#watch where you going in the city of sentinel

[quixotical-lymbo]

Pairing: D-16/Megatron x gn!Reader Rating: SFW Summary: After witnessing your conjunx endura descend into madness, you're left alone with your thoughts as the city of Iacon slowly begins to rebuild anew. However, your lover visits you the night he was banished from the city.  Warnings/Tags: Bittersweet, slight angst, cybertronian reader, pre-established relationship, possible corruption, ambiguous ending, and spoilers for the Transformers One movie.  Word Count: 1200+ words 

Something was wrong. 

You knew something was wrong when you felt something burst within your spark chambers. Your digits brushed against the space where your T-cog would be and…

You winced as the pain shot through the bond again. You could describe it as the feeling of sharp pieces of Energon flowing through your circuits. Hot and angry, then as somber as ice. 

Working in the Energon mines meant that danger could be lurking around the corner at any given moment. 

You understood this fact well, especially when working in the same crew as your sparkmate and his best friend. 

The rambunctious duo always had something going wrong for them as the cycles passed. Sometimes you ended up with the short end of the stick when you joined in on the 'fun.' On the other, you were watching from the sidelines as the two would get punished for their (mostly Orion's) schemes. The emotions shared through the bond were as warm as joy, slight pinches coming from D's annoyance, and the gentle touch of the love you two shared discreetly. 

 

So, why were you only sensing pain? 

What was happening to your lover? Was he safe? Did someone hurt him? Where was Pax while your conjunx endura's chaotic turmoil nearly made your optics teary? 

Where was he? 

Where was D-16? 

 

—--

Orion was shorter….the last time you interacted with him. 

Now? He easily towered over the crowd like a sore digit. You were beside yourself as your strained audials to listen to his words. 

Betrayal, Sentinel, Change. 

They were empowering, not quite heavy but it certainly stirred hope among the miners as they cheered. 

But, what of D-16? 

For a moment, Orion's optics met yours and confirmed your fears.

Something had happened to D-16. 

Here in the open for all of the citizens of Iacon to see was the fall of Sentinel Prime. His end? An impostor sharing the face of your mate who claimed the title of 'Megatron.' 

Who was this stranger with the face of your lover and why couldn't you feel him through the bond anymore? 

You remembered trying to tug at the bond, pulling and twisting to get something to react in response to your desperation. Your optics never strayed from the figure who stood above all of you. 

Yet, nothing came. Wait…

You could have sworn you saw 'Megatron's' optics scanning the crowd before they found their way to yours. 

Time slowed for the first time and you tried to search for anything, something in that stranger's optic for any presence of D-16. 

For a moment, the fiery glow of those optics dimmed. 

Then….

He turned away and never looked back in the direction where you stood again. 

Not even after Orion Pax, now Optimus Prime, banished him from Iacon. 

Your spark broke that day. 

Darkness covered the desolate area where most miners spend their nights in recharge. You stood before your conjunx endura berth, digits caressing the chipper stickers he had collected over time of his idol. The lights shining from your optics misted and you leaned closer to rest your forehelm on the space that once belonged to D-16. 

"____." A voice spoke from behind you.

You spun around and threw a punch, but the massive servo enveloping your servo stunned you. 

"D…?" You murmured in disbelief. 

'D-16' narrowed his optics and didn't respond when you pulled your servo out of his. 

"It's...Megatron now." 

"Right, right, sorry…I'm a little late on the new…this," You threw your hand up to gesture to his shiny, new frame. 

'Megatron' didn't appear amused at your sass and even drew closer to you. His steps felt daunting with each step he took as if the ground of the miners quarters would buckle beneath his weight. 

Backing up against the berth put into perspective how smaller you were compared to the mech. Megatron stepped closer and closed the distance between the two of you. He raised a servo near your faceplate, a low growl left his intake as you turned defiantly. 

 

"Did you not see why I had to do this? Why I had to become-" 

"-Ha!" You snorted and snapped your helm to look at him. "You mean when I tried 'seeing' you earlier? I'm pretty sure I wasn't the one who cut off their sparkmate from the bond  for no reason." 

"And another thing." You pushed against the edges of the berth and stepped forward with your chassis bumping against his. The larger mech could easily shove you back, but retreated as you approached. The silver mech mesmerized by the way your optics flickered into a darker shade only to snap out of it when you questioned him with, "Why did you return to me? Why now? I was certain you'd abandon me-" 

"-do you think so lowly of me as well?!" Megatron pushed back. His servo stretched to catch you when you stumbled, but dropped it when you flinched from his approaching touch. 

His servo was clenched as he drew it back to his side. Digits rubbed together to replace the lack of heat that usually came from your frame held under his grasp.

With a tilt of your helm, you asked, "I don't know anymore…one moment I'm happy spending the rest of my days with my sparkmate, but he disappears, and then returns as a power-hungry tyrant…what else am I supposed to think of you, D…no…Megatron?" 

Megatron did not speak, not that he knew how to. 

Silence fell upon the lovers, neither willing to break the tension. Not until now. 

"I came here…to see you," D-16 yielded. His soft voice easing the suspicion gnawing at you ever since he arrived, finally your frame went lax as his face became familiar. This was your conjunx endura, the one you bonded with and not whoever was there previously. 

"To ask if you'll join me, my love." 

"What?" You hissed. 

"Come with me," Megatron urged. "I have risked everything coming back here for you and I will not ask again." 

You brought a servo to your helm and felt a pit grow in your tanks. 

"Join me because I promise you…" Megatron leaned down to hold your gaze, "...the next time we see each other will be the end of us." 

"I…" You glanced at his servo that reached for you, most likely for the last time. Your optical ridges furrowed and Megatron's optics shimmered with delight as your servo fell over his. The larger servo enveloped the smaller one and pressed the palm of your servo against his spark chamber. Right over the area where Sentinel's previous cog was ripped out of him. 

The memory struck a chord in you. Becoming the thing to make you sober from the high of what this relationship could have been. Should have been. 

It could still happen, only if you said yes…but what fate would fall on Iacon if you joined the one bot desiring the destruction of the new era? 

Megatron watched the conflict swimming on your face, his thumb caressing the back of your servo as the other came up to settle on your waist. 

 

After a while, you gave him your answer. 

😼 - I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. cybercore/punk banner(s) by @kodaswrld !!

[babyblueetbaemonster]

The City of Sentinel is a free city. Like no fence in sight kind of free.

[ninamodaffari]

okay you guys got me started on dishonored (the series) fucking IMMACULATE art direction. I'm going to try and sum it up but I'm honestly better with art than words so I'll try my best.

dishonored is fucking unparaelled when it comes to art direction. from when you first start the game, each level has a distinct style, color, and vibe. dunwall is dominated by cool greys, towering, imposing structures like dark sentinels watching over the land. twisting, rotting trees and an ever-present smog that overtakes the city. dunwall is inky blue darkness.

HOWEVER, from a gameplay perspective, there are visual points of interest still that stops you from getting lost in a wash of blue. dishonored is a master of using lighting and color to lead you to areas that it wants you to go.

for example, in the corner of a window you might see glowing purple lighting. these are void shrines - where the outsider will appear and share knowledge harass you. usually around shrines there are walls of writing, strange twisted words that lead you further into the mystique surrounding what the outsider is and what he *does*.

you might think the game is just awash in dull colors, but its not. one of the most beautiful and striking levels takes place in lady boyle's mansion, and it's INSANE how different it looks, because it's supposed to be a stark contrast. surrounding her mansion are the remains of a dying city destroyed by a plague. within her mansion, however, is decadence and debauchery gone awry.

it's amazing with a game that was made TWELVE YEARS AGO how this still holds up and looks fantastic. this is because they went for a stylized art direction. it's stylized, almost painterly. it looks fantastic. here is some of the amazing character design

(this is from dishonored 2, done by Sergey Kolesov )

LOOK AT THIS ART. IT'S SO FREAKING AMAZING AND THE THING IS THE CHARACTERS LOOK SO CLOSE TO T HIS IN GAME. its a masterpiece. if you haven't played dishonored, please play it. all of them.

[dark-and-kawaii]

Listen, Zavrik is just ahdhdjabdjsks

However, you gotta give a girl a break. Not only am I thirsting and longing for fictional characters in a video game, but it's now like three levels deep cause it's not even like he's a non-romancable npc, he's a character that's not even part of the story! Not even a Tav or Durge, nope, just the epitome of a perfect dude who's the child of a non-romancable npc and some random person's (said with love) tav..... I'm in too deep, I have a nosebleed now 🫠

I- I don’t know what to say!!!! Oh my gosh, this is so freaking- AHHHHH ♡!!! When I said he captures the attention of people I didn’t think he’d actually capture people’s attention!!! The way I feel so full of knowing you have love for him!!! He really is a cinnamon roll, and I’m glad you’re in deep because Zavrik would treat you so well~ ♡ ♡ ♡ he’s the perfect mix of Zevlor & Lofn so you know you’re in for a good loving time!!! Enjoy these dear - 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒦𝒾𝓌𝒾 𝓍𝑜𝓍𝑜

Whenever you’re around Zavrik the world around you always seems to fade into a soft blur, the sounds of the city always dimming into a distant hum as his very soul envelopes you.

It always feels as if though time itself has paused, holding its breath to witness the moments he shares with you. His arms, always so strong yet gentle, encircle around your waist with a warmth that seeps into your very being… A cocoon of safety and affection that shields you from all that is harsh and unkind.

Zavrik’s eyes, oh those beautiful eyes that remind you of diamonds, are a universe unto themselves. Pools of deep emotion, they lock onto yours with raw passion that makes your heart flutter. In their depths, you see a reflection of yourself, cherished and adored, as if you are- no, that you are the very center of his world. Each time his gaze meets yours, it’s as if he’s memorizing every detail, every scar, every breath you take- committing it to memory.

His touch, a whisper against your skin, his fingers tracing the contours of your face with a tenderness that makes you feel as delicate as a petal. There’s always such great care in his movements, a gentleness, treating you as if you are the most precious thing he’s ever held.

In Zavrik’a embrace- in his presence, you always feel seen, known, and oh so loved. The world may continue to spin, but here in his arms you are the only one who matters. And that feeling always lingers no matter the distance, it is a feel he’s made sure to etch into your very heart so that you always feel as if you’ve found a home in him no matter where you go.

And should the gods be cruel and tear him away from your side, Zavrik has ensured that you will never face this world unguarded. Skjaldrynn, will take his place as your sentinel. A living testament to Zavrik’s promise that you will never be alone until he can great you once more in the heavens above. In the wyvern’s watchful gaze you, you find a piece of Zavrik’s spirit, a guardian that carries his heart, ensuring that his love shields you always ♡ ♡ ♡

[cyberrose2001]

Kinktober: Day 9

Prompt: Spanking

TFA Sentinel x afab gn human!reader

Warnings: Spanking, degradation, fingering, size difference, roleplaying.

Word Count: 1,542

Got a little carried away with this... just a little... i hope y'all enjoy

@sentinelprimeswife because she requested the character and wanted to be tagged :)

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the fleshy that's been snooping around on my ship," Sentinel slams the airlock shut, turning towards you with an authoritative posture, "You didn't think we'd have surveillance cameras, did you?"

You jump at the boom of the airlock, whipping your head around to face Sentinel like a deer in headlights. All you wanted to do was check out the weird spaceship in the dead centre of the city, but naturally, you got curious and slipped past the invisible shield through a hidden opening.

Well, that's what you would say if all this wasn't roleplay.

Everyone thinks that Sentinel is organic-repulsed, that he finds humans so disgusting and pathetic. But it's all a cover-up. His attraction to humans feels shameful and is considered an abomination, in his words. So he plays pretend so as to not make the other bots suspicious. But occasionally, there's an opportunity to play for real, with a little human Jazz made friends with.

