist media in the fandom.

Anyway...*deep breath* Now that I've given you my two cents on this issue...let's get right to my picks of the week, which, thanks to the return of a very interesting sister, I'm unofficially titling this as:

THE DATHOMIR EDITION

The Bad Batch Fan Art

Captain Howzer by @thespianwtch.

She Is Mommy by @anko-art.

Star Wars Rebels Fan Art

Alexsandr Kallus by @ghosty-blues1.

The Bad Batch Fan Fiction

You know, brother by whiteaxolotl

Fight Like Brothers Do by AgentMaryMargaretSkitz

deprogramming by vicious_creature

Whatever Is Necessary by ChopSyndulla

Domiciles by Polyphonic_Garden

Star Wars Sapphic Week, Day 5--Sparring by @violetjedisylveon

Serpent's Kiss by mediumsweet

Not A Soldier by TigerTheSpahget

Star Wars Sequels Fanfiction

What We Do In The Resistance by AgentMaryMargaretSkitz

And now, I'd like to put in a small advertisement, if only to bring more attention to an up-and-coming artist: @ve-ti-ver has started up their own Patreon page, available at this link . So, if you'd like to support them, please feel free to visit their page.

Finally, yes, you probably all know the drill by now...but just in case you need a reminder, here we go: Please give this post a like and a reblog, so that we can pass this post around the Internet and back!

This Week's No Pressure Tags Go Out To: @sharpasanaro @bananasugarwarrior @lazyprofessorpursesalad @callsign-denmark @melymigo @yeehawgeek @littlefeatherr @anko-art @guppyfreedom @giraffedragon-universe @clonebrainrot @gun-roswell @omglisalithium @falconfeather23435 @uuurgh @simply92-me @skellymom @metalatl @dathomirdumpsterfire @kuraiummei @thedynamicworm @ur-pal-ari @advisorsnips @groguandthebadbatch @lee-lee-la @themightychipmunk42 @random-chaotic-bitch @wastingstarsss @flyiingsly @ilovemedia @talesfrommedinastation @swarovski-yoda and anyone else who might be interested in catching more fanart and fanfictions.

Thank you, good afternoon, good luck, and...

[rawmeknockout]

can I please have the lost light’s resident old married couple cdrw taking a hot young bot under their wing as a third? even better if said bot is a complete and total brat that’s still woefully unprepared for whatever those two cook up in the berth

You didn't know them that well, have only heard of them in passing or seen them chatting with their friends at the bar. There are whispers among the crew, large as it is, about their lives. Perhaps not all of it is true, but it made you feel sorry for them. You probably shouldn't have judged based off rumors, but they made you feel... Normal. Like you're grateful you are not as messed up as them. Althought, perhaps that's because you're not nearly as old as them. It may be terribly judgmental, as you are sometimes wont to be, but you didn't know them. It had been fine to feel that way in private.

It was fine until you were trapped with the small one on some abandoned mining planet.

The mission had been to search for the person or persons who sent out a distress signal, but from the start it was a bust. The planet had been left for centuries, once bustling with an entire enslaved population of aliens who worked and died mining for precious jewels. Even with the countless atrocities the war brought, Cybertronians certainly didn't have a monopoly on committing crimes against nature.

It was only terrible luck and unfortunate timing that led the ground to caving in under you two, a result of the failing infrastructure, as one of the expansive tunnels caved in beneath your feet. Perhaps Primus took mercy on you by letting you survive the drop down several stories of crumbling rock. It certainly didn't feel like mercy when you came to with nothing but oppressive dark and one terribly banged up companion. You knew it was impossible to send a message underground, but you attempted to anyway. It, unsurprisingly, failed not a half-second after.

There was only one path even marginally open in the caved in tunnel, so after getting your bearings and checking on your companion (one leg crushed, the other snapped clean off, would make it hard for him to go anywhere alone), you picked up and set off the only way you could. Although not without a bit of whining and complaining on your part. He wasn't much to carry, despite being one of the larger minibots, and his playful banter, although uneasy, had filled the quiet with something to keep your mind off the dreariness of your circumstances. You tried not to waste energy checking your chronometer, but you must have been walking for days. You stopped when you were tired, feet aching and scuffed beyond mere polishing, and simply kept going when you knew you had to. It was impossible to tell if you even made any progress. It was only a day before your companion, chipper as he could be, suggested you leave him behind and try to use your energy to save yourself.

