#and also quite alienating???? its a heavy thing to explain but. i took it and i laid it all on gary so. whattaboutit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thed4rkhand · 3 years

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planets through the first house

Planets through the first house

Ready for yet another astrology post? We’ll be covering the results of different planets when placed in the first house of a birth chart. Remember that astrology is super fickle and changes dramatically with sign placement, aspects and conjunctions. So without any further delay, lets get into it! Do reblog and like, it took me a lot of effort to compile my observations! Feel free to leave feedback!

Trigger warning- too many, these are just my observations. Also i didn’t proof read, so spelling mistkes could be there.

for Rahu, look at the saturn part. (north node)

for ketu, look at the mars part. (south node)

Sun in the first house-

When sun is in the first house of a birth chart, the person may be heavily influenced by their father. They may look like their father or have a similar personality. Such people tend to be perfectionists, its their way or the highway. They may have a tendency to gain weight easily, however if its in scorpio then they’ll dramatically shed it and gain it, in a loop. They are extremely magnetic people. They may deal with foreigners on a regular basis, or speak a foreign language. They may deal with the government very often and may work for the government as diplomats. They may obtain their higher education abroad. They can remain quite childlike till much older. They can be very protective of their community, traditions and religion, and aim to spread awareness about it. These people are actually rarely concerned with someone’s exterior, because often times such people have such good intuition and spiritual powers (some are literally called mystics because of this), they can literally see through someone. For this reason, they actually don’t like associating with too many people, despite having a very charming personality. These are the kind of people that keep searching for ‘the one’. People may approach them regarding projects first, and they may work for the government. They may have extremely powerful enemies, but they shall defeat them. They may be closer to their mother’s family and culture. They may have a peculiar accent when talking, and many people will compliment their speech. They may have frizzy and big hair. They’ll have heavy acne in their younger years. They’ll have small squinted eyes, often accompanied by crows feet. They’ll appear much younger, and so will their mother. Their mother might be very short. They hate being indebted and like paying off loans quickly. They’ll have beautiful hands, and they have a habit of growing their nails. Many of them like to sing. Their father could’ve been a teacher or worked in heavy research based fields, maybe even a musician or doctor. Their life may go through rapid ups and down throughout. They may be extremely fond of cattle and horses, and hate flying. They may interject and cut people off in conversations. They will fall for married people or people in relationships, they will be good cooks and feel alienated by their mothers. They may wear glasses early on, and also they’re into fire rituals or fire. (pyromaniacs?). you will critique people and say terrible things you don’t mean when angry. You will have a large forehead or a receding hairline. You’ll have nightmares and premonitions about death and illness. You might be very very fond of gold or golden colours. You will be argumentative.

Moon in the first house-

When moon is in the first house of a birth chart, the person is heavily influenced by their mother. They may resemble their mother or have a similar personality. Such people are extremely moody and are always preoccupied with other’s opinion of them. They may have a tendency to fluctuate between their body weight, and are likely to have body dysmorphia. They have short necks and generally are short in height too. They’re very critical and over-analyze everything and everyone. Sometimes, even unconsciously, they manipulate people to suit their needs and whims. They get side tracked too often and have difficulty focussing on one task at hand, often amounting to laziness in other people’s eyes, even if the native is extremely hardworking in reality. However when in comes to personal care, they tend to do things in a very half-hearted manner. These people are also prone to isolating themselves from others, especially when things get hard. Such people tend to be famous or popular in friend circles, or at the very least well known. They can be extremely picky people and often can be obsessive in their thoughts. They may follow their mother’s footpath professionally, and may want to pursue fields related to law, beauty/architecture and biology. Their mother’s were very involved in their life. Such people are always on the internet trying to look up astrology posts, tarot, etc. They like knowing whats going to happen and like to be prepared for it. They can be extremely manipulative when they want to be. They may see a lot of prophetic dreams, and their mother or them often have pressure buildup in their ears or can hear random sounds or voices. They enjoy looking at stars and the night sky. They enjoy a strange fascination for water and looking at people’s eyes. They could be into massaging people or have ‘healing hands’, or their mother could.

