#they’re essentially bulkhead to right where my face was

[sarahsupernovah]

Imagine fucking here doggy style as we both look out at the natural beauty 🥰😍

[spacetimewraithwrites-archive]

Fictober ‘22 Prompt No. 2 — “Nobody warned you about me?”

Category: Original WIP: Thriving series Rating: T Timeline: this is...an AU. I took some, uh...liberties. CW: Some choice words !! and violence and blood. y’know the drill. Word Count: 1,841 Additional Notes: if you like piña coladas...and getting pissed at my work

***

Two hours after the kitchen of Prince Hyret’s Blue Palace shut down for the night, the cover of a vent in the ceiling rotated out of place. A small canister fell to the floor with an inconsequential clatter, and thick, green smoke hissed out in waves, over every surface and into every nook and corner.

Guetry, tucked safely above in the duct, narrowed his eyes into the dark room. He swiped his finger over his temple, and after a moment, he could see the thin red laser lines crossing large sweeps, intersecting at just about all points...except for a tight square directly beneath the vent.

He shifted himself and dropped down with no louder sound than the soft tap of his boots against the marble floor, instantly ducking into a crouch, concealed by the smoke. He shook his wrist to activate the volumetric touchpad on the arm of his armor and raised its white glow to his face.

“Go, baby,” he whispered.

Purple reflected off the chrome walls of the chef’s island as the scar on his temple and the tattoo on the right side of his neck all lit up, pulsing and sending a dull tingle into his hand. A muted series of beeps indicated the cameras in the kitchen had been remotely deactivated. The lasers vanished.

“The shutdown has alerted security,” Scotty said directly into his brain. “I estimate ten minutes before they’re able to rectify the situation, and less time than that to arrive at your location.”

Guetry eked out a small smirk, standing. “Who’s a good little AI?”

“I suspect it’s me.”

He jogged to the service elevator—essentially a dumbwaiter—and folded himself inside, making sure his long mohawk ponytail didn’t catch in the door as it shut automatically. He pressed into the wall and drew in a deep breath as the elevator began its rapid ascent with a jarring jolt.

After what felt like far too long a journey, the ride stopped. For a while, other than Guetry’s steady breathing, it was silent.

The darkness of the cramped space was interrupted by Scotty’s glow. “The antechamber. There are four sentries currently posted, two with visuals of your position. They will see you as soon as you exit.”

“Distraction?”

“I can divert the attention of the two with immediate visuals. You will have to handle it from there.”

“Go.”

Guetry counted down from ten before shoving the elevator open and rolling into the antechamber. He got a brief look at the two hulking Morrite sentries standing in front of a malfunctioning electrical panel in the bulkhead across from him, conversing in their language, voices purposely hushed.

He slid two knives out of his hip sheaths and gripped them firmly, stalking behind the other sentries. As quiet as a breeze, he jammed the blades into their wide throats, drawing his silenced pistol and taking out the farther sentries the minute they heard the bodies of their colleagues nosily collapse.

“Okay,” Guetry murmured, heart thudding against his ribs. He bent to retrieve his knives and stuck them back into the sheaths, blood and all. He looked at the enormous door and took one of the sentries’ assault rifles, alighting it neon cyan when he yanked the lever to load it. “That fucker better be alone.”

“I detect no other life signs other than the Blue Prince.”

A radio in the armor of the sentry from whom he stole the rifle sounded off. Guetry glanced down at the body, his veins already filling with adrenaline.

“A check-in,” Scotty said. “They’re informing them of the disturbance in the kitchen.”

Guetry squatted, bringing his face close to where he guessed the radio would be. “Wrong room, cunts,” he growled.

With that, he strode to the door and waved his wrist again. The control panel flashed erratically, as did his tattoo, and the locking mechanism whirred to life, granting him access.

Scotty was in his head again. “It will take approximately six minutes for reinforcements to arrive, and—”

As soon as Guetry set foot in Hyret’s chambers, a fist the size of a basketball slammed into the side of his head, sending him sprawling to the floor. A discouraging whine erupted in the ear under his implant, but he blinked it off and swung the rifle up to aim at Hyret, pointing the laser sight right into his eyes.

He took the second Hyret had his shark eyes screwed shut to hop back onto his feet. Hyret recovered quickly, though, and Guetry got a few shots into his tree-trunk arm, backing as far into the chambers as he could in order to get distance between them.

Accompanying a feral roar only fueled by decades of hard drugs, Hyret charged at Guetry, knocking the rifle from his grip and tackling him into the wall by the picture window. He got his fingers around Guetry’s comparatively delicate throat, throwing him into a flashback of the last time he’d been there. Hyret had picked him up like a ragdoll just like this, had him helpless, and for the second and hopefully last time in Guetry’s whole life, he did not enjoy having someone choke him out.

The difference, it appeared, was whether or not he’d be alive to actually get off to it at the end. A minute, but crucial difference.

Guetry whipped his knives from their sheaths again and thrust them into Hyret’s chest. Hyret screamed and released him, stumbling backward until he all but crashed into a pillar. As Guetry scrambled to breathe again, his hand went to the handle sitting in an armor pouch at his waist.

“Insolence!” Hyret bellowed, pulling the knives out with a wet squish. He held both in one hand. “Give me your name so I know what to carve into your bleached skull, human!”

Now able to breathe somewhat better, though now sporting a gnarly headache and getting more concerned by the second that he hadn’t heard from Scotty since he walked in, Guetry carefully slipped the handle out of his pouch. “The name...is Guetry Sympa.”

Hyret cocked his arm back, knives pointed at Guetry. “Insignificant.”

Guetry smiled, pressing his thumb to the button on the handle. A whip sprang out, and he snapped it at Hyret. It caught his face, under the eye, and the knives flew out of his hand.

“Insignificant?” Guetry retorted, creeping closer to Hyret. He cracked the whip at him again, leaving an oozing welt in the center of his forehead. “Nobody warned you about me, did they? Nobody advised you that I could be back, did they?”

Hyret opened his mouth to speak, but Guetry cracked the whip a third time, this time snapping the metal braid around his throat and activating the current. It sparked bright, clicking repeatedly, and Hyret screamed again, rumbling the walls and the floor. Blisters formed where the electricity met his flesh.

“That’s a little disappointing to hear,” Guetry sneered. “I would’ve thought killing Warren Cougar would leave a deeper crater, but I guess that goes to show that tyrants don’t give a shit which lives they take, do they?!” Guetry activated the current again. “They take and take and take until all that’s left are crumbling ruins...in people, in civilizations, in galaxies...isn’t that right, Your Highness?! I know it’s been oh, just about a decade since you slaughtered half of my team, so I suppose all the other atrocities could’ve crowded your memory just a bit, right, Your Highness?!”

The chamber door exploded off its track, and Morrite security opened fire, piling into the room, shouting after Hyret and Guetry.

Guetry cut the current and dodged gunfire, which gave Hyret the opening he needed to pull himself together with enough energy to charge once more at him. They went through the supposedly unbreakable window, out into the vacuum of space, along with everything that wasn’t bolted to the floor of the chambers.

Silence. The void throbbed in Guetry’s ears, and the Blue Palace shrank away faster than he would’ve liked. He lost sight of Hyret.

His vision blurred.

He lost feeling in his body as a figure floated past him in the opposite direction, grabbed...Hyret? Slithered, wrapped their arms and legs around him as they spun out of control...curled their fingers...into Hyret’s mouth...

The figure slammed their hands apart, separating Hyret’s jaws. Guetry closed his eyes against the sight of Hyret’s head splitting into two.

He didn’t know how much longer passed before arms wrapped around him. He lost consciousness sporadically until he felt sudden gravity and the person was on the floor with him, still holding him, smoothing his hair to his head, stroking his face, embracing him from behind.

“S-Scotty,” Guetry wheezed, shaking violently. He couldn’t regain his limbs and he wasn’t sure if that was due to being in unprotected space or because of his clearly damaged implant. Tears streamed out of his eyes and it would be a while before he could see clearly again. “I can’t—I can’t...”

“Shh, shh,” the person whispered into his ear. “I know.”

It was Orthrive’poliea. Of course it was.

...Of course it was.

Much later, when Guetry was sedated and curled up in bed in the med fac, hooked up to a terminal and awaiting news on his implant, Thrive stepped inside. He looked great, all things considered...the beard growth was a new development. His once sparkling emerald eyes looked duller in color, but that was probably Guetry’s imagination.

For a few minutes, all they did was stare at each other. Without a word. Then, as if removing himself from a deep trance, Thrive took a long breath to speak.

“You shouldn’t have gone in alone.”

“I did what I had to do. I did what you would’ve done.”

“Right.” Thrive nodded vacantly, breaking their eye contact. “...It’s...good to see you.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re right,” Thrive said, voice hard. “It’s not.”

Guetry sniffed. “I’ve told you a million times to stay with me, old man.”

Thrive shook his head, almost robotic in his movements.