It's cute really, how much it turns Sentinel on, to wield his power over you, a tiny human that has no business gettin' flirty with alien robots.

You feign fear, not expecting him to find you so soon. Though that's a bit stupid of you to think when your hiding place was Sentinel's private office. But it wasn't entirely an accident.

"I'm sorry sir," You back yourself up against the large desk, much too large for you, "I-I was just curious-"

"Oh you were curious, were you?" Sentinel scoffs, striding over to you, "You humans have a saying, now what was it- ah yes, curiosity killed the tiger."

"Cat."

"Whatever," Sentinel rolls his optics, "My point is, you've got some nerve sneaking around on my ship, squishy. And that's enough to warrant punishment for a Cybertronian, let alone a human."

You bite your lip, "What kind of punishment are we talking about, sir?"

Sentinel looks down at you, getting an absolute kick out of the difference in size. His derma tugs at the corner, "That's for me to know and for you to find out."

You watch with ardour as he walks around to his chair behind the desk and sits down, though his posture seems more relaxed. He clears his vocalizer, a garbled static with a hidden excitement, "Well? Are ya gonna come out from the front of my desk or what?"

Taking a small gulp, you briskly walk behind his desk where he sits, standing next to his pedes. You don't dare look up at him, half out of embarrassment for what's to come and half from the sheer nausea-inducing height difference from this angle.

"Now, instead of just standing there, why don't you come closer?" Sentinel scowls, returning to his assertive personality after faltering for a moment. He leans down with an outstretched servo, and before you can even blink, he literally scoops you up to his eyeline. God if you weren't having head spins before, you sure are now.

"Hey don't do that I'll-"

"Don't even say it, you freak me out enough." Sentinel lies through his dentae, but he pulls a one-eighty real quick when he flips you on your stomach with a finger, "Arch your back struts, that's an order."

Ohhh. You know exactly where this is going now. He wants to spank you into obedience. You weren't going to lie, Sentinel is definitely the type of mech to have this kind of kink. Though a bit tamer than you were expecting, the thought of getting spanked by Sentinel sends a shiver of arousal to your core.

So you obey, arching your back for him. He, surprisingly, helps you out by bending his middle digit so you can drape your upper body over it. He's got a full view, tight jeans showing off all your humanly curves.

Sentinel's breath hitches, he can't help but bask in the warmth of your soft, pliable body. How you just melt into his servo and bend so fluidly. But he's getting distracted. He'll let himself lose control later, for now, he'll try to maintain at least some of his dignity.

"Look at you, taking orders like a good organic," Sentinel taunts, using his other servo to trace down your back, "I half expected you to put up a fight; a bit disappointing actually."

You don't have the nerve to say anything, afraid that you'll say something you'll regret. Because it's only a matter of seconds before Sentinel notices the small wet patch seeping through your jeans.

"Not talking?" Sentinel teases again, trailing a digit to your ass, "I guess I'll just have to make you scream."

Sentinel wiggles his digit behind the waistband of your jeans, pulling them down to your knees. If he didn't notice how wet you were before, he most certainly does now. He groans at the sight of the foreign sticky fluid soaking through your underwear, his spike involuntarily pulses behind his panel. Oh, what he would give to bend you over his desk right now. But you're far too small for his length.

"If my knowledge of humans is correct, I would say that you like this." Sentinel runs his fingertip across your ass, "How pathetic."

Before you could open your mouth to actually give him a comeback, he strikes the fat of your ass with a flick of his digit. A simple move on his part, but it was enough force to send you forward and make you cry out.

"There's your first one," Sentinel soothes the area, rubbing the reddened area gently, "Let's see how much more you can take, trespasser."

He does it again with just as much force but on your other ass cheek, watching how the soft flesh jiggles. Though he's 'punishing' you, he watches your every move and listens out for your safe word, making sure he's not pushing you to your limit.

A gush of arousal seeps between your legs at the third slap, back arching outwards like a cat with each one in a kneejerk reaction. Tears start to prick at your eyes at the sting, but you don't bother wiping them away. You know Sentinel likes to see the reactions he gets out of you.

Nearly half an hour passes, and your ass is red-raw, jeans ripped off long ago, crumpled on the desk. You're like a trembling leaf in his servo, which now collects a small pool of your fluids in his palm. You never once complained or back-chatted, taking your punishment like a good little organic. Sentinel's spike slipped past his array a while ago, and now resorts to grinding against the desk in replacement for his hands being full.

"One more," Sentinel pants, hips softly grinding against the desk, "Be a good little human and take one more for me..."

"Sentinel, please..." You whimper out, prepping yourself for the next sting. It comes swiftly, causing a shaky cry from you. But you take it, letting the tears run down your face and onto the digit you rest heavily on.

"Good... very good," Sentinel groans, rewarding you with a few pats on your back, "You took that a lot better than expected, I suppose you deserve a little repayment."

You half expected him to slap you again, but he doesn't. Instead, he moves your underwear to the side and rubs the tip of his digit against your soaking slit. The relief of finally getting some stimulation to your numbed nervous system causes a rush of exhilaration, and you can't help but grind against his digit.

"Please... I've been good," You shiver as you feel him press past your folds, "I promise I won't snoop around on your ship again I swear- nghffh!"

"I've heard enough of your yapping," Sentinel pushes his digit the rest of the way inside you, growling at how hot and tight you feel, "All I wanna hear from you now is those little whimpers, you understand?"

"Mhm," You moan as he thrusts and curls inside you, wet squishy sounds accompanying your whimpers, "Yes, sir."

"Good little organic..." Sentinel pants, resuming his grinding against the desk, focusing on how your tight cunt eagerly swallows him up, "Primus, I bet you'd look so tiny on my spike, wouldn't you?"

"Yes sir," You're so fucking desperate to cum at this point, you start bouncing your ass on his finger, imagining it's his thick spike stretching and filling you out, "Fuck... nffnn-"

"Bet you'd be so warm too," He groans, close to finishing on his own, "Frag it-"

Sentinel cries out as he shoots thick ropes of transfuid across his desk, spike throbbing with yearning. Though trembling through his overload, his relentless thrusts of his digit buried inside you only hasten.

And before long, he's watching you cum hard around his finger, impaling yourself as much as you can on him. You cry, scream and jerk as you work yourself through it. Fluid drips from between your shaking thighs, running down your legs as you collapse on his hand.

Sentinel half-laughs half sighs in exhaustion, slipping his finger out and flopping back onto his chair. He lifts you back to his level, petting your limp form with a shaky servo, "Guess you're good for somethin' after all, human."

[ficsbyuzi]

All the ways lead to you - part 2

part 1

Characters: Aemond Targaryen and Inara Maegyr (OFC) in a modern AU.

Summary - Inara reaches King's Landing to start her new job.

Word count - 1170

The evening sun always agreed with Inara, especially her amber eyes, which matched the warm hue of the golden hour.

Her cab faced the descending sun and as its rays cast a mesmerizing glow upon her face, dancing in her eyes like a flickering flame, something else glimmered in them too - an anticipation of a new life.

A life that had become infinitely more meaningful to her with just a few clicks and calls. It had also grown more overwhelming, as she now stood at the precipice of living the vivid reality she had once longed for.

As her cab wended its way along the road to her new apartment, her golden gaze was drawn to the majestic edifice standing sentinel, overlooking the boundless expanse of the Narrow Sea. The symbol of King's Landing and the whole of Westeros - the Red Keep castle.

Inara peered out the window to take a good look at its grandeur. She couldn't help but reflect on how King’s Landing always stayed at the bottom of the list of all the places where she wanted to reside. And yet, the reality of her life found its way to the bustling city of hopes and dazzling opportunities.

At last, she secured a satisfying job that paid handsomely, one that even her mom approved of, albeit with slight reluctance.

She was brought on board as a medical advisor at the Red Keep productions.

Besides providing medical aid on the show sets, her job involved ensuring the realistic portrayal of injuries, illnesses, and medical procedures in the makeup and prosthetics. Additionally, she was to assist two senior makeup artists overseeing the team of actors filming together.

-

The following morning, she found herself seated in a spacious conference room at Red Keep Productions. A presentation, followed by an interactive session with the actors, makeup artists, prosthetics specialists, and costume team she would be collaborating with, was scheduled before the project went into production. Waves of nervous excitement surged through her at the prospects of learning the ropes of showbiz.

The heads of the team, Ross and Johanna, began their PowerPoint presentations, outlining the looks they had crafted for each character and elucidating the makeup procedures.

After scanning the actors and production team members seated across the table, Inara fully immersed herself in the presentation, diligently taking notes.

"We will go with a glass skin texture for the actors performing in the palace setting. Medieval royals and aristocrats used certain homemade formulations to keep their skin fresh.."

An abrupt pause in the presentation made Inara look up from her notepad.

"Oh hey, Aemond, glad you could make it. We have just started," the speaker greeted the new arrival, whose presence seemed to fill the room drawing everyone's attention towards him.

"Apologies for the delay, the meeting with the finance team got stretched.”

His euphonious, deep voice resonated through the room.

A surprising, unfamiliar warmth washed over her. As if his voice became a tangible hand and brushed against her skin. It seemed to reach into her visceral depths, plucking the chords of her heart and setting it aflutter.

Her quickened heartbeat urged her to take a deep breath as she watched his tall, sinewy frame stride towards the vacant seat.

People came and sat around her just a few minutes ago, yet she barely registered their presence.

But it was only him who captured her focus, stirring something within her that she couldn't quite comprehend.

Foolishly, she wondered if anyone else in the room also experienced what she was feeling.

His features, as if sculpted from marble, effortlessly commanded her attention. His gleaming silver hair, enhancing his pale, porcelain complexion, was immaculately slicked back. Piercing violet eyes, framed by thick lashes and accentuated by black-rimmed tinted glasses, seemed to penetrate her very soul. Clad in all black, he exuded an aura of enigma and otherworldly aplomb.

Inara realized she had not blinked even once since her eyes got fixated on his ethereal presence, when the same velvety voice that entranced her, broke her reverie.

"I would like to go over the slides from the beginning, please,"

Aemond requested of the speaker, his tone exuding polite authority as he seated himself in the chair adjacent to Sara Snow, a pretty actress portraying one of the main female characters.

The speaker complied without hesitation, and Inara understood that if he wielded enough authority to pause and restart the presentation, he had to be everyone's boss.

As the teams resumed the discussion, Aemond watched from the sidelines, tapping a finger on the table, his body language almost inscrutable. He seemed to be taking in everything around him, eyes flickering from one person to the next, as if dissecting the room and analysing every detail.

And maybe she was wrong in her perception, but she could feel his gaze linger a bit longer on her as it swept over the team.

During a pause, when the speaker changed, their eyes met briefly. She quickly looked away, feeling heat rise in her cheeks again.

Oh God, that was rude. I should have at least smiled.

As the meeting continued, Inara stole a few more glances at him, noting how he listened intently, nodded, and contributed his own ideas.

"Dr. Inara, you will be assisting Ms. Margaery with Aemond’s and Sara's looks. I will email the details by this evening," Johanna's voice startled her, making her jump in her seat a little.

Oh. Another actor.

Inara nodded and smiled, her eyes drifting toward Aemond almost reflexively.

And she found his gaze fixed on her.

Summoning a sliver of courage, she offered him a soft smile, only to receive no response as he swiftly shifted his focus to Johanna.

Her smile died instantly.

Great, now I look stupid. I should have just nodded.

Inara struggled to concentrate on the rest of the presentation, avoiding looking at Aemond again. When the meeting ended and people began to disperse, she approached him as he stood up to leave.

"Mr. Targaryen, I am Inara Maegyr. I will be supervising your medical requirements and assisting with the prosthetic adjustments on set,” she said, smiling and striving to maintain a polite and composed tone despite the butterflies fluttering inside her.

“I was wondering if I could discuss the current status of your health, so I can keep- "

“Hmm, call me Aemond,” he cut her off. “I will see you in two weeks, contact my personal assistant meanwhile.”