Venus in the first house-

When Venus is in the first house of a birth chart, the person is heavily influenced by their colleagues, significant others, or their families. They’re extremely swayed by people’s opinions of them, and often because of this are very unsure in their abilities. Big doe-like yes are often seen with this, and an inmate ability to gain beer-blotches on their face. They attract people to them. They may have bad relationships with their families, and their mother could have had a miscarriage just before them. They can be hyper sensitive regarding taste, smell and sound. They may be excellent singers or play musical instruments. They dress up glamorously for parties, but when at home or alone, they’re usually roaming around like they’re homeless. They suffer depression if they’re not looking their best even, heavily into working out and grooming. They may be extremely religious or spiritual and may mediate a lot. They explain concepts very well and can be some of the best teachers around. They usually attract female friends. They love the smell of musk and love digging deep and researching, even stalking. They could be into ancient civilizations and history, photography and art, gardening and plants, fascinated with concepts of violence and death. They sit on their bed and work, they love the sound of fire crackling and fireplaces, they gain when in relationships and love asmr sounds. The most competitive people ever and so very possessive of their own goods, also back and forth with morality (eg. One day spiritual and the next they love material goods, one day vegan and then back to being a non-vegetarian)

Mercury in the first house-

When mercury is in the first house of a birth chart, the person is heavily influenced by what extended family or acquaintances think of them. Such people are also very concerned about their health, and can be hypochondriacs. They may also at all times think that people hate them, without any reason. They could be great speakers or orators or writers. They can have a great imagination, that is extremely vivid and unique, especially as a kid. They may want to pursue careers related to beauty with such a positioning, or even theatre or music. They may have a very unique appearance, and may appear androgynous. For women, they could look like their fathers, and for men, they can look like their mothers. They may be into research and like getting to the bottom of a matter. They may always have this appearance of half-closed eyes, they never open them fully. This gives them this drowsy look. They love making spread-sheets and calculating their expenses. They could have liver or kidney issues. They may get into occult due to their siblings. A lot of transformation comes into their life due to their family and pets. They may want to live abroad. They may have addiction issues to substances like alcohol and drugs. They may have troubles with their father. May cause rifts between your mother and your father too, causes them to have a love-less marriage. They may be called snake-like, dream of snakes and walk with a very purposeful walk, they kind of sway alot. They may be extremely secretive in life. You may have lactose intolerance, and may be envious of other people’s success. You or your parents have a lot of unaccounted wealth. Such people could hear voices in their heads, see prophetic dreams and have fears of the deep water. This could make someone very tall as well. May be fond of children and old people. Either extremely thick eyebrows or no eyebrows. Dimples are very common. Long necks and dark circles, deep sunken eyes. Very cutesy appearance. Skin is discolored and if the position is afflicted, skin diseases are common. Long hands and loves instruments like the piano. You can separately raise your eyebrows and the most, I mean the most, theatrical ones.

Mars in the first house-

When mars is in the first house of a birth chart, they’re very conscious of their own opinion, or are always thinking that someone may be watching them, like paranormally. Also, they’re largely confident in themselves, for they don’t really pay that much attention to others. In fact they’ll go out of their way to rebel. They could have suffered through acne, heat boils and other skin diseases. They have frizzy or curly hair, and very reddish complexions. These are the people who blush so easily and prominently. You may have skin scarring with this, as simple as acne marks and freckles, to larger scars and burns. So expressive, the type of people who can separately raise their eyebrows. They tend to be the type who change their appearance so very often, from weight fluctuations, to piercings, to hair colors, wardrobe rehauls, and all. They can have an element of looking foreign or different. They may have huge eyes and they’re almost protruding or absolutely sunken, massive cheekbones or hallowed out cheeks. They may have this mysterious look to their eyes, and this always sad or lost look. Eyes are very red, and often they have issues like sinus or nose is always blocked or watering. They may have hidden wealth, also the type of people to have the type of personality where you would never suspect they’re into occult. They are very close or have some karmic relationship (could be negative) with their father’s brothers. They also always think about escaping, largely to forests and retreating there for a bit. Very into finding cures and deep research. Also love dears, might worship shiva and are addicted to coffee. Also fasination with the moon. People might attract stalkers with this. Hoarders and so critical everything and everyone, especially hoarders of photos. Photographs memory and love for photography and art. Love for music and music instruments, and may own one and keep it in their room. Fidget by tapping pens or feet, have to make a sound. Can be argumentative and terrible tempers. They love garlic and onion and root vegetable stuff honestly. Also weird affinity for horses and speed. Also they love seats with hand-rests, the comfy sink into ones. They’re the types who go for the head of the table seat. Also we’re you born via a c-section and not natural birth? Something is off about your birth, could be the only child.