“Yeah,” Guetry murmured. “...‘Cause Warren would’ve loved to know that the two most important people in his life couldn’t even look at each other anymore.”

Thrive abruptly turned and left the med fac. Guetry stared at the bulkhead until he fell asleep.

—

On the way back to the Consortium Node, Guetry found Thrive on the observation deck of his ship, sitting on the floor. Watching the stars pass, lost in his head. Guetry made his way over and sat beside him.

Thrive turned as if to ask him what he was doing out of bed, but he kept his mouth shut. He kept it shut even as Guetry leaned in and snaked his arms around him.

After some time, Thrive returned the embrace, clutching the back of Guetry’s hoodie and burying his face in his neck.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Thrive whispered.

Guetry’s skin erupted into a chill and he fought back the emotion about to leap out of his throat. “Same, man. Same.”

Thrive didn’t let go. Guetry didn’t make him.

[factual-fantasy]

Got 20 more asks, with some art this time! :}

Thank you! I’m very glad you like the way I draw them!

As to how I draw their glasses or any tips I have.. I just draw them exactly the way the show draws them, except they’re more square than rectangle.

Some tips?

Eyebrows go over the glasses, always. The little line coming down in the center of the glasses touches where the eyes connect. The bottom of the lenses go right about to the middle of the nose. Don’t make them too big, leave room for the eyebrows and the forehead. Make sure the glasses peek over the edge of the face, but don’t make them too wide, leave room for the sideburns and skin by the glasses arms. The glasses arms go right above where the ear connects to the head.

I would suggest looking up some references, from both the show and from other artists. My way of drawing glasses aren't perfect, but clearly they’re decent because you wanted to know how I draw them XD

Just do some research, look up some screen shots and try to redraw them. Heck, even trace them. Eventually you’ll find a way of drawing them that you like, like I did. :}

Oh! Thank you!.. But uh.. polite pass. I don’t drink coffee.. ●﹏●;

Thank you, for everything you’ve said.

I don’t think I’m okay anymore. I’ve been trying so hard to get my old self back, but its just not working. My energy, my motivation, my smile, everything, its just all gone. I’m so overwhelmed with all this doubt and uncertainty that I just don’t now how to function anymore.

Drawing is the only thing in my life I work towards and care about, and I am not exaggerating. But I’m loosing it. I don’t know how to do it anymore. I feel like pieces of my brain are slowly rotting away or something. I just fell awful and escaping to my little imaginary world isn’t working anymore.

Its like all the life is just getting sucked out of me. Although my new job is helping, I don't know if that’s going to be the cure. Peoples opinion of me weighs down so heavily on my shoulders that I hide my true self away in shame. I’m so afraid of being hated or upsetting anyone that you don't even know my real name.

I don't know what to do anymore. My memory is certainly getting worse and I have absolutely no drive to do anything other than drawing what so ever, and even THAT is starting to fail. I must be broken, like a shattered mirror, but I’m missing some pieces and don't even have a way to glue them back together if I somehow find them again anyway, so why even bother looking for them?

I just don’t know what to do anymore. Getting this job better fix it.

Of course! ♡ඩᴗඩ♡

Except for Big Blue. He’s “that guy is huge and can literally kick me to the moon” sized.

My Decepticons? In my brain soup currently. I haven’t found the energy or the motivation to draw them yet. 

In the story? They’re all aboard the nemesis as far as I have decided.

I actually don’t drink any hot beverages.. I don’t drink coffee, I’ve never had tea and hot chocolate makes my stomach queasy. I don’t even really drink milk. or sodas or anything else. I just drink water, only water. That’s enough for me.

As for the characters though? Well let me think... let me split it onto categories.

Tea drinkers:

Brown Suburban

Ranger 

Coffee drinkers:

Honda

A.T.Dragster

Hot chocolate drinkers:

Jeepy

White Truck

Miata

Beluga

U.M.Dragster

Both tea and coffee drinkers:

Escort

Suburban

Vega

Volvo

Green Truck

All of the above:

Beluga

None of the above:

Red Van

Hot Apple cider vinegar:

Bash Buggy

The primary reason why Bash Buggy was freaking out is because he was just scooped up off the ground out of no where.

He’s basically legally blind, so he didn’t instantly go, “Oh this is fine its just Brown Suburban.” He just went

Not that I can remember.. But I have made some AUs and I made a little brown puppy a part of one of them, does that count?

I have never played any of them myself.. but I have watched others play them and I have always liked watching them freak out over FNAF 2.

I also like FNAF 2 because it has almost all of my favorite characters in it. :} 

I believe Ratchet would’ve had to inject the Synthetic Energon into himself when Volvo wasn’t around, because Volvo certainly would’ve stopped him if he was there. Even if it meant wrestling Ratchet to the ground to get that stuff out of his hand.

But sadly, Ratchet would have been completely infected by the time Volvo would have been around. He would’ve probably found Ratchet on the floor when Raf was trying to wake him up.

At first he’d think that he was hurt, or had that same “heart attack” thing like Escort did. He would panic and try to wake him. Ratchet would stir and groan about them being so noisy or something. When Ratchet sits up and looks Volvo in the eyes is when he’d see it.

Volvo’s entire demeanor would change, and he’d just look devastated.

“Ratchet... y.. you didn’t...“ Raf would look up and ask, “Didn’t.. what?”

Volvo would be so overwhelmed with the realization of what Ratchet had done, that he couldn’t even really respond to Raf.

I cant remember the episode very well.. but I believe as the episode progressed, Volvo would be constantly following Ratchet around. He knows that this stuff very dangerous because its incomplete, but he doesn’t know what its going to do to Ratchet.

He would try to get Ratchet to chill out when ever he’s about to do something stupid, and would’ve been there to try and reason with him when he wanted to fight Bulkhead.

He would’ve been there when Optimus and the gang confronted them. Ratchet might’ve shot some nasty comment Volvo’s way and Volvo would’ve been hurt, but he also would’ve gotten a lot more worried about Ratchet too. Getting that nasty comment really just confirmed to Volvo that Ratchet’s lost it. The Synthetic Energon has taken over and he worries about what might happen next.

When he heard about Ratchet getting hurt and bleeding out, he freaked out of course. Him and the other medics would’ve patched him up and Volvo would watch over him. He’d hover around nearby and check his vitals more often than is necessary.

After Ratchet woke up and had that chat with Optimus that I think I remember him having.. I feel like he would make a point to find Volvo and talk to him about it.

Volvo may be a younger medic, but he’s still tough. Thing’s don’t get to him as easily.. well, not normally.

But when Ratchet first woke up? The look on Volvo’s face spoke volumes. The way Volvo acted out of character and practically became glued to Ratchet was concerning. He wasn't reacting to the situation in the way Ratchet believed he would.

When he asked, Volvo would respond with something along the lines of,

“When I saw the color of your optics, I knew exactly what you had done. And it.. it frightened me.“ Volvo would begin to look saddened.

“I didn’t know what was going to happen and I.. I just.. I didn’t know how to help you..“ Volvo would look hurt, and like a child honestly. This tough little medic was genuinely struggling to cope with the situation. 

“I now realize that.. I didn’t truly understand just how dire our situation is.. “

Volvo would fiddle with his hands nervously for a second. 

“I understand why you took that risk, but still it hurts to know that you felt the need to walk into something that dangerous for the slight chance it might make things a little better..“

Essentially, Volvo didn't really fully know just how bad their situation is. And seeing his friend risk his life like that really got the point across like a kick to the gut.

They’d talk it over and get through it at the end of the day, but now Volvo has a new perspective of this situation, and of Ratchet.

Glad to hear I’m not alone in this! :}

Despite its controversy and my personal saltiness towards certain aspects of this series, I overall genuinely really did enjoy watching the Bayverse movies. All of them.

The Bumblebee movie was fantastic, and I like Transformers: Prime. But that’s it, just those three. :/

Thank you for all the compliments!! :> I will do my best to keep these things up!.. Even though its becoming rather difficult..

Thank you! I worked very hard on it! ♡(இ﹏இ`｡)♡.

SPEAKING OF VEGAS DESIGN!!--

As I am writing this, all 16 transformer ocs are getting a make over. (mostly Jeepy) So keep and eye on this post! Because if someone wants to use them for references, the post could suddenly change and the old designs will be outdated! 

Don’t be so shy! XD These asks are fun! :}

Now Bash Buggy.. he wouldn’t actually register what you just did if you kissed him on the cheek.

The protective plating on his face has been peeled back so if you kissed him on the cheek, you would sting him a little and you would get a little bit of Energon on your lips.

He’d wince and look at you like?? What was that?? He cant see the Energon on your lips so he wouldn’t put 2 and 2 together.

But if you told him that you just kissed him on the cheek, he’d then get so confused and flustered. Like, “I?? Wh-.. but-.. thanks?? Uh??”

[thebmatt]

FFXIV Write 2021 Prompt #30: Abstracted

Abstracted – to have considered (something) theoretically or separately from something else.