His blithe expression and seemingly uninterested response quelled the erratic shaking in her stomach.

Have I made a mistake in approaching him?

Feeling a twinge of intimidation, she instantly switched to her professional mode.

"Sure. Looking forward to working with you, Aemond."

He nodded, his eyes fixed ahead and body stiff, as if deliberately avoiding looking at her. With a slight twitch of his lip, he strode past her towards the exit.

Wondering if he was just plain rude or simply indifferent, she watched him walk out the door. As she turned, she found Margaery beaming at her.

"I'm going to the coffee house. Come along?" Margaery offered, smiling.

-------------

Tag list: @zenka69

Part 3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

From Away 1

Warnings: this series will include dark elements which may include noncon or dubcon and other untagged triggers. Mind the warnings.

Summary: you apply for a job with a rather eccentric boss.

Character: Harald Halfdansson

Big thanks to those who read! Feedback always helps inspire and you know I’m always happy to chat about possibilities! Please reblog and comment ❤️

Courtesy tag: @alicedopey

For a country built forged in centuries, everything feels so sparkly and new to you. A new home, a new world, at least for a while. It is all so splendid and wonderful. And expensive.

So it is that you head off with a fold in hand and your purse bouncing against your hip. You have a job interview. A very interesting one though the commute promises more than enough time to prepare. Rather, to overthink.

You can’t complain. It sounds like an interesting opportunity. A dream job you couldn’t hope for back home. There weren’t any historical sites that popular to require excessive staff.

You stand at the stop just outside your building. You need to catch a connection at the downtown center and another in an area you’ve never been before. After that, there’s a bit of a walk but you could use a reason to exercise.

The bus pulls up and you smile at the driver as you scan your pass. You find a seat though it isn’t hard. Most are empty this early in the morning. You hug your bag in your lap and watch the streets pass by as the driver chugs along, stopping and starting until your reach the core of the old city.

You nearly miss your transfer and sit breathless on the second bus, measuring your heartbeat until it’s calm again. The close you get, the worse your nerves are. The last interview you had was for this very opportunity. Just to go on exchange, you had to sit in front of a panel and answer questions about why and how and so many things. You can do it, right?

The third bus takes you into the hills, lush green against the grey blue sky, some rocky peaks in the distance. The landscape here is rich and varying. Back home, you can find a similar spectrum of backdrops but the distance in between is vast.

Last stop on the route before it circles around and you get off with a thanks to the driver. You step onto the gravel apron of the back road and check your phone. You don’t have a signal up here but you have the directions saved. Just in case. You follow the steps up towards your destination. It’s not easy to miss as the old fortress stands sentinel at the top of the jutting incline.

Kastali Castle. A bit redundant upon translation; ‘Castle Castle’. In your research, you discovered that the fort was built on a millenial foundation of an old viking village, since updated over the centuries by warlords and kings, and burnt many times over by invaders. You shuffle through the history in your head, trying to sort the timeline as you approach the low stone barrier along the lower tier of the property.

The gate is open. On the other side, sheep graze lazily across the grass. You’ve learned since your arrival that the creatures have free reign of the countryside. They may eat and wander where they might. You stop to fawn at a younger lamb. The animals can be a bit ornery but they’re cute.

You turn back, looking up at the high foundations and carry on along the steep path. As you get to the large wooden door that would let you through the tall inner walls, you hesitate. You can’t just let yourself in but you don’t know where to go. You check your phone, thinking to call the number in the email but your bars are still empty.

“Invaders, ho!” A holler breaks the earthly hue and you step back to look up at where the voice erupted from. There’s a figure above you, so high you have to crane your neck painfully. You continue to back up until you can see the man above. “Are you lost, fair maiden? Or do you come upon a quest?”

You blink, nearly giggling at his flowery way of speaking. His accent lilts his words peculiarly.

“Um, I have an interview,” you yell back up, the effort making your throat thrum. You’re not much for raising your voice. “With, er,” you look down at your phone. You hadn’t saved the email.

“Harald,” he calls back down, “yes, he is expecting you.”

The man disappears and you stare up into the sky after him. You can hear creaking and cracking then silence. You lower your head and look straight ahead, waiting. The arched door opens with a long whine and the same man appears before you, his cheeks slightly flushed as he gives a crooked grin. His weathered skin is marked with blue black ink along one side of his face. A nordic symbol you can’t decipher.

“It is I, Harald,” he offers his hand, “the keeper of Kastali.”

“Oh, uh,” you shake his hand and give your name in return.

“Lovely name, lovely,” he squeezes before he lets you go, “and a curious accent I here. American? No, no, speak for me again.”

You blink at him dumbly, “um, okay, I don’t know what to say, sir.”

“Irish,” he jabs his finger into the air. “I hear the twang.”

“No, sir,” you laugh, “Canadian.”

“Ah, the great north,” he booms, “yes, I see. Forgive my assumptions.”

“It’s okay,” you grip your bag and shift your weight nervously. “Thank you for the interview, sir, this place is really cool.”

“Interview?” He squints, “is that what I said? No, no, you’re hired.”

“What?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have time for an interview,” he shakes his head, “I need help. Forthwith.”

“Oh, right, maybe I misread--”

“Let’s forget that, unless...” his brows rise and his forehead lines, “you do not want the job?”

“No, no, I do,” you assure him, “I just wasn’t expecting to start today.”

“Yes, you are not dressed well for chasing away Gustav.”

“Gustav?” You echo.

“You will know him. He is a dark cloud on this place. If you do run into him, well, run in the other direction,” he girds, “well then,” he moves to stand with his back to the door, holding it open, “let’s begin with the tour, the we will worry about all else.”

“Oh, sure, um, right. Cool,” you pass through the door and he eases the door shut behind him. As the old brass latch clanks, you wince.

“Wow,” you look around at the interior walls, “it’s so big. It must be a lot of work. How many people work here?”

He laughs heartily and claps his hand on his chest, “just me. Well, you too, now.”

“Just you?” You gape over at him. It’s only then your notice that his hair is much longer than you thought. It hangs, bounded in golden hoops, down his back, much like an ancient warrior fashion.

“The king of my own castle,” he winks over at you, “let’s not waste any more time. We have much to do.”

[mire1li]

Temporal Mandate Transfer - alternate ending

Cw: (Heavy?) Angst, Character Death, 1.1 spoilers

You watched the battle between Jinhsi, the magistrate, and Jue, the Sentinel, unfold before your very eyes. She could barely attack it, or so it seemed. Jinhsi was dodging it's attacks left, right and center, attacking whenever the Sentinel was on the ground. Her attacks barely grazed it though, only leaving her more exhausted and injured as time went by.

Suddenly, it seemed as though time had been paused on the battlefield with Jue high in the air and preparing an attack. You considered intervening, although before you could make up your mind, Jinhsi had broken free of the 'spell' and parried Jue's attack just barely in time, this leading the pair into yet another battle. Although… this one seemed far more complicated than before.

This extra layer of complexity certainly took it's toll on the young woman in battle… It was clear her resolve was breaking, however, you believed… no, you knew she wouldn't give up. She was strong, and she'd do anything to protect her city.

You had no idea what was going through Jinhsi's mind at the moment, but whatever it was, it was keeping her going, she even seemed a bit more confident in herself than before. Though, just a few minutes later, maybe around half-way through the battle, she was beginning to show signs of overclocking.

The young woman pushed through it until the very end of the battle, where she dropped to her knees and sighed in relief, looking up at the Sentinel, the creature, whom she'd just won against, whom seemed far from exhausted. The three of you could tell, though, that Jinhsi's condition was only worsening, so when she finally began overclocking, Jue paused time. You jogged over to it, watching Jinhsi for a moment.

Jue eventually spoke, breaking whatever muddled train of thoughts you had.

"Arbiter… may this one transfer the Temporal Mandate to Jinhsi?" it asked, now floating right by you.

You two had entered this Sonoro Sphere together, with a promise to each other to save the City of Jinzhou, however, when it most mattered, you hesitated… "why?" You ask yourself over and over again "Why am I hesitating…? This is what we both want… so why?" though an answer never came to you. You glanced between Jue and the Magistrate with an uncertain look, laced with a hint of worry.

When your tacet mark began to glow and Jinhsi suddenly appeared right behind you, you thought your uncertainty had been broken through and you raised you hand towards the glowing ball of light, although, you paused midway… as though some magical force was stopping you. You wanted to tell the Sentinel that, yes, it can transfer the Temporal Mandate to Jinhsi, but you just couldn't.

You glanced around before looking back at your raised hand, which you soon retracted back to your side. Taking deeper breaths to calm yourself and your racing mind, you looked back at Jinhsi.

Although, she was now clutching at her head and hunching over, clearly in pain. You tried and tried, though to no avail, you just couldn't bring yourself to let this happen. But everything was fine and the plan was clear in your mind so what's changed? Perhaps subconsciously you'd decided this was a bad idea after all?

"Arbiter, is that your final decision?"

At the sound of Jue's voice a surge of panic went through you, causing you to pause for a moment.

"Well- no, but… I don't… I don't understand… I..-" you stuttered out, though you were soon cut off by a cry of pain coming from behind you. Immediately, you turned to look and, oh, did the sight terrify you…

Jinhsi had fallen to the ground once again, though her limbs were turning white and slowly crumbling away whilst you and the Sentinel could only observe her new fate.

"Jue… I permit… Jue, transfer the Temporal Mandate to her!" You exclaimed, finally able to break free of whatever restraints held you back from making this choice. Right after you spoke, you ran over to Jinhsi and held her up, holding one of her withering hands in your own.

"Unfortunately, that is no longer possible, Arbiter. Jinhsi is far too weak. Going through with the transfer now would only cause her more unnecessary pain."

Jue finally responded to your command, it appeared unfazed, however, it was like the two of you connected in that moment. As if you could feel what it was feeling. A truly unpleasant sensation coursed throughout your body, causing goosebumps to arise on your skin. It was a feeling of grief. The kind you feel only when you lose someone important… a loved one.

You could feel Jinhsi shuddering in your arms, quite a lot of her was withered away by now.

"Rover…" She whispered with whatever strength she may have had left, you could even see tears welling up in her eyes, though not from sadness and certainly not defeat.

"Rover…" she repeated.

"Please, promise me you'll find a way to restore Jinzhou… It can't remain frozen in time forever… It… it can't… please…"

"I promise… Jinhsi, I promise to find a way, no matter what… I'm… so sorry…"

Then all went silent. But only for a moment, as the young girl spoke again.

"Thank you…" Jinhsi mumbled once more. Her final words.

You watched as the life drained from her eyes, as the remnants of what was once your friend, now mere specks of dust, floated off into the air. Even though time was still paused, she still defied Jue, even in death. Perhaps as a final act of rebellion, a way to tell you that, even though she won't be around anymore, she still hasn't given up hope on Jinzhou.

You were left feeling saddened, despite everything, still determined to honor this last promise. You slowly looked back at Jue, who was still staring at you.

"One will now honor one's promise of freezing Jinzhou to preserve it…" Jue spoke quietly before flying up into the air and supposedly paused time in Jinzhou. You wondered what that would look like, although, you were afraid. Afraid of seeing all your companions forever(?) frozen in time.

Just then, the Sentinel spoke again.

"I will answer whatever questions you have, Arbiter…"

[gabbykinneysupremacy]

So… I’ve watched the original X-Men tas probably five or six times, and I was so excited for the new episodes today!!

So I broke down all the Easter eggs I saw in the first episode! I hope to do this with every episode and I’m going to start the second one tonight. This probably isn’t all of them, so comment if I missed something.

If you want a really good analysis of this episode, you should watch the YouTube channel New Rockstars. They do amazing breakdowns of everything nerdy and have the coolest merch!!