Despite the logic, you wouldn't hear of it. You weren't just going to leave another mech, older and already unable to walk, to waste away in the dark, buried under hundreds of feet of dirt and rock. You almost had to force him to take even a single nip off your energy rations, of mediocre quality and already half-eaten before you had been caved in. He tried to use every rationale he could: he was a memory stick, he had recently saved a copy of his most important historical archives, he was unable to get anywhere without you and would simply increase your energon usage than if you traveled alone. Self-sacrificing as he tried to be, Rewind at least didn't physically fight back when you would pick him up and continue walking. If you simply let him die, left him behind to save yourself, you would lose a part of yourself that you had fought for so long to keep alive. You didn't fight a stupid war so you could forsake your beliefs in a fucking tunnel on a shitty planet. His banter, your playful teasing, kept you from losing your processor to despair.

Your joints ached terribly by the time you found it, Rewind becoming less and less responsive. Perhaps Primus had been looking out for you after all. The light was blinding, much too bright after spending cycles in pitch black, but you climbed for it anyway. Energon leaked from your pedes and fingertips as you clawed your way out of what ended up being a sliver of a cave entrance. Nothing but an overlooked hole in the ground and rock. If you'd had the energy you would have laughed, letting Rewind slide off your backplates onto the ground as you flipped over and let the twin stars beat their rays into your chassis. You reached for Rewind's servo beside you, try to coax his digits into squeezing yours back, but get nothing in return. If he was close to gone, you were not far behind. Your HUD alerted you that your message, finally, got sent off.

You only caught the distant sound of engines as you slipped into what may be stasis-lock.

The Well of All Sparks is, annoyingly, quite loud and clinical. The sound of a spark monitor is clear in your audials, and you wish he wouldn't fiddle with metal instruments so loudly. His voice sounds like Ratchet's, although low in volume it's still gruff and not-so-soothing to the recently awakened. Your optics reboot after a long moment of trying to decide if you want to wake up back on the Lost Light.

Your processor is fuzzy and not moving as quickly as you would like it to, but you are, thankfully, still alive. Ratchet's demeanor has never looked so gentle, certainly not at you directly, as he leans over you for a thorough investigation. He fusses at you about your memories, most notably about who you are, and checks for what you have to assume is any extensive processor damage or pain. You don't know how long you lay there, looking up at fluorescent lights under Ratchet's gentle interrogation, but you don't notice Rewind or Chromedome beside your bed until several moments later.

"You almost went into permanent stasis-lock," Rewind informs you, relief clear in his voice, "Thankfully Magnus got your message as soon as we were out."

Chromedome doesn't say much other than letting you know Rewind has been unrelentingly insistent on staying by your bedside, not letting anyone forget how heroic or brave you were. It makes you clam up, faceplates heating, as he outs Rewind for telling anyone and everyone about how you risked your life for him. The pair that you had heard so many rumors about, who had seemed like mere caricatures of a tragic love story, have become so much more... Real. Their reactions and feelings rational. Like any other Cybertronian.

With just a few days of being forced into each others company, you have firmly and unwittingly enmeshed yourself into Rewind's inner circle. You make a point to tell him you don't need him to 'repay' you or something, but Rewind insists on inviting you for drinks and carrying on conversations. He comes to see you while you're working, introduces you to his friends, tells everyone about his 'life debt' to you. When you loudly, boldly declare your opinions like they are mere facts of life, your new friend agrees eagerly or laughs at your overzealous behavior. If Rewind is grateful, you don't know how to describe Chromedome. He's quieter than his companion, you knew that before actually talking to him, but his attachment to you is no less apparent. Despite his aversion to most people, you find yourself as a rare exception. They always seem to find you in a crowd. Despite your bravado and self-aggrandizing, it feels nice to actually be seen by others, to be wanted and looked for. It was nice that, in spite of your ability to be rather loud and opinionated, mechs still wanted to be around you. It starts a very conflicting conundrum of whether you should indulge this feeling or try to keep it down.

Perhaps it was more obvious to those around you what was happening. It certainly seemed that way to those like Brainstorm and Tailgate, who were under the impression you were 'not like them'. When you even insinuated you were merely in the same category as all of their friends, Brainstorm would give you a puzzled look, investigative even. Something was clear to everyone but you.

It finally dawns on you one night, laying on their shared berth as Rewind replays the battle against Galvatron for the fiftieth time, that perhaps this is what they meant. Chromedome's thigh is pressed into the side of your chassis, a weighty presence warm against your armor, as Rewind tucks himself against your other side, his helm resting on your pauldron as he holds the holovid for you to see. You don't voice your thoughts, far too prideful to make a fool of yourself by stating something that others surely were caught up on, but the realization does send heat up your neck cables to the tips of your audials. Your EM field pushes experimentally against Chromedome's, a brushing of gentle electric energy that mingles in the back of your intake. He doesn't hesitate to push back readily, focus still entirely on his own datapad.