I don’t like how I ended this one, but I was trying to wrap it up after midnight, so it’s a bit abrupt. I’ll likely work on it a bit more before I publish it in AO3 later.

“So those crystals, Aetherytes , you said? They allow you to teleport to any that you’ve previously attuned your aether to?”

Aleister Franks nodded. “Indeed. So long as your body has sufficient reserves of aether, of course. Tends to depend on how hearty you are, physically speaking, so adventurers and military folk may the most use of em.”

Gwenefyr Franks stared at the aetheryte. “Well…that’s pretty amazing. Something like this would have seriously cut into all those tips I made making portals back home.”

He laughed. “That it would. All right, now that you’re all attuned yourself, next stop on the tour, or perhaps the last stop, is right over there!”

Gwenefyr grabbed his hand and together, the pair walked eastward.

“Welcome to Bulwark Hall, the heart of the Mizzenmast, love. Originally built as a stronghold to protect the rest of the city from invasion. Elevators over there…” he pointed to the right of the central column of rock occupying the chamber “…will take us back up to the Drowning Wench once we’re done here, and further up to the airship landing we’ll be seeing tomorrow morning on our journey to the rest of the city-states. ” He pointed to the left. “Over there, that’s a direct lift to the Bridge, offices of Admiral Merlwyb and the rest of Limsa Lominsa’s governing officials. And sadly, much as I’d love to introduce you to the Admiral, the man guarding the lift there, his name’s Zanthael, and he’s a real stick-in-the-arse for only letting people with pressing official business in!”

Zanthael looked over to the couple, smiled, and tossed up a rude hand gesture.

Gwenefyr looked back to the doors to their right and left, both slightly behind them. “And what’re those doors for?”

“Um….storage I think? I’ve never been in, they’re always barred shut. Never even seen anyone guarding them, to be honest.”

“Then why is there a man waving at us from that one?“

Aleister looked to her, then followed her gaze to the door on their right, across from the Crow’s Lift. Sure enough, there was a roegadyn man there, clad in a Maelstrom soldier’s uniform. He was waving at the pair, and upon seeing he had both of their attention, gestured for them to follow. He then stepped inside the pair of doors and left one slightly ajar.

Gwen looked at her husband. “Do you know him?”

He shook his head. “No, but there’s a lot of people in the Maelstrom. Can’t imagine what he wants to talk about, though. Still, guess we’d better go see.”

“Lead the way, husband mine.”

The pair walked over and Aleister opened the door to let Gwen go through first, but as soon as it was ajar enough, the pair were both pulled into a shimmering blue portal by an unseen force. Their vision went white.

A few seconds later, both of them were able to open their eyes only to see that they were surrounded by what was definitely not the rock of the Mizzenmast, but instead a large chamber enclosed by what looked like ship bulkheads made of metal. Various technological devices, things that reminded Aleister of Allagan consoles and holographic displays were mounted all along every wall.

“Uh…where the hell are we?” Gwenefyr asked, sounding very concerned.

“I uh….I really don’t know, but unless the Admiral’s been keeping a secret treasure trove of Allagan technology concealed, I somehow doubt we’re in Limsa anymore.”

“We got pulled in, too. Just like I did when I found the portal that brought me here. Do you think that…”

He nodded. “It’s a logical conclusion. Let’s see if we can figure out where we are.”

“Or you could just ask”

Gwen and Aleister jumped, then quickly scanned the room. The voice had come from somewhere, but neither could immediately identify the source.

“Oops. Sorry for startling you. I’m actually not in there, though. I’m further in the….well, ship is probably the best way to describe this. I’m transmitting my voice from the bridge to you via a speaker. But enough about that. I suspect you want to know who I am and why I’ve brought you here, right?”

The pair looked at each other, then Aleister replied. “That would be correct. Assuming you don’t mean to do us harm.”

“Oh, no, not at all. But come, I’ll explain everything once we’re face to face. You should see some green lights on the floor, just follow them, it’ll take you on the most direct path here.”

Sure enough, a series of green lights illuminated the floor in an arrow pattern, which pointed to a section of the wall that slid down into the floor, revealing a hallway big enough for the pair to comfortably walk side by side. More green lighting illuminated the space within.

“You think this is on the level?” Gwen asked.

“I….think so. Whoever this is, this ‘ship’ of theres is packed full of technology more advanced than anything I’ve seen, now that I look more closely. This looks very different than anything I’ve ever seen from Allagan sites, and….I can’t explain it, but it just feels more powerful. Whoever this is, I think if they wanted us harmed, we’d never likely know it was coming. I suppose all we can do now is investigate.”

Gwen didn’t look entirely convinced, but nodded and grabbed his hand again.

The pair ventured down the hallway. As they continued to walk, more lights further up the path illuminated. Aleister noted that there were no other spaces in the floor for lights, nor did they have any kind of a path built into the deck that led any of the other doorways he noted as they walked.

He was intently studying them for the few minutes they’d been walking when Gwen held him fast. He stopped and looked to her, but she pointed ahead. He saw a shimmering transluscent field was obstructing the path, generated by some sort of emitters lining the walls and ceiling.

“Oh right. Hold on a second, lemme disable that. That’s one of the ship’s reality reset fields. You pass through that and….well, it’ll essentially reset your form to, ah, what it used to look like. Pretty sure you guys don’t want that, and I don’t want to do it to you.“

The field shimmered and then faded out of existence. The emitters retreated inside the wall, a series of flaps closing over them.

They continued along the illuminated path until it came to a doorway. The lights ran up the wall and illuminated the shape of a pointing hand that indicated the closed door. The door opened to reveal a large dome shaped room, dominated by a massive viewport that covered fully half of the dome, outside of which they could see an entire world just hanging in the blackness. Parked in the middle of the room were a series of those strange advanced consoles arranged in an arch around a single utilitarian chair seemingly bolted to the floor and facing away from the pair.

Aleister was dumbfounded by the sheer spectacle, but Gwenefyr found her voice. “This is….incredible. What is this??”

The chair spun to reveal a man sitting in it. He was a hyur, or at least resembled one. He looked somewhat stocky, wearing dark blue pants of what looked like a utilitarian fabric, made as a mix of durable and comfortable, and a red shirt with an image in white lines that neither of them recognized. His short hair and longer beard were both dark in color, but going grey at the edges. Excitement could be seen behind his black-rimmed spectacles as he stood to greet them. “Hey, hey, there they are! Been looking forward to meeting you two for quite some time!”

He extended a hand, and both of them tenatively shook it.

“Who…who are you? What even is this place?” Aleister asked, still not quite able to stop himself from looking around.

“Hah, right on to business I see. Well, can’t say I blame you, this is probably a lot to take in. Well, let me start. My name is Brandon. As to what this place is, we’ll get to that. And as to why I extended this invitation to you? Well, that’s a real long story, but it starts with me telling you this: Like you, I’m not from this, ah…what’s the term you guys use here…Star, that’s it! Not from this star.”

That got their attention. Both turned to look at him immediately. “Are you…are you an explorer of some kind?” Aleister asked, a mixture of awe and a little hope in his voice.”

Brandon shook his head. “Not exactly, no. But, perhaps I should start at the beginning.” He gestured to the massive viewport, at the round image that dominated it. “You recognize this, I take it?”

“That…that’s Hydaelyn, isn’t it? From far away, as if viewed in the firmament of the night sky” Aleister replied.

Brandon nodded. “Very good. And this?” He reached outword, hands splayed open. Small blue cubes of light appeared around his fingertips and be brought them closer together in front of him. As he did, the image in the viewport changed. Hydaelyn shrank and other spheres appeared, smaller copies forming a circle of which Hydaelyn was a part, but with gaps in multiple places.

“Wait, I recognize that pattern from one of the texts Urianger gave me! Is that supposed to be…the shards?” Gwenefyr asked.

“Indeed! But now comes the kicker.” Brandon brought his hands even closer, and the viewport shifted again. The circle of worlds shrank and moved to a side and a whole host of other illuminated spheres, each with is own ring of smaller spheres forming their own circles, appeared.

Franks just stared, mouth agape. There had to be well over a hundred of the circles. “What….what are those?”

Brandon smiled. “That, my friend, are other Hydaelyns.”

Gwenefyr gasped as Franks whirled to face him. “You…you did it! You figured out how to do it? What’s the secret, what have I been missing?”

Brandon’s expression shifted into a frown. “We’ll….get there. Still a lot I need to show you. But first…” He brought his hands together fully.

The viewport shifted again. All of the Hydaelyns shrank further, displaying as a wedge, barriered by a line of light, and adjacent to it…were even more worlds, each marked by a barrier of their own, arranged next to each other as though they were part of a large wheel that only a small section of could be seen.

Brandon raised his left hand, only two fingers extended, and made a swiping motion to the right. The display of the wheel shifted, the wedge of Hydaelyns moving to the right and a new wedge with its own series of white lights. An electronic chimed intoned and text appeared on the viewscreen below the wedge.

“Azeroth” Gwenefyr intoned, somewhat breathlessly.