Saturn in the first house-

When Saturn is in the first house of a birth chart, it makes people extremely unconventional and almost a social outcaste. They can sometimes have these half shut lazy eyes, where their eyelid is heavy and big, and they always appear to be drowsy. They may be alarmingly fond of animals, especially large wild animals. Also they’re absolute perfectionists, they just get up and destroy the things they created and don’t like. Also rain or thunder ASMR. They’re also neat freaks, they like their stuff kept a particular way and don’t go around cleaning their room or touching stuff. They are usually influenced by their mother and are quite close to them, unless you’re born in the evening or night time, then you’re absolutely like your father, resemble him and act like him. They may hear a lot of sounds very regularly, in their head. Could be schizophrenic or just hear loud thumping sounds. Possible love having musically instruments in their house and could play one, or they know a lot of musicians. They may be the youngest in their peer groups or colleagues, sometimes oldest. They do have old-soul personalities though. They love doing volunteer work at shelters and looking out for the underprivileged. Their upbringing could have been strict. They make friends from around the world, you’ll actually notice that they might have a lot of middle-eastern friends or be intrigued by their culture. They could have problems with their backs and legs. Further, they may be very no-nonsense strict teacher kind of person. They can also alternatively be the life of the party person, or both really. They could either be extremely happy and jumpy in public and really broody in private, or the other way around. They work so hard yet rarely get results. They suffer through a lot of ups and downs in life. Usually this gives an innate ability to lose weight and appear rather slender, also tall. This usually gives some kind of unique features to the face, large eyebrows, pointy cheekbones, small mouths, exaggerated features and this kind of drugged up look in their eyes. For women, this gives a curvy look to the body, with great breasts (in relation to proportions). People love cheese here, also they are great with children. They get blamed for cheating or other issues when they haven’t done it. You go against dogmatic thinking. You may attract men and women. Great looking feet and omg the obsession with shoes? Stop it already, you don’t need more. Also stop looking at the watch and making schedules, stop being obsessed with time, or really stop procrastinating.

Jupiter in the first house-

When Jupiter is in the first house of a chart, one is usually undeniably lucky in life. People with this placement tend to be tall, and if not then they have a big bone structure. They will have beautiful feet. They gain weight easily. They are heavily influenced by their fathers and spouses. They like scholarly debates and discussions and dislike arguments. They are fond of foreign cultures and the other dimensions, they believe in religious interventions and god. They can be a bit conservative in nature. They were either born in a comfortably rich household or will have it later. They or their parents own more than one property. Their mother has bad health, and could’ve fallen sick after giving birth to them or never had children after them. Their mother is spiritual. They could obtain higher education abroad. They could be into fields of liberal arts, especially law and academics (like wanting to become professors), they could alternatively also be musically inclined. They will have an enchanting speech and aura, and people will commend their oration. They can be into writing. They could enjoy traveling a lot. They keep looking for love, it is one of their priorities even from a young age. They feel connected to spirits or gods, and often feel that there is something off or unique about them. They may have clairvoyant abilities and may practice activities of the occult or astrology. They usually have on and off relationships in life. You chase people you like. You need intellectual compatibility in a relationship. Very choosy about clothes, friends, vacations and all. Don’t wake them up from sleep, they love sleeping, or alternatively never get enough sleep. You do things smartly, not with hardwork. You may be interested in real-estate. They get into spirituality very young, around 16 when Jupiter matures. They pretend to be more knowledgable than they are in certain areas, might fib. They’re proud of their occult knowledge. Their is a polarity in their personality that everyone sees and what their close friends see. Maybe they’re extroverted outside and very introverted inside. Or maybe they have family issues and never speak about it. Could be anything. Also a polarity in wanting material gains like status, success and money, and wanting liberation and wanting to become spiritual. They keep going back and forth. Also they keep changing their opinions on things. Notice they have good hands too. Also acne and scarring. Terrible tempers, and can be asexual or aromatic, or just don’t like to show that side to themselves. The letter ’t’ may be relevant to them, either in their name, their family, or their spouse. Don’t invoke spirits of the dead please, don’t keep trying to shift realities either, chill. They keep their nails long. People usually don’t know that a native is into occult, as they have a very different outside persona.