It's a realization that, in hindsight, only goes to your head. You strut around the ship with an ego boosted through the roof, a fact others make not so playful comments about. But you remain unfazed by their ribbing. You let your knee brush and press against Rewind's when you sit at your designated table in Swerve's, lean in to rest against Chromedome's side when there's a ship-wide meeting, make yourself comfortable by leaving your things here and there strewn across their habsuite. It's not long before you find yourself being annoyingly, obnoxiously clingy, arms wrapped around one or both of your partners in any public situation, a fact which leads Whirl to, several times, make gagging noises as if he has a mouth with which to gag. Your partners, ever loving and ever indulgent, don't push you off or attempt any 'face-saving'. Rewind seems all the happier to have you draped across him like another layer of armor.

All of your teasing and physical touch is a mistake you merely rack up in interest, Chromedome's EM field pleased and well-charged but never allowed to disperse. No relief found from your fleeting servos or coiling arms. It is a slow torturous build to an intimate joining in their berth, one you have unwittingly drawn out for months.

It is with Chromedome's derma that you reach his tipping point, his blast mask thrown aside in favor of kissing you passionately and a tad too enthusiastically. Despite all your touching and loving, Chromedome is not liberal with his mouth and prefers to keep his face covered when possible. You throw your arms around his neck, letting him push you back onto the berth with his larger frame. Your well aware of Rewind at your side, eager to record your intimate moments in graphic detail, a thought that sends charge zipping through your frame. His servos find the curve of your frame from shoulder to chest, pet along seams leading to your spark chamber, trail down where they converge at your pelvic armor. He's not so kind as to even lay a digit on it, though, opting to grab your thighs and hoist them around his hips.

For such a cold and aloof mech, gloomy in even the best situations, his kiss, his touch, is unbearably hot. His chassis only growing warmer where you meet, your legs tighten around his back to pull him closer to your codpiece where you need him desperately. He's also an infuriating person who doesn't relent to your wishes so easily, pulling away to smile impishly.

"What do you want, huh?" Rewind lets out a stifled laugh beside you at Chromedome's prodding. Clearly you're surrounded by villains.

"Come on, you know what I want!" You try to reel him back in with your arms and legs wrapped around him like a coiling cyberconda. He's undeterred by your grappling and whining.

"Patience, young Padawan," You wrinkle your nasal ridge at Rewind invoking one of Swerve's nerdy movies, "Good things come to those who wait."

You scoff, ready to give him a piece of your mind for not banging your bolts loose already, before Chromedome interrupts you.

"By the time we're done, you're going to wish you hadn't been so insistent," That... Gives you pause. You know they're pretty amorous, passionate in their interpersonal relationships, but they're still just a couple of old geezers, right? You almost laugh at the notion they could have anything in store that would surprise you. If they frag too hard they might die of spark failure.

"What's that supposed to mean?" The amusement must be far too clear in your voice, because Chromedome leers at you in a way that makes you feel wholly unprepared. Perhaps it's not too late to salvage some sort of mercy from them.

"Have you ever tried edging?"

[harrowharks-iliac-crest]

Ianthe, Coronabeth and the Blood of Eden

Characters

<< Previous: Harrow | Masterpost

-

I gotta be perfectly honest here, I'm not overly fond of Ianthe. I can see why people love her. I appreciate her as a character construct. I don't like her though. Her attachment to Coronabeth is her one (1) redeeming quality, in my eyes.

And Coronabeth is now with the Blood of Eden.

Again I find myself really wanting to be a fly on the wall in that crucial little time at Canaan House between Cytherea's death, Blood of Eden arriving and taking all survivors sans Lyctors, and the Emperor arriving to collect Ianthe and Harrow.

Ianthe and Coronabeth have been plotting with each other their whole damn lives. There's no way they didn't have some kind of agreement with each other before splitting up. Something perhaps communicated in code, so neither Harrow nor BoE would have known what they were talking about. Perhaps they both decided then and there to join Blood of Eden, and that Ianthe would be a spy for Corona. Perhaps they've both been with them, or at least sympathetic, since before Canaan House. No idea if/how they would have kept up communication while Ianthe was at the Mithraeum, but maybe she was meeting Corona in secret while out killing planets? We know that after a while the old Lyctors didn't supervise their charges all the time when out killing planets, and there were lots of planets to kill.

Alternatively, could Ianthe have somehow managed to form some kind of BrainRiver Necromantic connection? That would be deep spirit magic almost akin to Lyctorhood - perhaps she did take a tiny bit of Corona without killing her, and then took Naberius instead - maybe she wanted to take Corona, but realised this would have killed her beloved sister, and killed Naberius instead? Maybe she figured out the secret to perfect Lyctorhood, and it is only taking a minuscule amount of your Cav - letting her take a minuscule amount of you - and as such, you can communicate with each other even when apart?