Brandon nodded. “Inside there is your original home….along with with thirty-seven different versions of the universe of Azeroth. Each unique and distinct from each other in a myriad of ways”

“And that, my friends, is the tip of the iceberg of what we like to call the multiverse. A grouping of universes, mostly alike in structure and history, with different versions of a vast majority of the same people found on all of them, but each with certain ‘key differences’ that make them unique. Divergent points in history, different people in key positions of influence or power, things like that. All of them represented by a single one of these wedges. Swipe to another wedge, and you have a set of completely different universes with a different set of rules, history, people, entirely unrelated to anything in another wedge, with their own different universes with ‘key differences’, and yes thats a technical term by the way.”

He extended his hand again and continued swiping. That same chime played with each swipe, and another wedge moved to the center, text appearing that neither of the visitors managed to retain.

“Just to give you an idea of how many of these ‘universal clusters’ there are, I could sit here and swipe once every second, and it would be twelve hours before I even got halfway.”

Aleister turned back to him “I have so many questions…”

Brandon held up a hand to stop him. “I know. But first, you need to understand who I am, or more accurately, who I represent.

“Uncountable eons ago, there was a race of beings, the original name of which has long been lost, who were incredibly technologically advanced. They discovered the existence of other universes and before long, developed a way to generate gateways that crossed the metaphysical barrier that lie between them all. They found a universe similar to their own, but with seemingly small but impactful differences between them. But like them, their neighbors were peaceful, dedicated to knowledge and cooperation for the good of all, and so they established diplomatic relations with each other, working together to benefit both of their peoples.”

“This cooperation proved boonful, and so they did it again and again. A central citadel, home of a dozen different gateways to differing versions of their universe, was established over time, allowing the best minds to collaborate with each other and advance their civilizations together, for the good of all. The completion of a new gateway became a cultural holiday known as ‘Opening Day’, People from all over the varying universes would get together with their own counterparts and celebrate.”

“Unfortunately, they made an assumption. Every universe they’d traveled to, while having some cultural or political differences to overcome, ultimately was not terribly different. Their race was still the dominant one of the world, and they ultimately wanted the same thing, to be brought forward into their shared age of enlightenment and reason.”

“The very last gateway they ever opened was to a universe dominated by a predatory insectoid species that every other universe had destroyed early in their recorded histories. In this universe, however, the insectoids had won. And over time, they’d evolved into a vicious hiveminded swarm that had consumed nearly all other forms of life on their world. And they….were hungry”

Brandon’s face grew somber. “What followed, as you can imagine, was a cataclysm. The insectoids poured through the gateway in uncountable numbers, consuming all in their path. And since all the other gateways were centralized in the same spire, they soon expanded into every other universe. growing in vast numbers as they consumed more and more biomass. The race had no weapons to stop them, they had evolved past a need for them, and so they stood no chance against the insectoid’s single unified mind driving their massive vicious forms.”

“It took only a few months before the race was all but extinct. The insectoids had utterly consumed their entire civilization and culture. I say ‘all but’ because some two dozen did survive, boarding a small number of experimental craft meant to traverse the inter-universal space that separated them. What they found was that there were no other universes belonging to their people. They were all that remained. But as they explored the rift between worlds in their ships, they found others. Nothing like them, but full of live and people of varying kinds. But they also found others where forces of destructive power reigned as well, forces that would consume other universes if they were to learn of them”

“They vowed that they would never let the mistake they’d made happen again. The multiverse was glorious, yes, but also fragile. It needed to be kept safe from itself. And so they would become its Sentinels, watchful protectors and guardians.”

Brandon looked between them both. “And that’s who I work for. The Sentinels. They employ agents from across the multiverse to keep a close eye on individual sectors, a small group of universal clusters. I have the responsibility of keeping watch over the myriad versions of both Hydaelyn and Azeroth, among others. And that’s why we’re speaking today.”

Brandon brought up the images of the Hydaelyn wedge on the monitor. “Now, for nearly everyone, travel between universes is simply impossible. They can’t even fathom that it exists. There are powerful entities in some that might have the capability to tunnel through the inter-universal rift, but again, our best advantage is that they simply don’t know it exists. We keep a close eye on these entities, but most of the cross-universe incursions we have to deal with happen spontaneously and on small scales. Small portals between universes will spontaneously manifest, and sometimes living creatures will get caught up in them. WHen they’re dangerous, we intervene. Agents, like myself, are empowered to recruit beings from these universes to travel to a universe that something hazardous from their own has appeared in, and deal with the problem. They go home, we agents come in and wipe the memories of anyone who saw anything, and life goes on for everyone. These assets then go on with their own pursuits until such time as they are needed again, if ever. They are sworn to secrecy about the multiverse’s existence, but otherwise we ask no other obligations of them.”

“However, your case was a different one, Aleister. In your case, you not only didn’t threaten the universe you ended up in, you ended up actively working towards ending the threat of that universes versions of the Ascians, who as you might imagine are on our “shitlist” of potential problem entities. I decided to watch and see what you did, and you did not disappoint. You kept your origins secret, for the most part, and made yourself an even bigger threat to them. Normally, a cross universe incursion signals us to destroy a spontaneously generated portal, we keep them open for study until that happens, but yours we left open as a result of your choices.”

He looked over to Gwenefyr. “What I absolutely did not expect was that, in her tenacity to be reunited with you, your lady love would also find that portal and go through herself. And while I am a romantic at heart who is thrilled to see you reunited and happy, unfortunately, you’ve told your story to an increasing number of people on your Hydaelyn, which has forced me to act.

Aleister tensed. “Act? To what end?”

“As I said, secrecy is our prime directive. The more people know, the more danger the multiverse is in. You’ve not only told a fair number of people in your version of Hydaelyn, but thanks to the portal’s presence, your version of the Exarch managed to summon heroes to help you from other universes. In every other universe, he summoned people from that universe’s shards. Not in yours. The same thing happened when Rheika used Azem’s crystal against Elidibus. She brought allies from yet another universe. And in both of those instances, those Warriors of Light became aware of the multiverse, opening more avenues for the knowledge to spread. We cannot have that.”

Franks threw up his hands in frustration. “But look at the good we did! The final two unsundered Ascians, defeated! Who knows what other good we could accomplish if the Warriors of Light from all of the Hydaelyns came together? How many more universes could we save from their Ascians, and how quickly?”

Brandon pointed a finger at him. “And this is why I had to sabotage your experiments, you don’t comprehend the consequences of what you are doing. You forget the lesson of the Sentinel’s origins, already! If we do that, then everyone learns of the multiverse very quickly, and then they’ll start trying to enter it on their own. Look at this!”

WIth a series of gestures, Brandon brought a small number of differing Hydaelyn-and-Shards rings into view. He pointed to one of them. “That one? That’s your adopted home. Hydaelyn-83, by our numbering.” He pointed to the closest one. “This one is Hydaelyn-82, your ‘neighbor’ metaphysically speaking.” Four figures appeared on the viewport. “Recognize anyone?”

Aleister looked at the figures. One was a dark-haired midlander woman, another was a dark-skinned rava viera. He recognized neither of them, but the last two, a red-skinned xaela woman and a dark-skinned elezen with purple and red hair, he did remember. “Yes, those two. That’s Toragana and Veilette, they helped us defeat Hades!”

Brandon nodded. “Just so. On their world, these four are the Warriors of Light. Unlike you and yours, however, they allowed themselves to be almost wholly defined by the traumas of their past and elected to use their power to ensure that none would ever control them again. They would utterly destroy any who crossed them, in the name of dispensing justice, including Gaius van Baelsar, who did not escape the Praetorium alive as he did in your world. Their relationships with the Scions and the leaders of the city-states was extremely strained, but it was Gaius’ own death that proved to be their undoing. Without him, Valens van Varro’s WEAPON project went unopposed in secret, and he unleashed them in a devastating attack on Limsa Lominsa, utterly destroying the city and killing three of the four Warriors of Light.”

Toragana and the two unknown women disappeared from the viewport.

“With her sisters dead, Veilette went into hiding with what few followers she had. Though she had killed the Unsundered, no one was able to stop Fandaniel’s plans from moving forward. Now this Hydaelyn is a ravaged battlefield between Lunar Primals and Garlean warmachina, with the rest of the world caught in the middle, hiding in what few pockets of safety remain. Would you go to that world and potentially expose yours to that danger?”

Brandon pointed to another cluster. “Or perhaps this one? Hydaelyn-72. On this one, the Ascians miscalculated. They rejoined the First with the source, empowering the Black Rose gas with all of that Light aether from the First, but it was more potent than they imagined. The gas was extremely virulent, sweeping throughout the entire world, turning everything it touched into Sin Eaters. Now that Hydaelyn is a death world, a barren wasteland roamed by beasts of light and choked by toxic air, while the Ascians wonder how to salvage their grand plan. Would you see someone inadvertently open a portal to that universe and see that toxic air claim another entire star?”

Both Franks looked on in horror. Aleister spoke. “I….I see your point. But could the Sentinels not stop such things?”