Obviously, spoilers for episode one of X-Men ‘97’

Logo update on title card

1:16: The panning of the city shows signs that advertise Ashida, Stark industries, VistaCorp and Da Costa. Noriko Ashida is mutant Surge, who was introduced in New Mutants in January of 2008. Stark industries is obviously Tony Stark. The original show featured a story with both Wolverine and Captain America, so we know the avengers exist in some form. And Da Costa: Roberto Da Costa AKA sunspot appears in the opening of the show, captured by the FOH. Sunspot made his appearance as a member of the original New Mutants.

1:20 Anti mutant graffiti and X logo spray painted over “Report Mutants” flyer on pole.

2:00 FOH has same arm bands and military style berets. They also appear to have sentinal technology as wearable weapons.

2:47 There’s a missing poster for a woman who appears to be Marrow, another frequent X-Men character and Morlock.

4:55 Daily Bugle, the news paper known to Spider-Man fans, flashes by. Again, spider man was in an episode of the original X-men animated series, confirming the universes are one. This paper advertises “Benetton’s Mutant Fashion Show”, the cover notably features four mutants, two of which are resubmit recognized and Banshee and Dust.

5:03 Gambit is rocking a crop top that says “Rock.” From the design, it looks like he cropped the shirt himself. He’s also sporting a necklace with a blue/ white gem. Here, he’s making Begets, a traditional Cajun treat, reflecting on Gambit’s own roots in the French quarter of New Orleans.

5:18 Rogue is back in her pink dress, the same dress she wore in the pilot of the original animated series.

6:54 Beasts’s book collection features Animal
Farm by George Orwell, the book he read in prison in the original series.

7:37 Both Beast and Jubilee mention that Bishop is a time traveler, but neither mention why he’s staying in their time with the X-Men.

8:52 The Danger Room simulation features the rubble of the UN, Magneto flying above it. This foreshadows later in the second episode where he does use his powers at the UN.

9:20 Jubilee lists off powers to Sunspot, asking which are his. She mentions shooting gold balls from his body, saying that would be weird. This references Goldballs, a very real and very weird X-Men.

9:57 Scott stares at a picture of the original X-Men with Xavier. In the comics, the original five are Cyclops, Marvel Girl, Angel, Ice Man and Beast. In the show, we’ve seen all five but never all together. And Angel never acknowledges being in the original X-men.

10:00 Scott and Jean talk to Dr. Cooper; aka Valerie Cooper. In comics, she’s an assistant to the president on the context of superhumans.

10:54 The team play basketball outside, just like Wolverine, Gambit and Jubilee did in the original show.

11:08 Charles’ death certificate reveals that the date of his death is 11/11/1996, and that his middle name is Francis.

12:13 Jean confirms for the first time that her and Cyclops’ baby is a boy, most likely Nathan Summers.

18:42 Jean sees a child’s hand drawing a picture when she uses cerebro. Is this a flash to the future of her son?

19:04 The baby jean holds is wrapped in a yellow X-Men blanket.

19:35 The rocks behind Jean turn into gravestones.

23:28 The sentinels call out an omega level threat. This refers to Storm’s Omega level status, one of the first times we’ve talked about power rankings in tas.

23:42 Where Storms’s lightening hits the sand, it turns into glass. This is a natural phenomenon and the glass structures are called fulgurites.

24:50 The soldiers and helicopters that come to take Trask are labeled as UN forces. They’re accompanied by Valerie Cooper, her second appearance this episode.

28:12 When Magneto moves the book, only the metal corners light up as being manipulated by his powers, just a fun detail.

And of course, updated title cards in the end credits

[valoisfulcanellideux]

The Apiarist's Diary

Here is the full text of my contribution to @empiropediazine

I was one of the contributors for Pixandria (where else? - lol!) with a diary entry by the city’s Apiarist, wherein they record a day that the great desert empire will never forget.

Behind the cut with you!

THE APIARIST'S DIARY

Many times before have I readied the bees to receive their master, the King. Not a week goes by without his arrival to inspect the hives, for the quality of their wax is one of the most sacred and important things in our empire. Copper is what we trade with the world, but candles are what we hold close to our hearts, and a candle made from impure wax would disrespect the death it is intended to honour.

Every day I sweep the floors and trim the vines, plucking a few of their choicest glowing berries. These little delights grow soft and plump when placed in a bowl of cool water, so should the King be in need of refreshment they will provide both food and drink for him in one sweet bite. And, if he does not visit the apiary on that day, why then my children have a treat after their evening meal.

A jug of water from the fountain outside cools the copper inlays in the floor, and a regular dousing of it - especially at the sun’s zenith - keeps the apiary’s temperature more tolerable and the bees content. I keep a close watch on the water channel surrounding the inlays, for as long as it is full the bees will take water back to their hives and fan it with their wings to cool the air. Remarkable creatures are my myriad little friends.

Each day is much the same; the comforting constant of routine and the drowsy hum of my charges as they move between flower and hive. I, too, sometimes hum as I work, keeping time throughout my day to the rhythm of the bees.

Yesterday morning I rose just before the sun, broke my fast with bread and a little spiced camel milk, and then took my usual route across the bridge, pausing for a few minutes to take in and enjoy the sight of the riverside gardens. At that hour the air is still fresh from the night, and a brief stop there will waken even the sleepiest of eyes.

The pylons glowed with their gentle warmth, sentinels at each end of the bridge that leads into the city’s heart. But a greater glow lay beyond, and I paused again to look up at the Vigil, my spirits lifted as I watched the gentle flicker of candles and the serene drift of lanterns.

Many hurry past the Vigil as they go about their day, the glory of its light outshone by the sun. But in the darker hours of dusk and night, it is as if its presence is remembered by all, and footsteps are slowed, and eyes are raised to find a special candle or lantern here or there.

A new candle now rests there, alone and apart from the rest. And this candle is dyed a deep, dusky pink; a colour that has never before been used at the Vigil.

Aye. Yesterday began much the same as any other day. But it ended like no other day ever had.

The King arrived late in the afternoon, much beyond his usual hour, for his visits tend to occur in the early morning. Indeed, I was caught unawares as I heard quiet footsteps on the copper inlays, and I turned to see him standing there in full armour. His shield was battered, its Pixandrian flag tattered and rent in multiple places, as though something had clawed or slashed at it.

I bowed my head, touching the tips of my fingers to my forehead. Usually when I rise from this deference, I see a smile and a nod from him, but not that day. He was stillness in the form of a man, and I realised that this was not merely a visit to inspect the hives or check the quality of the wax.

This was a visit in the wake of a battle.

Hopeful of assuaging the hollow look in his eyes with an act of kindness, I reached for the bowl into which I had placed the finest berries from the vines, but before I had fully picked it up, he raised a hand to negate my offer.

“I bear news,” was all he said, and his voice was but a hoarse murmur.

The bees of Pixandria must be told of all news, both good and ill, that befalls the empire. This has long been a courtesy afforded to them by our people, as the bees give us so much and hold an honoured role in our society. Some may view this custom as mere superstition, but neither I nor the King would risk angering or upsetting the bees, for fear that they will grow sickly and die, or desert their hives and leave us with no way to honour our dead at the Vigil.

I bowed my head once more and then turned to address the bees, whose drowsy hum seemed to fade, as if in readiness to listen.

“Little friends, your Master has news to tell you,” I said. “Pay heed to his words, and no matter what they are, do not leave us.”

When I next looked at the King, he had lowered his head and seemed to be summoning… I will not write ‘courage’ for I have never known him to be weak-hearted. Perhaps he merely needed a moment to consider his words, for he then walked to the first hive and bent down to it.

He knocked gently on the front of the hive to summon the bees’ attention, placed his lips close to it, and murmured a few words. As he finished speaking, he plucked from his belt a small piece of cloth that had been dyed a deep dusky pink - the colour of mourning worn by our people - and he draped it atop the hive.

The hive fell silent.

He moved to the next, bending to knock gently upon it and murmur the same words before placing atop it the mourning cloth.

That hive, too, fell silent.

Quietly, he moved around the apiary, and as he did so the distress and grief on his face grew. I did not know what words he spoke to the bees, but it surely must have been terrible news, as each hive grew quiet as he put its bees into mourning.

He reached the final hive, which I was close enough to that I could finally hear his words.

“Little bees,” he murmured as he placed the mourning cloth atop the hive. “The guardian at the end of all things who holds the world safe is dead. And… mine was one of the hands who brought her down. I must go away, but I beg that you stay and do not desert my people.”