Would be a banger if so. Mad props to Ianthe if this is true. Might even be her 2nd redeeming feature.

Actually, no, it's still just the love for Coronabeth. If Ianthe had cared about Corona a little bit less, she could have taken and killed her. But she wouldn't.

So anyway I'm deeply sure that Corona and Ianthe are either already communicating, or both working very hard to get back together again.

Are they with the Blood of Eden, though?

Coronabeth, at this point, seems to have been taken in by them, according to Judith's journal; she could be a double agent type, or just doing whatever will keep her alive with the best chances of seeing Ianthe again. She also gets to keep Judith and Camilla alive. Coronabeth actually cares about people other than Ianthe, or at least it seems that way.

The epilogue suggests that either the three of them escaped from BoE alongside this random girl, or found her after escaping. Either that - or they're in BoE's network and maybe even under their protection while the three of them are off on a little side quest involving this girl. Either way, they're a united front of sorts, working towards the same goal (looking after this random kid, and finding out what her significane is, probably).

One who looks after her, one who teaches her, one who goes to work for her.

Camilla is revealed as the one to look after her. Teacher must be Judith, and Coronabeth got herself some kind of job to sustain them. Is it enough? One income for four adults? What kinda economy is this please? I guess she's a princess so she's probably demanding damn good pay, but still.

(Wait, is there money? I don't remember ever seeing any references to it - which would have caught my attention...)

Just checked -

(The nice thing about having the pdfs is that I can ctrl+f this stuff)

"Pay" is only really used metaphorically,

"Money" is Gideon hoping to be given some, Harrow imagining some in the Cohort being paid for someone's rank, and the idiom "[giving x] a run for its money" a couple times. No direct references to money as far as I can tell - there doesn't seem to be any needed in the Ninth, Canaan House, or the Mithraeum. The concept of money seems to be around. Maybe it's something only non-necromancers have to worry about?

"Loan" is mentioned only once, as something Harrow could have gotten to keep her house alive, so money in some form is around, or debt at least, but there's very little idea of what form it takes.

Sorry, let's get back on track. We were talking about the Tridentarii and Blood of Eden. And actually, I think I've said about what I can on them. I wanna move on!

>> Next: Camilla and Palamedes

[cherepizza]

That's not something I'd typically post but it was nearly impossible to hold back. Found old rough sketches in one of my sketchbooks and decided to further develop the idea. And.. to make less rough sketches. This thing happens after homestuck ends and players enter their new universe so it's not related to the plot that much or anything.

So, before departing into the future players left some information about their former planet societies. Their biographies became foundations of many religions on earth C, some of which were more popular than other. Throughout hundreds of years pre-earth C history has been rewritten many times, and some of the players completely lost not only their appearances, but even names. So when gods return, they find themselves in a society quite different from what they've left, with some morals and values altered, as people from the new universe never had all that cultural basis extinct societies had and basically had to start everything from scratch. Players still try to communicate with people and make world a better place, using their powers. Some religious people are disdained to see that gods are actually guys in fancy pyjamas, others suppose they're impostors. Politicians make attempts to communicate with players and persuade them to leave, being afraid of what they can do.

One of the less popular cults was a cult formed around the idea of "a true troll ruler with blood of a forgotten caste". When trolls and humans rediscovered ectobiology (in their world ectobiology was restricted and then banned for a long time to push forward natural reproduction and avoid unethical experiments, and I highly doubt they ever used fuchsia blood genetic material), cult followers weren't excited by the idea of waiting another millennium for a heiress to be born and just made her themselves.

Obviously, the heiress isn't really going to rule anything and is only a tool, but many followers don't know/don't realize this and sincerely believe she's destined to become a leader. Also, if it was possible to make a fuchsia blood grub once, why wouldn't it be possible to start over if the first one doesn't comply? There're no reliable sources for the heiress to know her physical abilities and she never learned to swim. Feeling alone both inside and outside her community, anxiously waiting for what the cult has for her, leave the heiress no other option and she runs away to find gods herself, as they are the last ones in the entire world, who've seen a living member of her caste.

–––

She grinded down her horns herself after stealing a horn file so it would be harder to identify her

I also doubt trolls would still wear signs at this point (except players' ones) but here's a sign for her anyway

Here're some sprites too. In her "royal" outfit she's just.. feferi.. but she also wears a swimsuit thingie or whatever condense wore, so the skirt is more of an accessory here. On the last one her cape is long instead of skirt. I doubt though she'd be wearing any of this. After everything that has happened to her she's reluctant to take any leading position for now..