Brandon laughed. “We don’t have the numbers or the tech to stop entire armies in a fight or to contain a virulent toxic gas from spreading. There’s a reason we try to keep universes contained, and that’s because if we don’t, once it progresses past a certain point, we don’t have a way to stop it. And so we work from the shadows, clipping small problems before they get big and erasing memories so no one remembers any of it that we don’t want to.”

Franks clasped his hands in front of his face, as Gwen placed a hand on his shoulder. “So, you said you had to act because I came here. What happens now?”

Brandon crossed his arms, his expression softening. “Well, per our protocol, I’ve got two choices for you. Choice one, I wipe both of your memories of all of your time on Hydaelyn-83, return you to your Azeroth, and wipe everyone’s memory of ever having met you. I don’t want to do that one, I really don’t. You’ve proven a net benefit to 83, you really have, but I have to contain this. So there’s my second option, you two, along with everyone else in the Scions that you’ve told, officially sign up as assets for us. If something from a Hydaelyn threatens people in another universe, I ask you to help me deal with it, you do so. I should stress that this is not a common occurrence and when it does happen, it’s even more rare that it’s a really difficult threat. Otherwise you live your lives with the knowledge you have of the multiverse with no other interference, from us at least, so long as you don’t spread what you know. Just know that if you take that option, the portal closes too. You never can go back to your original universe.”

Anger emerged on Gwen’s face. “You can’t possibly expect us to make that decision on our own. We have to talk to them, let them decide for themselves! They need to know what we’re asking of them!”

Brandon smiled. “Already did that. Told them all everything I told you yesterday. Every single one agreed to sign up and keep what they know secret, but only if you chose to stay. They didn’t want you to not have the choice to ‘go home’ as Dahkar put it.”

Aleister looked over at Gwen, who nodded to him. “It’s not our home anymore, we already came to terms with that. If our friends agreed to this, then it’s pretty clear how much they’re willing to do to let us stay, So, we accept.”

Brandon clapped his hands. “Great! I’ll take care of everything else. Just remember, absolutely no sharing this knowledge with anyone else, and no more cross-universe gateway experiments on your own, okay? Awesome. You guys can head out through that door, it’ll take you back where you came in. And don’t worry about being seen, I put up a small field around that doorway that basically makes people suddenly remember far more important things whenever they look at it. No one should bat an eye at you.” He gestured to a newly opened door that Aleister was fairly confident was not there before.

He extended a hand to Gwen, who took it. The pair smiled at each other and walked out of the ship, not looking back.

They emerged from the same doors they’d entered in Bulwark Hall. As Brandon had promised, no one even looked twice at them.

Aleister sighed. “Well, that was….a thing. I guess we better get back to the Rising Stones and tell the other Scions what happened here.”

Gwen nodded. “You think we made the right choice? I mean, I know we committed to this already, but this…it’s kinda final.”

Aleister smiled warmly at her. “Now that you’re here and staying with me? Yes, yes I do.”

“Then let’s head home, my love.”

“All right! Ready for your first aetheryte teleport?”

Gwen smirked and began casting the magick, rising into the air as she did. Franks smiled, and followed suit.

The pair winked out of existence, heading towards their future.

[knifeshoeoreofight]

Part 3 of ?

(part 1 here)

(part 2 here)

They fall into a pattern after that. Sid works in the labs during the day, going over previously gathered data and doing just enough to keep Bettman thinking that all is well. Natalia teaches him the staff rotations and camera locations to allow him to reach the observation room without being caught, and they meet up there in the middle of the night to discuss their plans.

Natalia just calls the being “malysh” most of the time, but Sid had wanted to call him with his name. The being had only laughed in a riot of color and explained that Sid had no hope of replicating it with human vocal cords. Much of the being’s communication, aside from color and telepathy, he explained, was subsonic, at frequencies too low for human ears. 

“Evgeni,” Natalia says firmly, in order to move the conversation along. “Good Russian name. Can call you Zhenya for small.” 

I like it the being--Zhenya-- had replied, radiating mental warmth in response. 

 “Zhenya,” Sidney had said, testing the sound of it in his mouth. The lights on Zhenya’s body had all flickered in response. 

Now, they have the rudiments of a plan. Zhenya needs some of the equipment on his ship, badly. 

My kind, he explains. We….adapt, easily. I can stop your gravity and atmosphere... from killing me. But I need my ship. 

Their communication comes so much easier now. Sid wonders if there’s some kind of link or connection that grows stronger with use. He knows that it still takes effort and that Zhenya has to rest after long sentences, but the gaps are becoming shorter. Zhenya’s personality, vibrant from the first, comes through even more clearly now. Sid can see why Natalia is so fiercely protective of him, and he aches thinking about the suffering he’s had to endure until now. 

I will be able to assume an almost human biological form he tells Sid one night. Tell me...what is considered good, to your species? In a person’s form. 

His lights are all soft yellow and his eyes are wide and innocent-looking. Suspiciously so. When he imitates a human facial expression it’s deliberately done. 

Sid flushes. “You mean, like, what is aesthetically pleasing? Or um.” 

Lights pulse, a rainbow of other colors flickering through the yellow. Your species is very focused on...reproductive availability, correct? 

“Oh god,” Sid says, feeling his face heat up even further. “Uh. Well, height is considered pretty important, for guys? And, um.” 

Reproductive organ size? Zhenya says, still wide-eyed and butter-yellow with what Sid is beginning to think is faux-innocence. 

“Such a dick,” Sid blurts. His face feels like it’s on fire. 

Not yet Zhenya sends, smugness radiating from the words like bad cologne. 

“You told me last night that your people have monitored our radio and television signals for decades,” Sid accuses. It had floored him to learn, but it explained Zhenya’s ability to speak human languages, albeit telepathically. “You know exactly what is considered attractive to humans.” 

I only want to program the DNA successfully, Zhenya claims.

“Uh huh.” Sidney rolls his eyes, but has to smile as Zhenya’s lights edge toward pink. “Sure you do.” 

***

Sid has more than a few overwhelming fears about their plans. 

“If I disappear at the same time you do,” he says, one night about two weeks in. “They might come after me once I return home. They’ll be watching my place, probably.” He feels terrible even bringing this up. Zhenya and Natalia are both risking so much. 

Once I have adapted Zhenya tells him, lights flowing down his skin in a way that seems intended to comfort and reassure. I will still have some of my abilities, and my technology. I will be able to protect you. 

“You’ll be staying with me?” Sid asks. “After this?” 

Zhenya goes very still. If. If you consent. 

“Of course,” Sid says. He feels a strange sense of relief. The scientist in him, of course, wants every opportunity to continue to learn about extraterrestrial life, and the rest of him has begun to grow...fond of Zhenya. His curiosity, his surprising playfulness. His affection for Natalia. 

Sid leans his forehead against the glass. He’s exhausted from weeks of fractured sleep and strung out nerves. They’re alone tonight- Natalia’s husband has a cold and she stayed home from work to care for him. 

Zhenya leans his forehead against the glass as well, making one of his low, rumbling hums. 

It was my dream, he thinks wistfully. All my life. To come and study this planet. I’m not ready to leave it. I just need to be free of this place. 

“I know,” Sid says softly, and tries something new. Just like the times he sends thought Zhenya’s way, he tries to send the complicated bundle of emotions lodged in his chest. Fear, affection, resolve. 

Sid is all Zhenya sends back, and the glass between them trembles with sound that Sid mostly feels, rather than hears. 

He has the strangest sense that there’s more that Zhenya would like to say, but he holds his peace, moving instead to the less emotionally fraught topic of the facility’s containment breach protocols. 

***

After a while, there isn’t anything more to discuss. There is only the execution of their plan. 

Their saving grace is that due to the paranoia of those running the facility, nothing so much as a laptop camera is allowed in the observation room. They decide then, that getting through the window is their best bet, as they will have at least two hours between guards making security checks of the room. 

Sid has access to the equipment storage area for the research department. He manages to steal a reciprocating saw and an acetylene torch easily enough, hiding them in one of the equipment lockers close to the observation room. He packs a backpack with only the absolute essentials, and makes his way to where Zhenya is waiting for him, tense and pacing as they wait for Natalia to arrive. 

When she arrives, she wastes no time. She presses a wrapped package of food into Sid’s hands and kisses him on both cheeks. Sid has to swallow and clear his throat before he can ask her how preparations went. 

“Pipe is blocked in office block. All cleaning staff go there, big mess.” 

Sid nods. They have to get Zhenya out, then time their race to reach the hanger just right to avoid security patrols. 

Natalia pauses, then presses something heavy into Sid’s hands, wrapped up in what appears to be a flowered tea towel. 

He goes cold all over when he realizes that it’s a handgun. 

“I’m take from guard’s room,” Natalia says. Her expression is worried but her gaze is flinty. Whatever it takes, her eyes say. 