With those final words, he straightened and looked directly at me for the first time, knowing that I had heard his confession. Not a word did he speak as he stared at me, but in his eyes I saw not only distress and grief, but also shame. He turned and walked out of the apiary, and I hastened after him, watching as he walked away from Pixandria toward the setting sun. With one hand, he wrenched his helmet from his head, throwing it to the sands as he strode with a wretched determination away from his people.

~~~

My contribution was based on the very real old custom of 'telling the bees' which - given the importance of those little creatures to this empire of copper and candles, felt like an apt thing to write about.

You can find the full zine - free to download - at this post :)

[akumastrife]

'I didn't wish for snow (but it's better with you)' // Les Mis - Snowed In

Rating: Teen (language) Pairing: E/R, BahorelFeuilly, Courferre, Eponine/Cosette/Marius, Montparnasse/Jehan, Joly/Bossuet/Musichetta Fandom: Les Mis Word Count: 4k It was Sunday. Sundays were for meeting with L'ABC for the cause of the season. This Sunday was thwarted by approximately two feet of cold, white bullshit. {ALSO ON AO3} (Yes, this was something I started Dec 2022 for my Holiday Fic Advent Challenge. Yes, it could've easily been 40k. But I'm practicing restraint and trying to be more realistic with my abilities, and hey! better late than never.)

Grantaire glanced up from pouring himself another cup of mulled wine, and smiled softly despite himself. “E, darling,” he teased, “I don’t think they’re going to make it.”

“We always meet on Sundays,” Enjolras muttered. He crossed his arms, shifting, and didn’t move from the window.  A golden sentinel. Grantaire let himself look while Enjolras sulked. Just for another moment or two.

Grantaire sighed, but humored him by coming over to stand beside him.

Outside, the world was a blur of fast falling snow, drifts building high on the sidewalks and encroaching on the streets. “We’re supposed to get another ten inches at least.”

And then snorted, a joke primed on his lips—

—let it pass at the withering look Enjolras shot him, pressing his smile into a thin seam and shaking his head, eyes wide in faux innocence.

“I think everyone’s snowed in. Or out, depending on where they are. Face it, Étoile, just you and me today. Probably tomorrow. As long as it takes to be shoveled out.”

“Horrors,” Enjolras mused, but the corner of his mouth flickered and betrayed him. He sighed, long and tortured, and took the mug from Grantaire’s hand, sipping it with a pleased hum. “This is the best batch so far.”

“More orange,” Grantaire agreed. He took Enjolras’ elbow and tugged lightly. “Come on, away from the window. Let’s watch a trashy, disgustingly heterosexual hallmark movie, and you can tell me everything wrong with it.”

“I do enjoy that. Be better if Courfeyrac was here, though.”

“Everything’s better with Courf,” Grantaire agreed indulgently. “Maybe we should invite him into the bedroom next time.”

Enjolras hummed in general agreement, because he wasn’t listening, already texting Courfeyrac.

Grantaire laughed to himself and turned on the tv, pulling Enjolras down by his belt loops.   

Across town, the door to the cafe blew open on a gust of wind, a swirl of snow, and what appeared to be an honest-to-god Yeti.

And then, upon a second and much longer look, it was only some fool caked in snow from trying to carry out a normal day in this very-abnormal Sunday Blizzard.

“Look like you could use something to warm up with,” Feuilly called across the lobby. He abandoned his broom to slip back behind the counter and tighten his apron strings. At least if he was stuck here for capitalism’s ever-grinding-machine, he’d get a tip out of it.

“Witch’s Tits, it’s a mess out there,” the yeti grunted.

Oh.

Oh, that was his fool.

“What on earth are you doing out in the storm!” Feuilly snapped, putting down the paper cup and coming out into the lobby once again. This time with a dishtowel for Bahorel’s… snowy everything.

Bahorel, the idiot, just smiled at him, shaking himself off like a dog and beat his snow crusted hat on the back of a chair. “Coming to pick you up.”

“My shift doesn’t end for another two hours,” Feuilly reminded him, much less frightening that he’d intended. It was a sweet, if stupid, gesture. He tossed the towel at him so he could properly fold his arms and pretend not be exasperatedly charmed. “It’s messy out there, you said so yourself.”

“Whole city’s shutting down.” Something muffled under the towel. And then Bahorel reappeared with a grin. “Figured even your bosses would have to comply.”

“You figured wrong.”

Bahorel’s glee melted away with the snow in his locs.

Feuilly frowned, but sighed anyway and reached to rub warmth into Bahorel’s cheeks. “But I suppose it’s sweet you came anyway. How was campus?”

“Oh, same as same. Showed my face at the study group, passed out some of Enj’s fliers since I was already there. Tried to duck out early but none of the buses are running with everything.”

Feuilly nodded as he listened, drifting back behind the counter to make Bahorel something warm to drink. Habit and comfort, hands working mechanically as he made something off menu, listening to Bahorel’s animated story-telling just like when they were at home. Only the empty cafe and its softly humming appliances were their captive audience, instead of all his plants and their cat.

“Sorry, wait,” he interrupted, “did you just say you taught a class? Who’s class? What class runs on a Sunday? Aren’t there, I don’t know, laws about that?”

Bahorel sat at a stool, crossing his arms on the counter. “Well, you see, as I was saying, I was trying to leave campus but I came across a classroom in which there was no teacher and a dozen students talking about the fifteen-minute rule.”

“Baz…”

“So, I thought, what the hell, I’m already here, might as well do something. Marched in, said they’d sent a Sub, and got to teaching.”

Feuilly pressed a hand to his mouth, choking back laughter. “You? You barely go to classes, and now you’re teaching them? What was it?”

“Ancient Roman Law.”

“There’s a historical law class… on Sundays?” Feuilly slid a mug across the counter to him, leaning on it himself.

“Oh, don’t know what class it was, but that’s what I taught.”

Feuilly sputtered, coughed, and then couldn’t help the peal of genuine laughter. “You’re terrible. Those poor undergrads are going to think it’ll be on the test!” He leaned to hit Bahorel’s shoulder hard.

Bahorel only flinched so much as to protect him mug from tipping, and grinned, cheeks flushed with cold and joy, eyes twinkling. “Ah, it’ll be good for them. If they thought I was a real teacher, that’s on them.”

“Wait, if the buses aren’t running, how’d you get here?”

“I walked,” Bahorel said, eyebrows raised in the pointed obviously.

Feuilly hit him again. “Then how did you think you were going to ‘pick me up’ with no transportation?”

“I admit, I hadn’t thought that far. It was more about the gesture, really.”

“Here’s a gesture for you,” Feuilly said, and flipped him off. “What if we’re stuck here all night?”

“Could be romantic.”

Feuilly rolled his eyes. “That’d break so many food service regulations. Absolutely not.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Well then I suppose it’s good you’re fun enough for the both of us,” Feuilly sighed, and gave into that cheeky grin by leaning across the counter for a kiss.

“Looks like that’s the last of everyone,” Cosette said, wiping her hands down her powder blue apron and looking around. The food drive had been busy, but not like years previous, and she was dismayed to realize it was because how much snow was falling and more than likely no one not at the shelter itself could get there.

“We should start cleaning up and get out of here,” Eponine said, handing her a rag, “before we get stuck here too. R’s been texting, he and his golden candlestick are stuck at the apartment. Proper lovebirds,” with an insincere sneer.

Cosette giggled.

Gavroche wriggled between a wall and the trash cans, breathing hard and face flushed with cold.

“What’s wrong with you?” Eponine asked, as Cosette brushed snow from his hat, face, and shirt collar.

“Marius’ car’s stuck,” he said, muffled behind Cosette’s hands. “He went off to get help.”

“Oh dear.”

“He’ll be dead in a ditch before dawn,” Eponine said.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Cosette said, but even she couldn’t sound as optimistic as she’d like. “We’ll clean up and see if anyone needs anything else, and maybe by the time we’re ready to leave, it won’t be on homemade snowshoes.”

It didn’t take too long, all in all. The cooks and kitchen helpers mostly had everything wrapped up and ready for deliveries (that likely wouldn’t happen with the weather) while Gavroche flitted around throwing more festive decorations up on any ledge or wall that seemed too depressing.

Eponine changed over laundry and passed out more blankets, and smiled too fond when she found Cosette sat on the floor with a little girl, hand-mending her doll’s dress.

“This is very pretty,” Cosette praised. “I love this color of green. And it’ll hide my stitches beautifully.”

“Did you do that?” the girl asked, pointing and poking at the sprig of forget-me-nots embroidered on her apron strap.

“I did, would your doll like some too?”

The little girl nodded and Eponine smoothed a hand over Cosette’s hair, sitting down beside her to rest her feet for the first time all day.

Cosette had embroidered not only flowers but a tiny bird on the girl’s own sleeve by the time her phone chimed in her pocket.

“Grab that, love?” she asked, hands busy and thread caught in her mouth as she finished.

Eponine slid out her phone and snorted at the ID, before answering it, getting to her feet and looking towards the door. “Is this the man who’s kidnapped my boyfriend? We don’t have any money for ransom, you know.”

Marius’ breath hitched down the line in surprise before laughing softly. He sounded winded, and a little giddy, but mostly probably all right. “Car’s stuck in the snow, I’m sorry, and the buses aren’t running, but I’ve come with a chariot for the ladies none the less.”

“So gallant,” she drawled, glancing down at Cosette’s curious expression, and rolling her eyes in answer. She reached down to help her up. “We’ll be right out, it better be warm, Pontmercy.”

“I’ve done my best.”

She gathered their bags, her little brother, and her girlfriend’s porcelain hand, taking all of it out front of the shelter.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Oh my,” Cosette echoed, entirely charmed and fluttery because she was actually a Victorian Lady born in the wrong year.

“That’s so cool!” Gavroche exclaimed, and bounded through the snow to clamber up into the sleigh next to Marius. “The horses are real?”

“Yes,” Marius laughed, looking hopefully to the girls. “Called in a favor at the country club. We’ve got them until midnight.”

“They’re beautiful,” Cosette sighed, struggling through the snow to come up beside the pair of chestnut brown horses, patting their necks and down their harnesses, all lined in shining bells. The sleigh was massive, varnished wood, and utterly unbelievable.

“You rich fuck,” Eponine said. “We’re taking this and delivering the rest of the meals to everyone who couldn’t make it.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Marius said. He leaned out of the sleigh for their bags, and set them in the deep back end. “Plenty of room, go get the baskets.”

Cosette climbed into the sleigh and grabbed his face in her mittened hands, kissing him soundly and laughing bright like the sleigh’s bells. “You’re a dream. Absolutely wonderful.”

“I’d hoped you’d like it,” he admitted, spreading a fur blanket over her. Glanced to Eponine. “Both of you. The roads are mostly empty, we’ll finish the rounds in no time.”

“Unbelievable,” Eponine said, but she couldn’t help smiling after all.

Courfeyrac pouted and slid lower in his chair.

All of it was so commonplace, Combeferre didn’t even bother to look up.

“E and R are having a movie night,” Courfeyrac said, thrusting his phone across the table for Combeferre’s perusal. “You said the weather was going to cancel the meeting.”

“Hence, they’re not having a meeting,” Combeferre said, flipping a page in his book.

“Ferre, I don’t think I can study anymore. Every time I read something it just spills out of my ears like spaghetti. I would like to watch movies.”

Combeferre sighed, but pushed his current book back a little and checked the time. Used Courfeyrac’s phone because it was still under his nose, and then took it rather abruptly.

It was… much later than he expected. He’d planned on getting there early, cramming as much as inhumanly possible, and then beat it out of the library before the storm hit in earnest and they were forced to make a bed and campfire from books (only the damaged ones, of course, headed for the bin anyway.)

Instead, he’d spent the whole day at this tiny table in a cramped corner, surrounded by too many empty coffee cups, and Courfeyrac. The very sweet Courfeyrac who hadn’t complained once while sitting with him for six hours.

“Is that really the time? Gracious, Courf, I’m so sorry,” as he jumped up and began organizing his papers and books in earnest.

Courfeyrac’s fluttering fingers appeared under his nose, slowing his hands physically and helping. “Ferre, settle, it’s alright. Really. I needed it too. And I’m only mildly wasting away from starvation, really, easy enough to fix.”

Combeferre frowned, but when he looked up Courfeyrac was smiling at him, not a hint of malice, just fond exhaustion. He was owed that, Combeferre supposed.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

Courfeyrac smiled wider and winked at him, standing to gather his own possessions.

Predictably, Combeferre blushed, but that wasn’t new, either. “I just have to return these to the reference desk, and then we can go.”

“Excellent.”

There wasn’t anyone at the reference desk, so they just stacked their various tomes behind the lip on the counter.

There wasn’t… anyone anywhere, really. The halls were quiet, the computers all idly bouncing around the city logo screen-savers.