[jewreallythinkthat]

I think I've worked out part of my issue with a lot of the antisemitism from the performative allyship for Palestinians and that is the disingenuous patronising way these people will talk about October 7th.

This isn't about those who deny it, it's about the people who say "of course I condemn October 7th..." And then try and change the subject because that way they can fully avoid actually acknowledging the level of trauma that was caused to Israelis, and the worldwide Jewish community, that day. It allows them to say to themselves "I am a good person" because they have acknowledged that this happened and now they can say whatever they want, no matter how bigoted, or simply untrue, safe in the knowledge that they can point to this one line and shut down any discussion about the actual details of the atrocities which are still coming to light.

To borrow a phrase so many people like to use to justify the butchering of innocent civilians in Israel, what is happening in Gaza "did not happen in a vacuum". That is not to say that what's happening is acceptable, but it is unbelievably important to preface any discussion about the situation as a whole with the fact that there was a actual caesefire in place on October 6th which was broken by Hamas in the most vile, horrific ways that wouldn't even make it into a horror film because it is unfathomably awful.

To acknowledge the events of October 7th, you MUST talk about the grizzly details of what happened, you must be willing to engage with people who are still coming to grips with losing family, and friends and never feeling safe again because all they have seen since is unbridled glee at the thought of their death. Frankly, I'd never want anyone to be able to empathise with how I have felt as that would mean that have actually experienced the fear that someone will actually kill you because you see people hunting you down in broad daylight because I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy.

To flippantly say "of course that was awful, but anyway now I want to talk exclusively about the other side..." When someone Is trying to discuss October 7th itself is just trying to shut up Jews, Israelis, and anyone else who is trying to actually have a productive conversation.

What is happening in Gaza at the moment is a catastrophe and an horrific loss of life; an event which will leave lasting scars of trauma for generations. This doesn't mean it was unprovoked. And saying it wasn't unprovoked is also not saying that it is deserved. This is the fallacy of the argument. Multiple thing can be, and are true. If you only want to consider one, without the others, you are deliberately changing the situation and spreading misinformation.

The whole situation, and in fact the entire history of the middle east is one of the most complicated around the planet. But you cannot pick and choose where to count from just to make your argument work. If you think the only way to engage with people with different opinions to to infantilise, patrinise, and belittle, then you are not doing anything to help anyone. You are cementing yourself as a narrowminded fool with no ability to think for yourself.

If you genuinly think someone else's human rights should be taken away because of something they have done, they why shouldn't yours? It's a slippery slope.

If your opinions are not actually productive and you only get your news from one source, you are genuinely part of the problem. This is not meant to be a call out, it's a plea to actually do genuine research and read what people who disagree with you say with an open mind. You do not have to agree with them, but you have a duty to at least understand other people's point of view if you think you're important enough to be involved in the discussion - especially if it doesn't affect you personally in any way, shape or form.

[reaperlight]

Headcanon that 'Oumuamua is Venom's comet from the Venom movies.

Venom: The comet wasn't so much a comet as as a space craft in survival mode. Or it was when it started by the time we reached your world you might as well call it a comet because it was a barely functioning hunk of junk.

Eddie: So you just float along through space for millions of years? Doesn't that seem like a pretty inefficient way to invade a planet?

Venom: It makes perfect sense when your species is as long-lived as ours and you have few resources... as one does when floating in space. We'd hibernate until we found a world with life on it. If nothing comes our way we typically don't bother with it and keep dormant because we can assume any life on that world wouldn't be worth our time anyway. We're not looking for microbes or small animals. We need the big brains. So only if the inhabitants of the planet have the capability to give chase we can assume they have big enough brains to be either viable hosts... or food. We prefer species that would give chase because that suggests they are predatory enough to be hosts. We were still running the same playbook even though the others had mostly switched to viewing other lifeforms as food. Of course... it was different before the sundering, before we were exiled into deep space. Yes one does not ask to be in that kind of situation. I was there, Eddie, I remember when our world ended. We much preferred to keep out hosts before, to live in true symbiosis. But for the new generations born on the ship keeping a host was considered a luxury our species could no longer afford and to still harbor such feelings... is considered weak. And that is why among my people... I am a loser.

[aishien-the-aishien]

Transformers: Prime oneshot [writing]

I am new here, I don't know if this is something people on Tumblr do, but firstly - who's it gonna hurt, and secondly - almost no one is going to see this anyways, so!! That's basically the thought process that led me to posting this short writing about Transformers: Prime (mostly Ratchet, I have my favourites alright). Have fun! (TW for robot injury, I guess?) Hard to believe, but afternoons in the base had grown to be... peaceful. Everything had become a routine - the children's arrivals after their school day was finished, whatever activities they could come up with each day, even the occasional missions felt like chores to gallop through rather than battles of an age-old war.