#vedic astrology #vedic tradition #astrology #astrology observations #birth chart #planets #astrology stuff

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wizkiddx · 3 years

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worst case scenario part 5

finally!! so sorry its been an age to anyone still here but lives been interesting atm so.... also this really feels a bit rambley and the ending is deff underdeveloped but I just kind of wanted this done tbh x

[previous part] [part 1]

warnings: hospitals - ICU, ventilation that sort of stuff, just a lot of ANGST post a difficult birth - please don't read if this could be upsetting for you, and my inbox is always open if u wanna chat :)

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In a complete 360 degree flip from earlier that day, after leaving the hospital Tom had become obsessively attached to Aurora. They’d got back to his parents place in Tom’s car; Aurora in the carseat Y/n and Tom had ready in their car door for her arrival. Clearly his parents had already pre-warned his brothers, who had thankfully already gone over to Tom and Y/n’s - collecting the Moses basket amongst other items Harry had been listed off from his mother.

Apart from explaining a little behind her name to his parents on the journey back, Tom had spoken very little, choosing to keep himself to himself - physically stationing himself beside the Moses basket the whole time. Of course, there had been a bit of light conversation and almost procedural passing round of Aurora between all her uncles and grandparents, which Tom had kept a wether eye on - but ultimately not engaged.

He also knew that physically his body was failing him. Although eating a little of the lasagne Sam had made for everyone, he could only stomach a minuscule amount, which did little to boost his energy levels. It felt as though sleeping was the enemy, because he was neither ready to leap into the car if the phone went; or to hear the smallest sound from the wicker basket, suggesting something was wrong. So as much as he tried to fight it, before even nine o’clock he began to dose off on the familiar couch of his parents sitting room - occasionally jerking himself awake before loosing the fight once again.

Nikki had tried to gently push him to take a break in the spare bedroom, which had been Tom’s before he’d moved out, but was unsuccessful - every time he retaliated with a stern shake of his head, while checking his phone just in case he’d missed a notification. Eventually Nikki relented, later in the evening both her and Dom retiring to bed; once Sam had agreed to stick around downstairs till a bit later - as a chef he worked till late in the nights, so even on his days off like today, his sleep schedule was just a little fucked.

Left alone with his new little niece and now pretty firmly asleep brother, Sam draped a blanket over the latter just in time for Aurora to start fussing in the need of a bottle. His mum had explained how to do everything, how to mix the formula and heat it up, so after scooping up the little wriggling girl in the hope his brother wouldn’t get disturbed, Sam dealt with her. To be honest no matter how clueless and useless he felt, Aurora was just so cute - if a little wrinkly and alien looking, but in a good way. This was the first baby any of them had had, so the first time Sam experienced this instant connection and love for the little being that was his niece or nephew. It was terrifying, lifting the bottle against her lips for the first time, but then it just sort of seemed to work. She was incredibly smart for less than 24 hours old, instantly latching on, like she had done for Haz at the hospital.

That gave Sam a little confidence in his ability as an uncle, giving himself a satisfied nod while swaying from the kitchen to move back into the living room. It was just a preference to be within reach of Tom… just in case. His poor brother still hadn’t moved, slumped against the corner of the sofa, leaning toward the now empty Moses basket. Normally, Sam seeing his supposed heart throb of a brother looking as rough as he did now - double chin, mouth hanging slightly open, deep sunken eyes - he would’ve taken a photo to blackmail him with. Now though, it was just desperately sad, seeing his brother like this, hand still clutching his phone tightly above the blanket.