Descending the main, winding staircase found no one else. Not a giggle or shriek from the children’s area, not any sulking teens in the lounge, not even late afternoon stragglers in line at the coffee cart.

“Ferre…”

Combeferre knew. It hit him all at once with a creeping sort of icy dread that matched the horror on his face reflected in a frost-coated window.

He pulled on the main doors. Once. Twice.

Several more times in quick, panicked succession.

“They’ve locked us in,” he whispered.

“We’re going to die in here,” Courfeyrac whimpered. “What are we supposed to do? Ferre? I don’t have any cash for the vending machines. Do we break a window—”

“No!”

“-call the fire department? Go upstairs and see if they have any vintage porn on VHS?”

Combeferre yanked on one of his curls quickly. “All your ideas are terrible.”

“I don’t hear you coming up with any. This is your natural habitat.”

“Let me think.”

Courfeyrac quieted obediently, even if he pressed his face to the doors and whimpered to the outside world at large.

Even they did manage to get the doors unlocked, or find a particularly forgotten and unsecured window, the snow was already thigh high with no signs of stopping. They’d be lost in a winter wasteland before they made it to the main road.

“Well, I think there’s really only one thing for it.”

“Hmm?”

“We have to call the Mayor.”

Courfeyrac squawked. 

Snow continued to fall thick and heavy outside the wall of foggy windows. Jehan stood on the warm side of it, and watched the activity of an unfamiliar airport. An unfamiliar city.

They picked up their carry-on bags and moved against the stream of people up to one of the service desks.

“This isn’t my city,” they blurted before the attendant was able to even to fully focus on them. “I don’t know where this is, but I’m not supposed to be here.”

It was a fraught several minutes of back and forth, arguing with the attendant that yes, they understood how unusual this was; yes, this should’ve never been able to happen; yes, it was possibly up to them to cover the cost of their appropriate return home, if there were even any seats available, which there weren’t; yes—

A well-manicured hand studded in rings appeared on the counter next to them, distracting both into silence.

“I don’t mean to eavesdrop,” a smooth and melodious voice said. And then what followed was the most beautiful, possibly vampiric, gentleman Jehan had ever seen. “But you seem to be in a spot of distress.”

“I am,” Jehan said immediately, eyes only for this… this… specimen.

They were being ridiculous, like some damsel on a romance novel cover.

But they were also a million miles from home (give or take a few), stranded, and being smiled at by a gorgeous model of sharp gothic refinement.

The airlines attendant said something, but it was lost in the muffled background.

Montparnasse, as he introduced himself, was there on business. What business, he was coyly avoiding mentioning, and every time Jehan tried to circle back around to it, there was another bit of pretty flattery to distract them, another kind question about their travels, and their desire to just go home.

“I’ve always wanted to visit,” Montparnasse said, like it was nothing. Like the concept of changing a plane ticket when there were none to be had, was only a matter of whimsy.

A man all in black edged into their field of vision. Montparnasse glanced over lazily, quirked a smile, and waved him away.

“Do you know him?”

“Friend of a friend. Now, let’s see about if anyone’s wanting to switch flights.”

Jehan couldn’t fathom that being possible at all. The airport was packed, the weather was getting nastier, flights were being canceled left and right. Everyone just wanted to get home. What could Montparnasse possibly have to convince anyone like that?

“You’re so sweet,” Musichetta crooned, gently mopping up the bloody cut at Bossuet’s temple. “A sweet fool.”

“Your fool, at least,” Bossuet said dreamily, beaming up at her. “Sorry I got hurt.”

“Ah, ah,” she said, “what did I say about sorrys?”

“Don’t apologize for what you didn’t do,” Joly said, smiling tight as he focused on the open box of medical supplies. “That’s another quarter for the jar. Why were you trying to shovel? The way it’s coming down, by the time you finished, you’d be right back at the start.”

“I didn’t want you slipping on the ice,” Bossuet said. His smile faltered only until his eyes were able to focus long enough to slip to Joly. Enough to catch Joly wrestling back a fond sigh.

“Ah, so you decided to slip for me.”

“Happy to. I would slip every day so you wouldn’t.”

“Idiot,” Joly sighed, threading a needle. “We should take you to the clinic. Clearly you’ve hit your head too hard, talking like that.”

“Can’t, in this weather,” Musichetta mused. She kissed Bossuet’s head softly, cradling him close to her chest. “You’ll have to do, doc.”

“Only a student,” Joly reminded her, as he always did. “This will sting,” he warned.

“M’used to it.” Bossuet closed his eyes, relaxing into Musichetta and humming at the lovely way she rubbed his head and his chest, fingernails drawing light designs.

Bossuet simmered in it, drifting in the warmth of touch and care, the comforting sting of antiseptic, the soft chatter of his two favorite people, the jingle of bells—

Bells?

“Do I have a concussion?”

“Likely,” Joly said. He still picked up a flashlight to flash in Bossuet’s eyes.

“Do I hear bells? Am I dying? Why are there bells?”

“Bells, what do you—Oh, oh my, there’s bells?”

She stood in a flurry of skirts and hair and Bossuet nearly fell back on his head at the sudden shock of cold at his back.

“It’s Eponine and her boys,” Musichetta said in delight, throwing the front door open wider. “They have a sleigh.”

“Like Santa?” Bossuet asked.

Joly laughed.

“We’re here to pick you up!” Cosette called from the street.

Bossuet couldn’t wait for his ears to stop ringing so he could say hi to Marius.

“Good,” Musichetta said, “we can stop by the clinic on the way.”

“Bossuet?” Cosette asked.

“Isss allll about me,” Bossuet sang cheerfully.

Joly’s cool fingers tugged the end of the suture knot, playing carefully over the perfect little line of stitches. “Hmm, you’ll live.”

“Nice. Can I have a kiss?”

“Hmm.”

“Chetta always kisses me better.”

“That’s because she has healing kisses,” Joly said gravely. He finished wiping Bossuet’s cut and finally leaned back for his cane to push himself up. “You sit there a moment, get yourself settled. Chetta and I will get our stuff for the evening.”

“Bring the heated blanket. We might get stuck there.”

Joly leaned down to kiss Bossuet’s head after all. “So foolish, and yet so smart. I’ll get it. And some painkillers.”

Enjolras had only just gotten his perfect hand into Grantaire’s pants when there was a great and sudden clatter on their little apartment porch.

“The door—”

“Probably buglers,” Grantaire mumbled, tugging Enjolras back into another kiss. “They’ll find their own way in.”

Enjolras pushed away and up, and was across the room before Grantaire could think of anything fun and interesting to keep him. He groaned and flopped back against the back of the couch, limbs akimbo and feeling very pathetic.

“Have we missed it?” Combeferre asked, over several voices all exclaiming at once.

“Did you get the baskets?”

“Oh, here’s more blankets.”

“Do you think we should just stay here? Surely everything will be closed tomorrow.”

“Did you—oh thank fuck, here’s all the leftovers from Feuilly’s.”

It made Grantaire smile, eyes closed, at the ceiling despite himself. Their friends. All here after all. Against all odds.

“How’s the weather out there?” he called.

“Fucking atrocious,” Bahorel said, alongside the sounds of beating snow off his gloves. Possibly against someone’s shoulder, by the following squawk. “We’d been here earlier but Freckles insisted on finishing his shift, and then we helped pull out… I don’t know how many cars.”

“With what?” And then wheezed with a curse, all of Gavroche’s not-insubstantial weight body-slammed into his stomach.

“Marius got us a sleigh! With horses and everything!” Gavroche said.

“Great,” Grantaire croaked. “Your knee is eviscerating me.”

Gavroche giggled and scrambled down, darting off to assault someone else.

Grantaire didn’t care as long as he could breathe.

“You look like a bad morning after,” Eponine said, sliding her fingers through his hair, tugging a few snags out. “Slut.”

“Was trying. No thanks to you. There’s mulled wine in the kitchen. Suppose I should make more, if the Brady Bunch is here.”

“I have to go find a place to, uh, park the horses?” Marius said, and ducked back outside.

“I didn’t know if you’d make it,” Enjolras was saying, voice bright and deeply awed. When Grantaire looked, he was holding Combeferre by the shoulders, gazing into his eyes like they were on a TV special.

“Of course we did,” Combeferre said. “It’s Sunday. The Revolution waits for no one, and certainly not snow.”

“We’ve done our good deeds for the day,” Courfeyrac said, pushing bodily between them and taking Enjolras’ face in his hands. “I heard you were watching movies. I want to watch bad hallmark movies and drink about them. Please, E, I’ve been studying all day and then being good all the way here. Please,” he whined.

“Oh, this is a good cheese.”

Grantaire popped up out of the couch and over it towards the kitchen. “Stay away from my fancy cheese! I was supposed to be wooing Enj before you all crashed.”

Feuilly slanted a flat look at him. Pointedly put the cheese back in the fridge and took out a box of leftover pizza instead. “I will return the coffee I brought you, then.”

“Wait—no, no, wait—”

“Oh, Grantaire,” Cosette admonished sweetly, hand on his arm as she floated by. “It would be such a lovely spread. Let me and Feuilly throw something together, and I’ll buy you even better cheese next week.” She held out her pinky finger, smiling as sweet as any angel he didn’t believe in.

Who was Grantaire to deny a pinky promise? Who was Grantaire to deny Cosette?

The door hit the wall and Jehan, standing square in the opening, flinched. “Sorry! Wind’s picking up. But we made it!”

“Jehan!” Joly called from the armchair. Looked like he would’ve gotten up if he wasn’t weighed down by several people.

“I thought you were stranded?” Musichetta asked. “How did you make it home?”

“Terrible spot of bad luck,” Bossuet sympathized.

“We?” Enjolras set about counting heads, but no—

 “You,” Eponine breathed, frozen in the hall, a mug in each hand.

The man behind Jehan ducked into the small entryway, brushing snow from his black hair with his black leather gloves. “Thank you for allowing me to crash your evening plans.”

“Everyone, this is M—”

“Jehan!” Eponine screeched, her pallor of surprise flooding with purpling anger. “You brought the mafia home with you!”

“Huh?” Jehan turned, peering up at his companion. “Don’t be ridiculous, ‘Ponine, he’s not…”

Montparnasse smiled, somehow smoothly confident and sheepish at once. “I didn’t think it was first date appropriate.”

“Was-was this a date?”

Grantaire swore, dragging both hands down his face. “Might as well. Why not. Baz, get out more wine, it’s going to be a weird holiday.”

[skymaiden32]

Tit for Tat

Read on AO3 here

Fandom: Thunderbirds

Tagging: @dragonoffantasyandreality @thundergeek59 @janetm74 @katblu42 @liseylou @amistrio @uniwolfcorn @idontknowreallywhy (Please ask if you would like to get alerts when I update or post new stories.)

Thundertober Day 7: Alive

Scott was just happy his brother was alive. Months later, the roles are reversed. Missing scenes from Terror in New York City and The Uninvited.

Continuity: TOS

A/N: A little longer than usual for these prompts, but here you go! ^^

------

“A few weeks?!” Virgil was outraged at the news his father and brother had just delivered. “But that’s terrible! Suppose she’s needed on call?”

“Well let’s hope she’s not,” was the patriarch’s answer. He really hoped the world would just hold off on major disasters for a while, but the world always had different ideas. And with Thunderbird 2 being as vital to operations as she was, chances were she would’ve been needed in the next few weeks or so. The hope that she wouldn’t just wasn’t realistic. “Now, you relax. You need a lot of rest.” Virgil opened his mouth, about to interrupt, but Jeff quickly stopped him. “You take care of yourself, and we’ll take care of Thunderbird 2.”

Virgil huffed, but relented, laying back in bed. Jeff, satisfied that his son wouldn’t try to get up anytime soon, at least with Scott in the room, left to supervise progress on the repairs. Once he was out of earshot, Scott moved to sit next to Virgil on the bed, finding his brother’s hand and squeezing it. “You’ll be back on your feet and behind the wheel again before you know it, Virg.” Virgil squeezed back, looking up sadly at his older brother.

“What if I’m not though?” Virgil mumbled, breaking Scott’s heart into a million pieces. It hurt to see his brother like this. “What if the damage is too big to fix?”

Scott frowned. “Hey, let’s not have any of that. Thunderbird 2 just needs a bit of R+R. Brains reckons it’ll take some time and a lot of work, but it’ll happen.”

“And if Brains is wrong?” A blasphemous question. Brains was hardly ever wrong. But Virgil asked all the same.

The older of the two brothers held back a sigh. “Then we’ll build a new one from scratch. One way or another, you will fly again, Virgil. I know you will…”

Virgil hummed. “What’s wrong with me then?” He chuckled, before wincing, holding a hand against his head. “Actually, don’t answer that. I’m guessing a whopper of a concussion, a bruised rib, and damaged pride.”

“There’s the Virgil I know and love…” Scott smirked at the pride comment. Virgil grinned right back. A little more seriously, he confirmed his brother’s suspicions. “Got it in one, plus a couple of extra superficial burns from the crash. Me and the others will come in to check on you every hour or so. Gordon mentioned wanting to watch something with you.”

Virgil frowned. “Knowing Gordon, that could range from an absolute masterpiece to straight up torture.”

“True.” Scott agreed. “He did swear to me that it was a good one this time though.”