Ratchet wasn't too fond of that at first. It seemed to him that their purpose here was being forgotten, diminished into a child's play. Everyone treated this like... like a vacation, even. He had not come here for a vacation, though, he had come through sheer necessity and he was determined to see this war through, and Megatron in his rightful place, in some dusty old scrapyard.

And yet... Even he couldn't disagree that this state of things was simply... pleasant. He never felt without purpose; there was always something to do at the base, something in their equipment to adjust, some device or a part of the long out of use base to repair, sometimes even staying on his guard while the younger bots were out with the humans proved useful. Primus, Ratchet was beginning to think that Miko was his true enemy here on Earth, considering how often Bulkhead came from their escapades with new dents and scratches and minor Energon leaks to fix. Miko's own scratches and bruises can't even be mentioned, as the frequency with which she gathered new ones was far beyond Ratchet's own capability to study proper human treatment. She did, to be fair, claim that they would "heal on their own", but the old medic found that difficult to believe.

It was all really peaceful. But if all the years of war, by the Allspark, if the fact that the war had even broken out had taught Ratchet anything, it was that peace never lasts long. It was on one of those calm afternoons in Jasper, Nevada, a small city on planet Earth, when it was ruptured yet again.

That was the kind of day when they picked up some Decepticon signals, undoubtedly moving towards a potential relic location. With Optimus not having found those coordinates in the Archives before, he had seen it fit to investigate the case himself, Bumblebee and Arcee coming as support. Ratchet accepted that without an objection. When they had first arrived on Earth, and when Decepticons followed, he had found it troubling to allow Bumblebee out on potential combat missions. If back then, he had been asked to let the young scout to go investigate a site even Optimus was uncertain about, following enemies headed that way, Ratchet would have laughed at the asker's face. Far too dangerous, he would have said. He would have never put Bee in such danger. But now was not then, and danger had become a habit.

Bulkhead had stayed behind, partly because the destination was a barely accessible area atop of some Earth mountains, where his large and awkward build would have made trekking it near impossible, and partly because lately, someone had always had to stay at the base - someone other than Ratchet, of course - to safeguard the three humans. The old medic never objected, either, for a reason as simple as any. He did not think he would not have been able to protect the children, oh, no, but he certainly wouldn't have wanted to be the one to entertain them while the rest of the team was gone. That had become almost a regular duty for Bulkhead, though it didn't seem to pose a problem to him, oppositely - he enjoyed his time with the children, speeding along the roads and drifting off of cliffs. Each time, it was the reason of unlimited amusement for Miko, and of Jack's and Rafael's ever-rising concern, as far as Ratchet understood. And there they were, outside, on that warm afternoon, perfect for outdoors activities, when a signal came from the Bots on the mission.

Ratchet rose his head sharply as he heard the quick, high-pitched beeping echo through the empty base. He lifted himself from his knees, abandoning the Energon refiner he was cleaning, and brushed his hands off of the blue spots as he walked up to the console. "Yes?", he asked when he was in the microphone's range. "What is it, Arcee?"

"Open the Ground Bridge!", he heard her yell. Immediately, he straightened up and stood at the ready. Arcee sounded shaken - that could not mean anything good. "Now, Ratchet!"

"On it", he confirmed as he pulled the lever, opening the Bridge at its previous coordinates. "What happened?"

The last words, he said less into the microphone, and more directly to the Bots entering the base through the Bridge as it opened deeper in the base. Two Cybertronian shapes, untransformed, were hurrying across, staggering and stumbling, one visibly helping the other one keep up. Ratchet frowned with concern when he realised that neither of them was Optimus. A twinge of fear struck him - Optimus could be a Prime or anything else he desired, his medic would worry about him either way.

But Optimus wasn't the only one he worried about, and when the two shapes came nearer, Ratchet was hit with far more than a twinge. A wave of fright came upon him as he realised it was Arcee who was helping Bumblebee up, hunching under the larger Bot's weight. From what he could make out, Bee was barely moving.

"What happened?!", he repeated, far more sharply, rushing towards the incomers.

Bumblebee was, in fact, fast unconscious. All the bodywork on his chest was jagged, with the metal grotesquely curved outwards and stained with Energon, a blue trail left on the ground behind him. Only a flicker of light could still be seen in his always bright eyes.

"It was the relic", Arcee spat, letting out a relieved grunt as Ratchet supported the young Bot from the other side, lifting some of the weight from her shoulders. "It... stuck itself to Bee and wouldn't come off, then it started opening him up". It was an attempt at a description, but she clearly wasn't sure what she saw herself.