Sid’s hands shake a little, but he checks the safety, and tucks the weapon in the waistband of his jeans. The reality of it is, he doesn’t know how to use a gun properly, and the guards here are most likely going to bring him down and ask questions never. Some of the tension leaves Natalia’s shoulders though, and that is enough. 

The plexiglass of the viewing window proves insanely difficult to deal with. It emits billows of noxious-smelling smoke as it melts, and when Sid has to alternate between the torch and the saw. His shoulders and arms are burning and sweat is running off him in rivers as he grits his teeth and shears through the window centimeter by hardwon centimeter. They’re cutting a diagonal across one of the corners, hoping for the sealant to fail and make for fewer cuts. 

His brain is just an endless loop of come on come on come on come on as beside him Natalia starts to murmur what sound like prayers. 

A glance into Zhenya’s enclosure shows smoke collecting at an alarming rate. His lights are flickering a sick green-yellow that turns Sid’s stomach with worry. 

Finally. He hits the edge of the window and starts in on the massive bolts on the frame, working his way down from the top as Natalia starts in on the ones on the bottom. 

They’re not going to have enough time. There’s no way. Sid wedges a crowbar under the edge of the frame and heaves on it, with a strangled grunt. Natalia grabs on as well and they both haul on it as Zhenya pushes on the opposite side. 

There’s a horrible squeal of metal on metal, and, miraculously, the frame gives. The plexiglass falls out of it with a thud.

“Go, go!” Natalia cries. She pushes Sid’s bag at him and he throws it over his shoulder. He turns and holds out his arm to support Zhenya as he folds himself through the gap. He’s lighter than he looks, as if he’s hollow-boned as a bird. 

Quick.

He extends a tendril to Natalia and she holds out her hand. Sid watches in puzzlement as Zhenya’s lights flare. 

It is an honor, Natalia  he says. 

Natalia’s eyes are wet as she hurries them out of the room and down the long corridor to Zhenya’s ship. Sid can hear an alarm start to blare in another part of the complex. 

“Be safe,” Sid tells her with a final kiss to her cheek. She nods, and takes off. She has to make it to an electrical panel that will allow her to throw the fuses for the hanger bay. 

Come, Zhenya tells him, and they take off down the endless hall, sirens and flashing lights now blaring around them. Zhenya stumbles, and Sid has to haul him upright. 

As if in a slow motion nightmare, just as they turn a corner and the hanger doors come into view, Sid registers a guard standing there, raising a radio to his lips. 

Sid reaches for the gun before he can think. Sweat-slick palms, nothing but the drum of his heart in his ears. 

He fires. The shot goes wide, the guard swivels, bringing up his own weapon. 

Sid fires again. The guard goes down, clutching at his leg. Before he can reach his dropped weapon Sid kicks it away. He wants to lean over and vomit. 

Later.

The guard’s key card opens the doors for them, at least, and as they run inside, the lights all go down, save the faint glowing ones on the ship itself. 

Past the electric barrier erected around it, up into the gaping entryway that opens at Zhenya’s touch. 

Hold on Zhenya thinks tersely at him, as Sid half collapses against a bulkhead, lungs burning. 

The ship hums to life, and Sid sways on his feet as it rises into the air. Zhenya is standing inside a curved, organic looking arch, a web of light rising around him as the ship turns, screeching and throwing sparks as it brushes the hanger walls. 

The doors are corrugated steel, and Zhenya had told them that his ship can break through. Sid still closes his eyes as he hears the thrum of the engines increase in pitch. Nothing around him had looked anything like an identifiable jumpseat or safety harness, so he just braces himself against the bulkhead. 

Then the ship’s sudden acceleration presses him back into the wall like an enormous hand, there’s a jolt, an awful shearing sound of metal on metal, and the floor beneath Sid tilts. 

The ship is shuddering, G forces pushing on Sid until the edges of his vision start to go dark. He might be screaming. Everything is sound, and roaring, and pressure. Time itself seems to stretch.

Then, easy as a sigh, the pressure lets him go. The floor rights itself, the engines calm. 

Sid is on the floor on his hands and knees, panting for breath. When he can raise his head again, he looks up, out of the cockpit window.

Beyond it is deep, velvety black- too deep and dark to comprehend, spangled with a billion points of light. 

The stars.

***

Sid is lightheaded with residual adrenaline and his hands shake with fine tremors. His eyes greedily devour the sight outside as he stands in front of the main viewing-window- the blue of the sky going cold and deep at the very edge of space, the infinite blackness beyond the fragile curve of the earth.

“Zhenya,” he breathes, and turns to look at him.

Zhenya is manipulating the web of light that must make up the controls, but he seems unwell. He’s hunched over a little, and his breathing seems rasping and labored.

Sid realizes, with a flood of guilt, that he’s able to breath perfectly, and that the gravity of the ship, after the press of rapid acceleration had ceased, feels normal to him.

“Zhenya,” he says urgently. “The life support systems. You’ve set them to human parameters, haven’t you?”

Zhenya blinks at him, slow. You would suffer ill effects from my species’s ideal parameters.

“Maybe of atmospheric composition,” Sid says. “What about gravity? Does your species need higher or lower gravity than humans?

Lower.

Sid sighs in relief. “That’s fine then, my species has done great in zero-g, even, without too many ill effects. Go ahead and change it.

Zhenya does something, and Sid grins like a child as his feet slowly leave the floor. Zhenya sighs, taking a deep, rattling breath that sounds, to Sid, relieved.

“This,” Sid assures him,”Is so fucking cool. I’ve dreamt of stuff like this, space and weightlessness, my whole life.”

Zhenya’s lights pulse, and Sid feels a swell of wordless affection wash up against his thoughts.

Zhenya just feels so fond when he looks at Sid. Sid doesn’t know quite what to do with that so he turns to look out of the window again, just in time to see the Baltic Sea slide by underneath them.

Something occurs to him. In all this planning, they hadn’t considered-

“Uh, where are we going,” Sidney asks.

I need time for the adaptation  Zhenya replies. I still want to conduct my research. I could take you anywhere. I have earth resources we can use.

Sid has to stare out the window at that a little. Instead of northern Norway, he watches the reflection of Zhenya’s lights, gone gently blue and pink.

He’s sitting in a spaceship. He’s sitting in a spaceship with an extraterrestrial and he’s on the run from a shadowy government organization. He shakes his head.

“I don’t even know,” he says softly, and for some reason, he thinks, “I shot someone today,” and his hands start to shake.

Sidney. Zhenya moves to stand behind him, and he rests one of his long-fingered hands on Sid’s shoulders.

He can feel...regret, he thinks, bleeding across the connection of their minds. He turns to face Zhenya.

“I’m so glad we got you out,” he says decisively. “I am.”

You are… Zhenya pauses. Extraordinary. You and Natalia. You have both risked so much for me.

His eyes are fathomless, his face as unreadable as it ever is. But the pulse of his lights and the warmth in his mind tells Sid everything that his expression won’t.

Sid, for some reason, feels his own face heat. “It was the right thing to do.The humane thing.”

Humane, from the word for your species Zhenya thinks, and his mind does something that feels a lot like the equivalent of a smile. You humans are creatures of such staggering contrast and potential.

Sid can’t meet that steady gaze anymore. He looks out of the window again. Are they over the North Atlantic?

“So this adaptation,” he asks. “What is that going to entail?”

Natalia brought me a hair of her husband’s and one of her own. I will be very nearly as if I had been their son.

Sid shakes his head in amazement and feels a curious sense of loss. All that Zhenya is, all of his otherworldly beauty, compressed into a human shell. Necessary to live on earth and fulfill his dream, perhaps, but still.

I look forward to a mostly human body Zhenya goes on. I will only hold up to the most rudimentary medical scrutiny, but I will definitely stop being killed by your environment—at least not any faster than you. He flickers his lights wryly.

I will need to spend about an earth month in a nutrient bath as my DNA is re-programmed and my body restructures itself. The DNA from Natalia was the final piece, the rest of the scaffolding was already completed as part of the preparation for this expedition.

“You guys really can just rewrite DNA, huh,” Sid says, shaking his head.

Our technology for genome manipulation arose out of necessity, Zhenya explains. My people were dying out. After we discovered space travel, we discovered that almost everything foreign to our planet caused our DNA to mutate. We were fragile. Luckily, we developed the technology before it was too late.

Sid cannot help but think,for a moment, of children dying of cancer. Of his grandfather losing his mind to Alzheimer’s.

I’m sorry, Zhenya says, having probably ascertained some of that from Sid’s thoughts. The ability to accept radical gene therapies and be effectively re-written is a particular trait of my people’s DNA. Our technology would not be of any use to humans, to my regret. You are noble to think of it.

“Ah, well,” Sid says. “We’ll have to muddle through on our own, then.”

Zhenya flickers at him, then tilts his head to one side.

You grow tired, he says. The extensive telepathic communication is hurting you.

Oh. Now that he’s paying attention, Sid can feel the beginnings of a headache throbbing at his temples.

“We never decided where we were going.” He has to laugh a little.

We will stop at your abode, and then-- Zhenya doesn’t finish the thought, but Sid gets a quickly stifled mental flicker of... palm trees?