“We’ll see.” Virgil commented. Either way, it would be good to spend some time with their ocean loving brother. A few short moments passed in silence before the bedridden man broke it again. “Hey, Scooter?” His brother’s eyes were on him in a second. “I must’ve given you quite a scare when I went down like that.”

Scott scoffed, although not unkindly. “More like many, many miniature heart-attacks. Not just me either. We were all scared out of our wits! I’m pretty sure you took decades off of Dad’s lifespan.” 

Virgil’s eyes were downcast once again. “I’m sorry I worried all of you.”

“Virg…” Scott sighed. “You aren’t the one who should be apologising.” He reassured him. “And trust me, the Sentinel did. A lot.” He hummed. “In fact, I’m pretty sure Washington is trying to find out where we’re based just so the Commander can send you a gift basket.” That got a laugh out of his brother. “You’re okay now, that’s all that matters at the end of the day. Just don’t do it again. I’ll leave you in peace for now.” He stood up, about to make his way to the door. “I’ve gotta meet up with Dad in the hangar, but I’ll be back with Alan in an hour to check on you.”

Just before he left the room, Virgil’s voice called him back. “Hey, Scott?” He whirled around so fast it was amazing he didn’t give himself whiplash. “Same goes for you.” Virgil smirked. “Don’t go getting attacked mid-flight and almost dying.”

“I’ll try not to, Virgil. I’ll try not to…”

------

In the vast, blazing sands of the Sahara, two men worked tirelessly on a third’s head wound in the shade provided by the silver rocket plane behind them. Scott winced when Wilson dabbed a healthy amount of cleaning solution on the gash. Wilson apologised quickly, before focussing once again on the injury. Lindsey grabbed a roll of bandages from the first aid kit, and after getting the all clear from Wilson, wrapped them carefully and snugly around Scott’s head.

The two archaeologists stepped back, giving the International Rescue operative a thumbs up. “You’re good to go!” Lindsey stated.

“At least until your teammates get here to check our handiwork is sound.” Wilson huffed.

“Well, it feels just fine.” Scott smiled gratefully. “Thanks, fellas. I really appreciate it.”

Lindsey and Wilson both grinned. “No problem.” The bearded man brushed it off. “If you’d been on your own it probably would’ve taken them a while to find you in this wasteland. From the sounds of it, those fighters were shooting to kill. If they’d realised you were still out here…” He didn’t want to finish the thought. The mere idea that anyone would shoot down a Thunderbird was impossible, at least on purpose. Both he and Lindsey had heard about the whole Sentinel scandal. For the International Rescue crew, this must feel like a scary case of deja-vu. 

“Just glad we were able to do something to help, no matter how small.” Lindsey cut in, breaking Wilson out of his train-of-thought.

Scott smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Trust me, you’ve helped a lot more than you realise. Thanks to you two, the guys back at base know where I am, and that I’m okay.” Just as he finished his sentence, the distant sound of engines was heard throughout what the trio on the ground thought must’ve been a good chunk of the desert. “That’ll be them now…” He commented, shielding his eyes against the sun as he stepped out from his Thunderbird’s shadow to see if he could spot the familiar green.

Lindsey frowned, concerned. “You sure it’s not those fighters again?” Scott shook his head.

“Once you know what a certain craft sounds like, with enough training you can pretty much distinguish it from any other aircraft out there.” He explained, getting back into the shade at Wilson’s insistence. “Definitely not the fighters. It’s Thunderbird 2.”

“Oh.” Lindsey simply said in understanding. Just then, Thunderbird 2’s shadow rolled over the body of her fallen sister, and landed as close as she dared. The three men next to the rocket plane watched as the main body rose from the pod and the door swung open, revealing the other International Rescue operatives. Scott recognised Brains and Tin-Tin, as well as his immediate younger brother. They all looked worried out of their minds, and Virgil was just that little bit furious.

“I’m dead… I’m so dead…” Scott gulped, causing both of his companions to look at him, puzzled. Virgil came bounding up to them at top speed, carrying his medical supplies with him. Brains and Tin-Tin trailed behind him with camping gear, taking in the sight of Thunderbird 1 buried nose-first in the sand.

“Do you have any idea,” Virgil’s voice was dangerously low, “how worried we all were, Scott?” Looking between the two archaeologists next to his brother, he breathed in deeply. “Thank you for everything you’ve done, gentlemen.”

Wilson replied. “As we said to your buddy here, it was our pleasure.”

Virgil hummed, checking the bandage that was already on Scott’s head. “Did they just finish this?”

“Yeah, they did.” Scott confirmed.

“Then I see no reason to change it right now. It’s sound. They must’ve had some sort of first aid training.” Wilson and Lindsey nodded. Virgil looked over at them again. “Well, from the looks of things, it’s going to get dark soon. No use moving on, so you’re both welcome to set up camp with us for the night.”

The men exchanged looks, and nodded in thanks. Afterwards, they moved to their jeep to get their camping supplies, letting the two operatives talk. “Sorry, Virgil.” Were Scott’s first words once they were sure the archaeologists couldn’t hear them. 

His brother simply shrugged. “Well, like you told me three months ago, I really hope this doesn’t happen again.”

Scott sighed. “It might though. This wasn’t a case of mistaken identity this time; they knew fully well I was with IR.”

“And so long as we’re IR, there will always be people out to get us. It’s quite the occupational hazard.” Virgil grabbed a small flashlight from his medical kit. “Let me check for a concussion real quick.” The younger man took his time. “Yep, that’s a concussion alright. Guess we’re sharing a tent tonight.”

“Like I’ll pass up a chance to spend time with my favourite brother…” Scott did his best puppy dog expression.

Virgil snorted. “Brotherly affection isn’t gonna get you off the hook after giving everyone a repeat scare of the Sentinel incident…”

“Worth a shot.” Scott shrugged. “How’re Dad and the others?”

“Coping.” Came Virgil’s short reply as he shut his kit. “But you can hear for yourself in a couple of seconds.” He gestured his head toward the open cockpit of Thunderbird 1. “Brains just finished fixing the radio.”

Scott frowned. “Didn’t even notice he was in there.”

“That’s how you know you have a head injury.” Virgil gave him a look.

Brains stepped out of the silver plane. “R-Radio’s all fixed up, S-Scott.”

“Thanks, Brains. I’ll call Dad and let him know what’s going on.”

Virgil watched as his brother disappeared into the ship, keeping an eye and an ear out in case anything happened. His face morphed from worried but happy, to straight up concerned. There was something niggling at him. 

“P-Penny for your th-thoughts, Virgil?” Brains asked in an attempt to draw out the other man’s concerns. 

Thunderbird 2’s pilot sighed. “I was lucky, Brains.” He began. “Extremely lucky when I got shot down by the navy. At least then, it had been a mistake on the Sentinel’s part, and we’d been fairly close to base.” He looked at his friend. “Scott didn’t have either of those luxuries. He’s even luckier to be alive than I am! If those men hadn’t found him…”

“We p-probably would’ve lost him.” Brains finished. “I’m s-sure he knows that t-too, Virgil. Y-You of all p-people know what he’s like w-when people he loves could g-get hurt. He’s probably downplaying j-just how serious h-he thinks this is. A-At least for now…” 

Virgil frowned, but didn’t argue. Of course, out of all their family, Scott was the most likely to hide certain details. “I know. That’s what worries me…” 

“Do you th-think those fighters will come b-back?” Brains asked. He hated to think about what could happen if they returned to finish the job as much as anyone else.

“I don’t know.” Virgil admitted, watching as Scott finished his conversation with their Dad. “Whatever happens though, I know that we won’t ever fall as long as we have each other…”

[semi-imaginary-place]

In Stampede plants are paralleled to embryophyte/landplants in their ability to colonize barren environments, terraform, and sustain human life. The dependent plants are further compared then to red geraniums in glass cases, only able to bloom inside glass greenhouses or how Knives connect Tesla's dissected remains suspended in a glass case to a geranium. Stampede interestingly extends this imagery to Vash and his red coat and Knive attempts to capture him. There's the the further connection of flowers as reproductive organs with the fertility imagery in Stampede including the final sequence at the end of season 1 where Knives causes Vash to impregnate a bunch of plants and to create a city sized bloom. This also adds a layer of meaning to the SEED ships as just like how angiosperms have seeds which are used to disperse offspring away from the mother plant, humanity is also attempting to expand their range. The terraforming in particular puts into focus the resource scarcity driven conflict of the dessert planet. The embryophyte imagery puts the current plant based survival strategy in direct comparison with Luida's plans of terraforming Nomans Land with actual embryophytes to modify the planet to better suit human life, which is also in ideological competition with Conrad's plan of modifying humanity to better suit the planet.

In Maximum plants are paralleled to power plants, giant mechanical infrastructure that are a part of the cityscape and skyline. The plants are structurally a part of the cities, seen from every corner but also sentinels watching all the humans. Something monstrous, eldritch, and enormous contained within a glass shell. There's also the lightbulb imagery. Maximum leans much more into body horror and angel imagery. While Stampede compares plants to petals or leaves, the manga has the plants manifest with feathers and rotisserie chickens. Plants are compared to and worshiped as the Divine and it's easier to see in Maximum. But there is also so much more body horror, plants in the manga unlike in Stampede do not conform to standard tetrapod anatomy so you have like a girl's head connected to 3 human bodies connected to 7 wings and 5 plucked chicken bodies all connected together in a row that's connected to a fleshy blob with random limbs and eyes growing out of it. In Maximum we see the plants connected to hundred of tubes pumping out meat which the humans shovel into carts to carry away. Plants are way freakier in Maximum (so far).

Because of the black and white format of Maximum its very easy to see how the dependent plant's hair going dark during her Last Run is the same as Vash's hair going dark after Junai and Knives getting a black strip after his freakout. In Maximum when a plant goes berserk into a Last Run their hair turns black and her abdomen swells to form a similar structure to the angel arm. In Stampede I wonder how they will handle this since the angel arm imagery was absent and the plants turned red for their Last Run which connects them with the red geranium motif and Vash's coat but would remove the connection if they choose to keep Vash's black hair.

I don't think one is better than the other especially since Stampede is at most only 1/3 done but I do see it as a series of trade offs. Stampede (so far) chooses to highlight certain aspects like the resource scarcity and ideological competition to survival, colonization, and fertility. Maximum meanwhile emphasizes the Christianity and eldritch horror aspects of the series.

[amethystandemma]

Shelter

A Sunny Castle and Peter Parker one-shot

TW: somewhat descriptive depiction of a teen’s death. The paragraphs that could be potentially triggering are separated from the rest by a series of dashes.

Please tell me what y’all think!

. . . . .

Living in NYC means that you get used to the city being threatened pretty quickly. Between Green Goblin blowing up the Brooklyn Bridge to aliens invading to find the perfect cucumber sandwich recipe (long story), it becomes normal that something weird will happen daily.

Dating Spider-Man didn't help either. He regularly fought insane maniacs like Electro or Mysterio while on his way to and from work. Occasionally, he needed help, which is when Sunny as Halo would show up.

Mostly, criminals attacked buildings or civilians, regardless of what they looked like or were. Mostly.

And then you have the anti-mutants.

"I'm here outside Sasha's Supreme Steaks where a Sentinel just attacked the restaurant looking for mutants," the young newscaster, Bette Brant, reported. She stood in front of the smoldering remains of the restaurant while firefighters desperately tried to get control of the situation. "Amateur footage recorded the attack. We are about to show it now, but please be advised, the video you are about to see can be disturbing."

I should turn it off, Sunny thought.

But she couldn't. No matter how disgusting the images she was about to see were going to be, she couldn't help but watch. This was happening to people like her, people who were just born different. They didn't ask for this.

—————————————————

Sunny watched in horror as a giant hand ripped through the roof of the restaurant, sending patrons into a screaming frenzy. The person recording leapt beneath a table, making the film shaky. It didn't prevent the camera from catching a mutant, a green male with fish scales, being crushed into a bloody pulp.

He couldn't have been over fifteen years old.

—————————————————

"I'm heading out."

She had been so focused on the news that she didn't even see Peter walk into the room. He already had his Spider-Man suit on, the only thing missing was the mask.

He'd once told her he wears the mask so no one could tell he was afraid. Some people are able to hide it pretty well, but Peter's blue eyes always gave away his alarm. As they did now.

"I'm going with you," Sunny replied, heading towards their room.

"Sun, you can't."