Ratchet shook his head, all his focus was on Bumblebee now, anyway. "Let's get him to med bay", he commanded.

As they laid the injured one down, they both heard footsteps, approaching fast. Through the Ground Bridge, still open, ran Optimus, giving out shots backwards, and with enemy shots following him. Fast as he could, he reached the Bridge control lever and pulled it, closing the portal before any Cons were able to come through.

Optimus was in no perfect shape himself, with several dents and burns from the Vehicon guns, but he took no time to rest. "Bumblebee needs immediate treatment", he announced, turning to the others. Ratchet had already known that, plugging the diagnostic devices and Energon supply wires to Bee's body after but a quick glance to see if Optimus was well. Bumblebee was the priority. "The relic we found turned out to be an old Decepticon tool, a device used to acquire operational cogs from corpses of the slain." But how could he speak like that, so evenly and collectedly? "Our enemies got to it first, and-"

"Stop talking", Ratchet finally cut him across. He gave Optimus a sharp look - that much, he could afford. "We'll speak later."

Both Optimus and Arcee looked surprised by the medic's tone. It wasn't the first time he'd spoken harshly, and most certainly wouldn't be the last - but it happened so rarely for Optimus to be the target. Arcee turned her head to the leader, shock and worry on her face.

Ratchet paid no mind to that at all. The Energon was leaking through multiple holes in both Bumblebee's bodywork and his exposed internals, but while the medic was patching the wounds, he realised it would not even be his biggest concern. Bumblebee's insides were... rearranged. Ratchet had never seen anything like that before, and he wished it had stayed that way. It looked as if something had reached inside and pulled at whatever that stuck out, without a second thought, ripping cables, misshaping the metal awfully. And worst of all, there was not a single second for terror, no matter how much that would require the medic to silence his own thoughts. He soon realised another problem, one that made acting quick far more significant.

He didn't even notice how stained his hands were when he pushed Optimus aside to reach the console, commanding the systems to run all the possible diagnostics. Bumblebee's Energon had a disturbing hue, visibly darker than it should have been, and it wouldn't stop leaking, even after all this time. Ratchet had one suspicion, and one he had to confirm or deny fast - that the young Bot had been injected with some sort of a toxin, and required an antidote urgently.

Optimus stepped out of the way, observing the medic's actions with widened eyes. He always hid most of his emotions, and he hid them well - those other than his concern for a life in danger. Any life. And this time, it was far more than just any life.

"Will he be okay?", Arcee asked, staring at the operation with wide eyes as well.

"Just let me work", Ratchet spat, not even gracing her with a look, his gaze fixed on the monitors and his fingers running through the tools beneath the console.

He would not have any distractions. He couldn't afford any. His thoughts, any that weren't an analysis of Bumblebee's medical state, were muted and slow, as if something was blocking them, avoiding distraction even within his own mind. But he knew he was stressed, he knew that much. He knew he was scared for the scout's life. And he knew he was angry.

Arcee did not seem to be able to find herself in this situation. She stepped back, fists clutched, trying to collect herself.

"Arcee", Optimus said soothingly. "It would serve you well to get some rest."

The blue Bot looked up at him, it seemed hearing a voice had snapped her back into reality. She nodded and pushed herself to walk away from the med bay area and into the deeper parts of the base, to enter a stasis nap. An odd feeling, she noticed, still trying to gather her thoughts. She never needed to get a nap after missions, lately she rarely felt the need of stasis at all, but this time... This mission had not seemed so different from others when they left, but now...

Yet before she could exit the main room, she heard the sound of an engine, soon followed by a bulky green shape driving into the base. Bulkhead stopped close by the entrance, allowing the kids to get out, and transformed to the clanging of metal. He was laughing, along with the kids. Primus, he was laughing...

It only took them several moments to realise what they had stumbled into. Laughter was caught in the kids' throats. Bulkhead paused for a minute before he rushed up to the scene and stopped only by Optimus.

"What happened?!", he yelped.

"Get away from here, all of you!", Ratchet snapped in response as he passed between the patient and the screen filled with diagnostics results, and a couple vials and tubes, ran dusty, where the machinery was trying to fix up the antidote. There was so much damage, he feared it might be too much... But no, it wouldn't be, it couldn't be. "Just step back, you're getting in my way!"

"Bulkhead", Optimus turned to him, "I think you would do best to take the children and go back outside. None of you needs to see this-"

"No!", Ratchet interrupted yet again. He halted midstride, staring at Optimus with a blaze in his eyes. He sure was angry. "You go outside, Optimus, get out of here and don't return until Bee is well!"