Wherever you would like, Zhenya defers politely.

“It’s your research trip.” Sid smiles at him. “What was your plan?”

Zhenya’s lights glow excitedly. In my research I encountered several cultural artifacts of popular entertainment set in Miami. One in particular seemed to imply it would make an excellent hiding location for those involved in espionage and covert operations.

“Are you….talking about Burn Notice?”  Sid says, and laughs. Why is that so cute? “Face it, you just want to go to the beach, eh?”

Maybe so Zhenya replies, and his mental tone is a warm as a smile, even if his slit of a mouth doesn’t move.

“Sure, let’s go.” Sid winces as a bolt of pain stabs his temples.

Rest, Zhenya tells him both in word and in a soothing ripple of light. I shall take you to your home and we will then travel to our next hiding place after you have gathered your belongings. Please. He motions to an entryway in the rear of the cockpit.

When Sid goes where he’s bidden, he finds a handful of compact rooms. One is dimly lit, with soothing colors playing over the walls and a white, squashy blob the size of a king mattress on the floor.

Just to be sure, Sid hollers up the hall. He doesn’t want to end up sleeping in the equivalent of an alien toilet. When he receives the affirmative that it is, in fact, a bed, he puts down his pack and takes his shoes off, studying the weird, organic shapes of the room’s mysterious furnishings.

He snorts out a laugh when he notices, enshrined in a wall niche, a little collection of earthly looking doodads including, of all the fucking things, a Funko Pop figurine. He goes over to look and the objects make him smile. There’s a pine cone, a dented tin can of baked beans, and a postcard from Seattle. He knew Zhenya was fascinated with Earth but this tenderly displayed cluster of random artifacts just drives it home.

The bed is strange. The surface feels like silicone rubber and velvet had an oddly comfortable lovechild, but it’s pillowy and soft and he drops immediately off to sleep as soon as he lays his head down.

***

Sid.

Sid jolts awake as though his name had been spoken aloud, not just into his mind.

Zhenya is leaning over him.

How is your head?

Sid’s head feels a little like it usually does after a big headache- sort of like it’s a fishbowl made of brittle glass that he needs to be careful with. But it’s manageable.

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “Where are we?”

The roof of your apartment building.

That wakes him up. “Okay, nice. Are you coming in with me?”

Zhenya’s lights flicker excitedly. I would love to finally visit a private human domicile.

Sid smiles. The thought was accompanied by the same feeling of giddiness he imagines you’d get from a kid walking into a toy store.

***

Sid’s apartment is thankfully on the top floor, and they get Zhenya inside without incident. Zhenya does something with some sort of scanning device and his thoughts pulse with concern.

We should not linger. This building is being surveilled.

Fuck.

Go Zhenya tells him. I will keep watch.

Sid’s place is dim with all the shades drawn, and the still air with its closed-for-weeks smell adding to the surreality of it all as Sid makes his way through his rooms with a pounding heart.

What do you bring with you when you might be leaving life as you knew it behind for good? He grabs a duffle bag, then decides he doesn’t have time to be tidy and finds a garbage bag in the kitchen. He can organize later.

A couple changes of clothes, his backup hard drive, a photo of his parents. Does he take a bottle of shower gel? It’s not like he’s leaving the planet (ha). There’s going to be a CVS or something in Florida.

In goes his favorite quilt that his grandmother made him. A coffee mug he’s fond of from his sister. A stack of research materials and books that he’d hate to lose. There’s no reason he can’t keep working. A few more things get shoved haphazardly into the duffle and the garbage bag.

Just in time he realizes that he should probably grab his birth certificate and social security card. Just in case he really never comes back. Shit, what about rent? If he keeps paying rent, can the Russian organization that held Zhenya hack in and find out, tracking his credit card usage?

Too much to think about now. He’ll have time. He’s supposed to be in Russia for another month, in any case, and it’s paid in full.

He has everything he can’t do without. He takes a last look around. He has the strangest feeling that he’s never going to see the place again.

He shoulders the duffle and nods at Zhenya.

“Let’s go.”

***

[eirian-houpe]

Breathe - Chapter 4

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 4 - Magnitude

Rush hated when people looked over his shoulder, and as he made his best effort to make sense of Destiny’s interface, he detested it worst of all and bristled - but managed to hold his temper - when Eli started asking irritating questions.

“What’s that? It doesn’t look like life support,” Eli said.

“Yes, I realize that,” he offered, but pressed the button anyway. A hovering, transparent viewing screen illuminated in the middle of the room, drawing a sound of awe from Eli, and a question from Lieutenant Scott.

“What are we looking at?”

“It’s a star map,” Rush answered.

“That’s the Milky Way,” Park offered.

“I believe it’s a… visual log of the ship’s journey,” Rush said by way of agreement.

Eli reached out and pointed to a flashing blue circle on the map.

“So this is where we are now?” he asked.

“No,” Rush answered. “That’s where the ship originally embarked from.”

“Earth,” Eli said as Rush zoomed the display out, and a glowing blue line began to draw itself between that and other blue circles on the star map.

“It’s leaving the galaxy,” Park said.

“It did,” Rush corrected softly, “Long ago.”

“That was Pegasus.” Park again.

“So those points… are more stars?” Scott asked.

“No,” Eli almost sang. “They’re galaxies.”

Rush felt the fear streaming off of Scott as the lieutenant came to stand next to him and asked, breathlessly, “Rush… where the hell are we?”

Rush stared at the console, chin cradled in a finger crooked beneath it as he murmured, “Several billion light years from home.”

Rush threaded his way thought the milling crowd of people in the ‘Gate room, catching occasional snippets of conversation. He knew what he was supposed to be doing, and he knew what he was looking for, and the two were not necessarily one and the same thing.

He suspected he wasn’t the only one with his own agenda, and so his feeling of guilt at not being stuck at some console in the bowels of the ship looking for a solution, looking for a way to restart the life support system, measured at approximately the temperature of space outside of Destiny. Absolute Zero.

He heard Lieutenant Scott giving orders to mount a search of the ship, in teams of three, and he supposed it was a good enough idea. It would give them an idea of what - if anything - they had in the way of supplies other than those they had brought with them, but… it would do them little good if he couldn’t get the life support problem under control, which he couldn’t do with the damned military breathing down his neck every step of the way.

He had to have control.

Finally he found the object of his search and quietly unzipped the backpack that housed the Communication Stones, looking for a moment on their carrying case, before refastening the backpack and putting it at his feet at the nearest console, making a show of examining his broken glasses until Scott had left the area. He did perhaps feel a degree or two of guilt - in Kelvin that was - so thought to stop in and ask the others if they’d made any progress with the life support system, only to receive a barrage of essentially bad news.

Only eight hours of breathable air left. Marvelous! He really did have to do what he could to make sure it would be he that was put in command while Colonel Young was still incapacitated. It was just a shame that he’d have to deal with other military men - specifically General O’Neill - to achieve that.

It went better than he thought it would… though voices were raised and he did find himself on the receiving end of O’Neill’s ire, but he felt - as he sat back on his return to Destiny - that he had made his point and that he had been granted his wish.

”Rush… get those people home.”

An order he could follow…? Perhaps, perhaps not. He was certain that Destiny had a greater plan in mind, following a trajectory that took her beyond the known universe. There had to be a purpose, and he meant to find it. He meant to find the answer. It was, however, an order he could live with, because the way O’Neill had worded it… it gave him plenty of room to argue that the general had put him in charge of the expedition.

He smiled and sat back on his haunches. He closed his eyes and took as deep a breath as the thinning atmosphere aboard ship would allow - he had to do something about that - and began running all manner of swift calculations through his head.

…Rush…

He opened his eyes, and looked around, reaching out to quickly close and stow away the communication stones. No one was there.

…Nicholas…

It was like a breath against his ear from behind and in response he turned full circle on his knees. Christ, the hypoxia was beginning to get to him. It had to be. He was hearing things… feeling things…

The tightness caught his chest and squeezed.

”You’re wrong!”

His face darkened, and he caught the file folder she was carrying by the corner and folded his arms across his chest. She had called him an arrogant bastard, back in the commissary, and he had corrected her that he was confident. In that moment he felt downright predatory, and leaned indolently against the door he had just closed.

“Oh really?” he said. When she didn’t immediately answer, he added, “I don’t think so.”

She stepped toward him again then, her eyes as hard as ice and he felt his blood beginning to head south as she snatched back the folder; watched with half hooded eyes as she opened it to take out a photograph. She waved it in front of his face, and all he wanted to do was snatch it from her, toss it behind him and pin her to the bulkhead while he kissed her into submission. He wasn’t wrong. He was never wrong, not when it came to Ancient, and Ancient technologies.

He blinked, tearing his eyes away from her mouth as she spoke, her own breath coming quickly as she became lost in the passion of her own explanation of exactly how he was wrong. He felt his cock stir, thinking only of leaving her breathless in another way.