The young man grabbed onto her elbow and turned her around, forcing her to look him in the eyes. Sunny realized he wasn't scared for his sake, he was scared for her's.

“Those things are targeting mutants. If you go out, you're at an even higher risk of being hurt. Or worse."

She tried to get free from his grip, but it was too strong.

"I'm not losing you." He whispered.

They stared, her green eyes meeting his blue ones. The air was charged around them; the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Ding dong.

The doorbell once. Neither one of them broke eye contact.

Dingdongdingdongdingdongding-

The door opened before the bell finished ringing. Jubilation Lee, the mutant better known as Jubilee, stepped in through the open entryway, holding Roberto da Costa up with an arm around his shoulders. Both were bleeding from multiple spots with cuts all over their bodies.

"Hey, there is a situation going on out there and we need a doctor," she snapped, her normal bubbly personality nowhere to be seen. "Kitty is on her way. She's bringing some kids along with her."

Jubilee dropped Roberto on the loveseat with a grunt from both of them. She turned back to the couple who were still in the same position.

"We need a safe space. You're the only one we got," she continued. Her voice wavered, the cracks beginning to show on how much pain she was in. "Are you in?"

Sunny turned back to Peter. The two exchanged a look that said what a thousand words could not. No matter what was going to happen; they were going to help those in need, and they were going to stick together.

"We're in." Sunny confirmed.

[moonlight-tmd]

Prowlbee. How would the episode 'Where is Thy Sting' play out while they are dating?

Thought about it after finding this

https://www.deviantart.com/eru-kun/art/WASP-NO-WAIT-117379127

For future reference; please explain what you mean and don't just drop episode names, i have not watched the show at all, only saw a few clips and shitton of fan works on it.

So the time where Wasp replaced Bee. I think Wasp used some sort of swap-frames-device so my take is that the only thing that changed was their conciousness. Physical features such as eye color stayed the same, unlike in the show. C'mon it would be so obvious if your eyes suddently changed from blue to pink. Also speech pattern- Bee talks normally so Wasp also talks normal while in Bee's frame. Wasp normally talks in 3rd person from what i've seen so Bee while being stuck in Wasp's frame also talks in 3rd person.

I imagine Wasp somehow secretly kidnapped Bee while he was on patrol and trapped him in some cave after they switched frames. Wasp left to impersonate Bee and Bee was left stuck in wherever Wasp put him to rust.

It took a long while, maybe 2 days for him to get out and get in the city area again. But still, he had to keep hiding cuz Elite Guard was patrolling around since Wasp was a convicted escapee, Bee knew if he tried to explain things Sentinel would just put a muffler on his faceplate and throw him to the stockades. Meanwhile Wasp was doing a decent job trying to act like Bee. Sari was out of town for a family vacation, she borrowed the key to Optimus in case there was an accident. Nobody suspected anything, only that Bee was acting a little differently. Nobody knew anything, except Prowl.

Prowl noticed the strange change in Bee's behavior since he came back from that oddly long patrol few days ago. Bee was less social, he wasn't as silly as usual, he was interested in the "serious stuff" he usually avoided. And what concerned him the most, he seemed to straight up avoid Prowl and his affection. Whenever he kissed him or hugged he always seemed uncomfortable and wanting to get away. Whenever Prowl would try to invite him to recharge together or go somewhere on a date he's come up with an excuse or say he just needed time for himself. This not only made Prowl suspicious but also worried, did Bee not want to be with him anymore?

It was nearing a week since Bee got replaced and things got complicated for the ProwlBee relationship- Prowl was sad, yet another night without his beloved by his side. He decided to take a night walk near the forest.

Something wss wrong, something must have been wrong- Prowl knew it, but he didn't know what. Something must have happened on that patrol but what? Lost in thought he almost didn't notice the umatching green in the forest approaching. A loud snap of a stick got him alert and he noticed Wasp, Bee's tormentor in boot camp days, standing there looking at him. Wasp couldn't even finish a word before Prowl whipped out his hubcap-shurikers and charged at him. His negatve emotions took charge, sadness mixed with anger and he chased down the green mini. Wasp tried to talk but he was too busy dodging the incoming throws from the ninjabot. At one point he tripped and Prowl caught up to him.

"Owly- NO!"

Prowl stopped dead in his tracks. Owly- Bee gave him this nickname, it was special, only they knew about it and Bee only used it when they were all alone.

"Owly..?" Wasp repeated, he put down his servos he put up to protect himself in case Prowl struck. The look Wasp had was the one he was so familiar with. Suddenly it dawned on him- it was Bee. The real one.

Before Bee knew Prowl lurched at him and hugged him tightly. "It's you."

Bee explained what happened- Prowl was so pissed. Prowl took Bee back to base, the route was a little tricky cuz Elite Guard was hanging around the city. When they got back the others were quick to jump into battle stance when they saw Wasp right behind Prowl, they were confused when Prowl didn't move and in fact protected him from them. Prowl and Wasp!Bee explained things and they were so pissed. They were also ashamed that they got fooled so easily. Then in the middle of planning what to do the Bee!Wasp came back from the patrol he oddly volunteered for and saw his own frame with the beloathed host among the others.

Wasp tried to argue, acting all hostlie and telling them to "get the traitor" but it was no use. "Wasp's tricks won't work anymore! Give Bee his frame back!" Instead of replying, Wasp bolted out of the base and the chase began. It was cut short when Wasp made a wrong turn and drove stright into the closed off building site- and bumped into the Constructicons. There was a fight, these 'cons escaped as always to lurk at some other bulding site, Wasp was sure he managed to lose them in the havoc but nope, Bulkhead grabbed him and held him so tight one could hear the metal creak. "Hey, don't damage Bee's frame!" As much as Bulkhead wanted to squish that awful menace like a squish toy he didn't.

Wasp's frame still had the switch-frame-device in the subspace, they used it jsut in time before the Elite Guard arrived at the scene; the jets spotted a fight and Wasp in there so of course they jumped right in. They took the real Wasp back to stockades and the real Bee was so glad he was back in his own frame.

Prowl was so happy to finally cuddle with Bee in his berth. They were relieved all this mess was over, they talked a little and Prowl confessed he was almost worried Bee wanted to break up with him. "You got me once, now you will never get rid of me, no matter what. I can promise you that, Owly." Bee reassured jokingly.

They exchanged kisses before finally going to recharge. Sari was so confused when she finally came back from the vacation and heard what the heck has happened- she leaves for few days and her best friend is body-swapped with the villain and nearly gets thrown to jail forever. If her father proposes to go on another few day trips she refuses, she will not be tolerating any more shit like that happening to Bee.

And i think that's it. Stuff most likely isn't show accurate at all but who cares. Thank you for the ask.

[nemenalya]

Forgotten/devotion; Day 5 of @tes-summer-fest After the ash has settled on Vvardenfell and the legions of fallen have been gently led into their ancestors’ custody, it takes Dal an embarrassingly long time before she manages to break into the sealed off Dwemer city. There’s no battle wounds to blame for her dallying, and the double-edged news of a victory too dearly bought reached them soon enough– she’s never been so indifferent, nay so faithlessly aghast at Azura’s grand designs. A face far kinder, far more beautiful than the Prince’s haunting her dreams. By the time she sets out in earnest, it too haunts her every waking moment. 

She almost fails at the door –comes close to shredding her fingers on the immovable stone seal– but she’s already sinned so deeply and eagerly that she’d wade forward into Oblivion before turning back. It would have been near impossible to find the entrance she finally manages to slip through, had they not once parted too close to the brass sentinels for the increasingly paranoid times they lived in. The ghost of a kiss taunts her, the scrape of metal hinges the chime of brass on chitin, pistons pumping the hot air of sweetly warm breath. 

Beyond the hallways are empty, scattered with curious piles of dust as she advances deeper, no echo of living beings. In the blindingly cold light cast neither from Azura’s sky nor Boethiah’s fire it’s all too easy to be reminded of a House mer ancestral tomb long disused. No single bone, just metal, metal, metal, yet she feels awfully watched. Good.

Arkngath signed fanciful pictures of the city more than once; describing the way to her study in precise detail while throwing whimsical morsels about the baths, the workshops. Dal remembers the explanations well, the awfully explicit fantasies her partner wove for them. Suggestive smiles and gestures as they lay under the open sky, hands and minds wandering to the facsimile of a starry canopy in her room, where the Dwemer constellations would keep watch over them. 

She’s had the layout of the cavernous floors traced on still golden skin more times to count, though it’s torture to recall the strong hands so gently roaming muscles and ink, drawing goosebumps over ticklish ribs. Dal blames it on these distractions, tinged sweeter with despair and longing, that twice she gets lost. Still silent on her feet, she retraces her steps by necessity. There is no one to ask for directions, if they would even understand her, and she avoids the constructs like one would the osseous tomb guardians. 

The study is as beautiful as Arkngath described, door standing open to reveal a domed room full of spheres and gems and so much brass inlaid with other precious metals she has no name for. Clean cut stone walls stuffed with scrolls and tombs, the paper giving the room a peculiar warmth the rest of the pristinely kept keep sorely lacked. Constellations whir overhead with the ticking of a hundred cogwheels. Beyond, the curved ceiling is eternally dark, a deep unsettling blue stuck in perfect nadir between dusk and dawn. No indigo, no rose to blot out the myriad stars. Suddenly this mechanical sky is too profane a mockery to bear, forever devoid of Azura‘s touch, her hopeful blessings. Dal shivers, wishing fervently Arkngath were here to wrap her softly in warm arms, polished jewellery cool on a flushed face. The soft smell that would comfortingly envelop her as she closed eyes eternally red with unshed tears. 

In the corner is a blanket thoughtlessly discarded, beautiful ashlander weave crumpled on the cot. Familiar comfort in this abandoned alien structure, Dal still remembers the day she gifted it, the jovial arch of her partner’s “thank you” as ‘gath spoke with one arm all evening to not let go of the love declaration. When Dal hugs the fabric close the smell still lingers faintly, and she drapes herself in it as she paces the room to sooth panicked thoughts.

There’s an itch under her skin like the tremor before a storm, and when her feet have traced three circles round the chamber faster and faster, she descends unto the shelves. Like a tempest she rifles around, overturning sheets and sheaves, until hidden between piles of equations and diagrams, she finds a letter half written. 

“Beloved,” it reads, “there is something afoot, and I wish you were safe in my arms behind these walls, for all you and yours would sooner run them down. Little is known or told, but the construct-wizards” –they had formed their own silly parlance learning each other’s tongue, loaning vaguely from proper Dwemeris– “and our architects have become yet more secretive and meticulous in their preparations.” 

The daedric letters always look a little too neat and stocky under Arkngath‘s quill, but as the line skips too far they lie even more squat, almost a little smeared. “Forgive me, my head was not made for this suspense. If only you could be here to ease the tension. Your hands on my neck, soothing the muscles. I’d make do with the baths, but the steam makes me unea– you’re rubbing off on me, beloved. Soon I’ll sound like a Chimer, then maybe I will be thrown out to join you. Nchamz told me she keeps hearing a sound, a hum beating increasingly louder…”

She has to hold the letter to the light now to make out the last lines, hasty and uneven, jumbled across the page. Beneath her knees, a wrap dress shivers to the floor as she scrambles across the seat and halfway onto the table. “Dal, beloved, song of my stars, I’ve seen you! Please make it stop, the visions, the pain. I-I can’t see, can you read– don’t go! The pulse, I can feel you running through– no, the arc–” 

The line drops off in the middle of a word, ink splattering across the paper, pooling at the crude upstroke of a cess. 

With it shatters Dal’s entire world. She tears apart the desk, the shelves, but none of the letters make sense to her, and even if they would, the words wouldn‘t. So many secrets she’ll never read and what if somewhere Arkngath left her another message, a clue where she’s gone, who’s taken her– Dal crumbles down under the profane facsimile of a sky as not-masser rises bleeding garnet red. Raw hands clutch the half finished letter to her chest as rawer still panic robs her breath. 

In the soon forgotten depths of an unremarkable Dwemer keep that outlasted the usefulness of its name, a blanket still holding the ghost fragrances of spiced soap and sulphur hides tears running down ash-grey cheeks, forming ash-grey clusters in the scattered dust.