He tapped a finger on Optimus's chest, accusingly, leaving a bright-blue stain where he touched him. Prime didn't move, not any more than opening his mouth a bit, shocked. "Ratchet...", he tried to speak.

"No, I don't want to hear any of it! This is your fault!"

He turned back at Bee and was hit with another wave of emotions, fear and guilt on the leading edge. He shook his head and rushed back to the scout, back to the whirl of doing whatever he could to fix him.

Optimus furrowed his eyebrows. He wasn't angry, he never was. But he wouldn't be accused unreasonably, not as a leader in a moment of crisis, and not of... Not of what was happening.

"It was a mission. Bumblebee was doing his part, I do not see how I-"

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE MISSION!"

Keeping his cool was far beyond what he could do now. He turned to Optimus, then back to Bumblebee, his mind spiralling. He shut his eyes for a second, trying to collect himself well enough to continue working.

"When you go with him on the mission, then the mission is not your priority, don't you understand?! I don't care how important it would be! It's your duty to keep him safe, your damn duty!"

He kept talking as he searched for the right tools, used them, methodically, regardless of his panic. He couldn't keep those words inside.

Optimus wasn't responding. He couldn't find the right words, he... he didn't know what he could say. Hesitantly, he tried: "Bumblebee is a soldier..."

"FOR PRIMUS' SAKE, OPTIMUS, HE IS OUR SON!"

The words rang through the base, accompanied only by the beeping of the machines and the metallic sounds of tools against Bumblebee's insides. The three human children stood where Bulkhead had left them, eyes and mouths wide-open. Even though neither of them seemed to understand everything fully, Rafael's eyes were beginning to water - but he never made a sound. Bulkhead and Arcee could only watch silently.

Optimus Prime took a deep breath.

"Arcee, Bulkhead, take the human children outside", he said with a flat voice. "The doctor needs the space." He sighed. "And you really do not need to see this."

Optimus took a step closer. He never left, but he'd made sure to stay out of Ratchet's sight for the past hours, as the medic was fighting for Bumblebee's life. But all had gone quiet by now. Ratchet stood by his equipment, weary hands resting on the console, with the monitor pulsating green and blue light in front of him. All other lights had been turned off, to save energy - just in case. The operation had lasted long.

The medic had washed his hands off of Bumblebee's Energon by then, but light blue stains were still visible here and there across the room, with no one who would have had the strength to clean them up. Bulkhead and Arcee had left, as Optimus told them, and they were right to do so - nobody wants to watch one of their friends with his arms stained to the elbows with another's Energon.

The beeping of the machines had become stable and muted, the loudest sound in the room was the constant hum inside all the tubes, attached to Bumblebee's body, slowly refilling his resources. As Optimus gazed upon the scene, he realised that he didn't have the slightest notion as to how any of those systems were operated. He ought to make sure he learns the basics, and so does the whole team. The well-being of them all was too heavy a burden to lay on the old field medic's shoulders alone.

Prime was going through words in his head, trying to find the right ones. He always did. Primes always said just the right thing, no more and no less, as they were supposed to. No matter to whom. No matter when. No matter what he might want to tell his partner, and no matter how much he might want to... He couldn't even tell what he would want to say or do, if he could. He was a Prime. He would only say the right thing.

He walked closer and put a hand on Ratchet's shoulder. "Ratchet, I believe you should rest now-"

"Leave me alone." The voice that cut him off was slow and quiet out of weariness, but stone-cold nonetheless. "I don't want to see you." But there was no anger in him anymore, there was nothing but exhaustion. Ratchet never turned his head, never gave Optimus as much as a glance. He didn't move at all, only stood there, boring his eyes into the control panel, into the steel reflecting the pale light of the monitor, Bumblebee's life in numbers and graphs. "Not until he wakes up. Or until..."

He didn't have it in himself to finish.

Optimus drew back his hand.

"I understand."

His heavy steps could be heard across the base as he walked off into its halls. He hadn't left before, and he wouldn't leave now - being here, on his guard, was all he could have done for his scout right now - but he could afford to give Ratchet the solitude he needed.

Ratchet gathered what strength was left in him and pushed himself away from the monitor, trudging towards where Bumblebee was lying. The boy looked better now, but the gash in his chest was still wide open, and wires and tubes were sticking out of his body, as if he had a grotesque spider sitting on him. His state was stable... But bad. He got the antidote, but his Energon analysis was still off. The deformation of his chest would not allow him to wake up, let alone move, for a long time, before Ratchet would be able to fix it. If he would be able to at all...

The medic put his hand on Bumblebee's shoulder and looked into his face with an expression of blunt determination on his own. He would see his son open his eyes, here, on this table... He had to.