Rather hoping the calm would last for a while, Sam successfully finished off feeding Aurora; winded and then put her down to sleep again just in time. Because, perhaps expectedly, Tom’s phone began to blare off the default iPhone ringtone making Tom jump and throw the device across the room as he awoke with a start. Sam ran to grab it off the floor, mainly with the hope of turning it off before Aurora was awoken too - knowing that it was best tonight to tackle one thing at a time.

And so he immediately swiped to answer the call, not even registering who the call was from, much rather just wanting the noise to stop.

“Hello?”

“Sam? It’s Harrison” Tom had jumped up from his seat hovering beside Sam with petrified look. It took barely seconds for Tom to snatch the phone back, launching questions down the receiver.

“Slow down would you? Y/n is fine I was just phoning to check in.”

“Oh er yeh… um sorry I just… just thought…”

“It’s the other way mate. Nurse says she’s starting to get there cos first she moved her arm a bit when we pinched her shoulder and then I just called because she started to like gag and now the ventilator thing is gone.”

“W-what?”

“I think she’s breathing by herself? Like she’s got an oxygen mask instead of the tubes down her throat.” Clearly Harrison was not, by any means, a medical expert.

“They said she would have the ventilator for a few days at least.”

“I guess Y/n got bored? To be fair she couldn’t ever sit still.”

“I’m coming to you.”

“Tom it’s nearly midnight, I was supposed to be kicked out at 10. Just come back in the morning, they won’t let you in I’m pretty certain.”

“What if she wakes up!”

“Then they’ll call you! She’s getting better Tom you should be try and relax for like a second.”

“FUCK OFF HAZ! If she wakes up all alone and terrified then-“

“I’m not going to having a screaming match on the phone with you. I think we both know you wanting to come is more for you than for Y/n, because Y/n would want you to be looking after Aurora.”

Again guilt tripping using the newborn. Harsh but effective. Stopping Tom’s anger dead in it’s tracks.

“Look I can put the nurse on for her to tell you they won’t let you in and they’ll call if anything happens - but you already know that.”

“Yeh sorry fine … I know don’t bother.”

“Okay… I’m was gonna head back to my place and I know you’ve probably got your mum begging to fuss over Aurora but if-“

“Can you come?”

“Didn’t need to ask mate.”

And that’s how the night went. Until Harrison arrived at the Holland family home, Tom had spent the time pacing back and forth, blatantly ignoring the pleas of Sam just to sit down. Once he arrived though, going through all the updates in a lot more detail Tom seemed, for the first time, optimistic. By no means could you call him relaxed or happy - but compared to the rollercoaster that had been the last 24 hours, Harrison thought that was more than enough. Aurora had started fussing again at 1 but by the time it had turned into a full blown scream at Tom, Sam already had the bottle ready. It took a little bit of encouragement and promise that Tom would be able to feed her but actually, she instantly latched on, settled in her Dad’s hold while guzzling down the contents of the bottle.

After a bit of winding she ended up falling asleep on her dads chest, only when he felt himself start to flag did Tom place her back in the basket. Harrison and him ended up crashing on the sofas, Sam retiring to his own room. Phone still tightly clutched in Tom’s grip.

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The first thing Y/n became properly aware of was this intense heaviness all over her body. It felt as though her limbs were all composed completely of lead, meaning as much as she was just craving rolling over, it was as though her own body was holding her down. A very alien feeling that unsettled her slightly, trying to shake of the misty feeling in her head to work it all out. It took a while to drag herself out of the depths of sleep, to the point where background noise slowly faded in - an alien beeping as well as distant shuffling making her heart thump with unease. Finally, perhaps most distressingly , her eyes felt glued shut. Not because they were heavy, in the way someone extremely sleep deprived cant keep their eyes open; rather stiff like they hadn’t been used in so long they’d rusted over or something.