“If you translate this strictly according to the matrix and existing lexicon you’ve compiled, there are parts of it that make no sense. So there’s an error, and it’s here .” she held the photograph still for a moment to point to a section of the image. “This section… these letters.”

He began to act on his imaginings, snatched the photograph from her fingers but caught himself and peered at it, hard, before glancing up at her and back down at the photograph.

“And given that some of those characters are number placeholders, I would imagine that’s why your math is off too.”

It was as though she had thrown a bucket of cold water over him, and he spluttered as if she had as well. “My math is—?” then his voice turned darker as he said, “Oh, I assure you, Miss French there is absolutely nothing wrong with my calculations.”

“Doctor French,” she hissed, “And there is if the numbers you're working with are the wrong ones.”

He had heard enough; had enough, and ached with need enough that he thought to hell with the research. He thrust the photograph back into the file folder that he pulled from her hands, and tossed the whole thing toward the bed. Then rounded on her again, his voice hard as he spoke.

“You have the audacity to walk in here--” he began, but it seemed she was not for being chastened, and as her own anger flared, filling her eyes with the rare beauty of life and passion, he felt his need and anger mingle, arousal stirring in him even more than it already was. God he wanted her!

“Audacity?” she snapped, taking a step toward him. “You brought me here, insisted, as I recall, that I was going to join your team--”

“And it seems that I was right,” he cut across her objection, stepping toward her as she had to him, nodding toward the file that had spilled its contents over the top of the covers. Spread there as he was suddenly almost desperate to spread her open… lose himself to his reawakened passion.

“I didn’t have a lot of choice!” she all but growled at him, and took another step his way, pushing him in her obvious frustration. Her small hands felt like brands on his chest. “I don’t--”

He grasped her wrists, tugging her closer and trapping her arms between them, and she gasped as he did, cutting off what she’d been saying. He dipped his head, crushing his mouth to hers, unable not to, her inner fire called to him.

She stiffened, but only for a heartbeat, before she opened to his kiss, kissing him back with equal want - equal passion even as she tried to wrest her hands from his tight grasp.

She tasted sweet. Like summer and honey, and he moaned, turning them, pushing her up against the door, and released her hands, pressing the length of his body to hers. Fully hard.

She ran her fingers into his hair, pulling his head back as she tore her mouth from his, her breathing labored, and began nipping along his stubble covered jaw and neck. He trailed his hand down over her, cupping her breast through her tight fitting bodice, the lacy overlay rough against his palm where her peaked nipple pushed it against him.

She moaned…

A sudden lurch threw him to the deck and he rolled to hit his head against the bulkhead, bringing him to his senses, out of the memory that had come out of nowhere.

He dragged himself upward to a sitting position, rubbing at the side of his head where he’d collided with the wall of the room, then tugged at the uncomfortable tightness of his jeans. The lack of oxygen really was making him lose his mind.

…Rush…

The whisper of his name in the air around him sent another shiver through him. If she wasn’t on the ship, then she was gone… lost with Icarus Base. Why was she haunting him now?

[officerofcybertron]

Headcanons 1: Matrix

Is Ultra Magnus worthy to carry the Matrix of Leadership?

The short answer to this question is: Yes, but he doesn’t want it or need it, and it’s complicated.

The origins to this question naturally date back to the original G1 movie; when Ultra Magnus was introduced, chosen by Optimus Prime to become the new Autobot leader, and then… didn’t. It was never really covered as to why that was. Instead Hot Rod was the token ‘chosen one’ character, and the explanation was left at that. The Matrix didn’t choose Ultra Magnus.

Ultra Magnus explains to Optimus when he’s given the Matrix he’s ‘just a soldier’, but is this really the only reason there is? He’s just not ‘leadership material’?

We can all agree that G1 is a national treasure and that the plot points do not make that much sense in many regards. Rodimus Prime showed up in the movie, awe-inspiring, powerful, and confident, but then in the following cartoon show it became a running joke that he would learn a ‘valuable lesson’ in leadership, either from Ultra Magnus himself, or from other members of the team when they corrected him on his actions, and then be right back to behaving like a child in the next episode while Ultra Magnus essentially led the Autobots in all but name.

So; what does this have to do with Transformers Prime? The character of Ultra Magnus is fairly changed. G1 Ultra Magnus was a lot more relaxed, not quite so rule-obsessed, and had an understanding of what it meant to be a family. He was also known to laugh, and act as a guardian figure for Daniel.

Conversely Ultra Magnus in Prime is the very definition of ‘strict’. I like to think that if you were to look the word up in a Cybertronian dictionary, Ultra Magnus’ picture would probably be listed under the word as an example. He’s a stranger to the family environment, and it is likely that jokes roll right off his armor plating.

The answer is rather obvious, although a bit too simple: they’re both soldiers who’ve never been comfortable playing the ‘leading role’. Not because they aren’t good at it, but because it’s not something they’ve ever wanted. Instead, working as Second in Command, while still giving them the ability to direct their troops, and help their soldiers, still gives them the ability to defer to another authority.

But more importantly: Ultra Magnus does not want the Matrix.

I think the Matrix knows this, and therefore does not choose Ultra Magnus.

Not because Ultra Magnus is not worthy. He’s definitely worthy. Rather the Matrix, being what it is, I think can see into the spark of a Cybertronian presented to it and it can see this quietly hidden truth. A truth that, maybe, Ultra Magnus never spoke of to Optimus Prime. That he’s uncomfortable with being set up to be the next Prime. That he doesn’t want to be a Prime.

Obviously, this is in the case of the G1 cartoon, but I think this same aspect could be applied if ever Ultra Magnus from Transformers Prime were to be offered the Matrix.

On top of this, let’s be frank: Ultra Magnus doesn’t need the Matrix.

I know in Prime he was shown to have issues with leading Team Prime, but I also take a lot of my Ultra Magnus from the prequel novels, and in the prequel novels he was a bad-ass leader. Confident in his soldiers, and described as ‘daring, strategically ingenious, and courageous to the point of recklessness’ by Alpha Trion.

It’s honestly a huge curiosity of mine what would have happened had Ultra Magnus and Starscream gone head to head in a real battle. The two of them were never pitted against one another, but I have a feeling a fight between the two of them very easily could have decided the fate of the war.

Why? Because when Optimus and Megatron fight one another, almost nothing else exists around them. So, on a quick tangent imagine that happening. Optimus, with Ultra Magnus, and Megatron with Starscream, go into a full-on head-to-head battle. Optimus and Megatron almost immediately size one another up, because there’s no one else who’s going to take on their opposite number. That leaves Ultra Magnus and Starscream to direct the rest of the battle.

Imagine, just for a moment, how ridiculously amazing that would be story-wise. I honestly couldn’t tell you who would win. Starscream and his Seekers would have air superiority, but Ultra Magnus and his wreckers are bat-shit crazy and not afraid to fight dirtier than any other Autobot as long as it gets the job done.

Back onto the topic at hand: Ultra Magnus’ Wreckers followed him into the battle of Fort Scyk and then when Optimus and the rest of the Autobot forces intended to flee Cybertron on board the Ark they remained with Ultra Magnus to hold back Trypticon and to try to keep an Autobot presence on Cybertron.

They fought with him against unbelievable odds. Against Shockwave and his abominations. Facing death every time they went out and knowing that the next mission would always be a suicide mission.

You don’t do all that and not have faith, feel loyalty, for the person leading you.

Ultra Magnus doesn’t need the Matrix to be a great leader. He old enough that he has the experience; has the compassion needed. He’s capable..

Would he have accepted the Matrix if Optimus had died and passed it onto him? Yes, but I don’t think he would accept it as the next Prime. He would accept it for safe keeping. Knowing that the next Prime wouldn’t be him. He would accept it because it was expected of him and it was his responsibility.

Which is why I actually enjoyed the ending of Predacon’s Rising where Opitmus took the Matrix out of the equation.

If Transformers Prime had gotten a proper sequel, and not the disaster that 2015 RID offered us, it would have been amazing to see how Team Prime evolved in the absence of a sacred relic which bestows the right to lead. By removing the Matrix as the be-all-end-all, it would have allowed someone – like Ultra Magnus – to step up into that leadership position and help Cybertron flourish.

And I truly do believe it would have been Ultra Magnus who stepped up. Not because I feel Bumblebee or Smokescreen are incapable of being leaders. They both have leadership qualities. As does Arcee, and even Bulkhead. Rather I feel it would be because of Ultra Magnus’ already extensive experience, and service record, that would catapult him up to the most likely leader going forward.

I realize that people may disagree with me, and that’s totally fair. Until I started really looking into Ultra Magnus myself, about the same time I started this blog, I didn’t have a very high opinion of him, but the more I read, the more I thought, I realized that there was so much untapped potential here.

Ultra Magnus is a mech, an Autobot, who should be proud of what he’s accomplished and he is most certainly worthy of being a Prime, but the part about his character that I love the most?

He doesn’t need to be a Prime to be a Leader.

He doesn’t need the Matrix.

And it’s better that way.