The feeling was quite horrific and isolating- as though she were locked into her body without an escape in sight. Whilst trying to calm her racing thoughts, Y/n chose to focus completely on the one thing she could do. She could listen. She listened to the beeps, focusing on the type of sound, the way it chimed so regularly; and it’s form. It was familiar, for that she was sure but for now at least she couldn’t place it.

It felt like an investigation, trying with all her might to try and workout what the fuck was going on. To put it mildly.

The most useful clue though, a breakthrough if you will, is when a voice sounded - clear and familiar.

“Excuse me nurse?” It was Nikki. For sure. It was a clue, but didnt seem to make a hell of a lot of sense. Y/n was so focused on why the hell Nikki was apparently watching her sleep unconscious, she completely missed the reference to the nurse. As in hospital. As in Y/n was in hospital. “… I’m just going to swap out for my sons friend.”

“Harrison?” That voice seemed new and unfamiliar.

“Yes, he won’t be a second I’m sure.”

What was Harrison doing here too?

It was all very confusing and hurt Y/n’s brain to try and unpick. Gradually then, everything sort of melted away, diving back into the darkness.

The next time Y/n woke up things were different. This time she woke up like she would at any time of day. She woke up and her eyes followed suit. Not particularly easily, since as soon as they cracked open she was almost blinded by brilliant white lights, it taking a build up of willpower before she tried it again - bracing for the pain.

By now she knew something was wrong. She remembered all these patchy and hazy periods. All full of confusion and disorientation but with different voices keeping her at least semi calm. Familiar voices, all too often laced with such emotion. Especially Tom’s. She couldn’t remember what he had said, nor had she probably been able to understand it at the time - what stuck was the tone. The sadness, the hopelessness , the emptiness.

It was scary. But it made her want to help. Made her want to open her eyes.

After wincing at the dazzling white surroundings, Y/n blinked her eyes quickly, in an attempt to get them to adjust quicker. She saw an unfamiliar ceiling, one that was tiled in a similar way to her old school canteen. There was a weird pressure round her mouth, eyes quickly darting down to see edges of a clear mask pressed up against the bridge of her nose. That wasn’t it though, the further she looked the more her eyes panned down this pale blue blanket, following the outline of her legs to the bottom raised edge of the bed. The hospital bed.

Her hospital bed.

As much as she wanted to jump up in panic; physically right now that was an impossibility. So instead, Y/n focused on trying to gleam as much information from the situation. It took a hell of a lot of effort, her muscles literally stiff and ridgid with disuse but with a small groan her neck eventually agreed to follow orders. Just a small tilt to the left and suddenly Y/n felt so much more less panicked. Everything was that bit less scary because there was Tom.

Admittedly he didn’t look amazing, or even not bad. Tom was sat with his back pressed against the side of chair, so his body faced her. Had he not looked so ruined, Y/n would’ve laughed at the side of his face squashed into the back of the seat. But he did look horrific, for lack of a better word. His brown eyes were locked shut, but also looked puffy and red, while dark at the same time - as though he’d been attempting to gouge his own eyes out prior. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, hence why he had appeared to have collapsed in the arm chair. At least though , he wasn’t in a hospital bed himself.

That was Y/n’s pleasure.

Her next job was to get her neck muscles to pull her head to the other side. It was a slow wincing gesture, yet she was so aware of another presence that needed to be addressed too. But actually it was 3 people.

Right at the back, a nurse sat on a little spinny chair, scribbling something down in a file of papers but to be quite honest that wasn’t were Y/n’s focus zeroed in on. Instead on Harrison who was sat in chair mirroring Tom, except instead of being passed out asleep he was cradling a baby. Her baby.

Y/n literally felt her heart in her throat at that point, eye widening almost comically. That was her baby - it must be? The monitors all started to loose their regularity as Y/n threw an uncoordinated limb to that side of the bed- already having realised her throat was way too scratchy to try to say anything comprehensible.

Immediately that got the attention of both the nurse, who immediately leapt up and called for support, as well as Harrison - who looked like he was seeing a ghost.

“Oh my-Y/n-?” Luckily he kept the baby safe in his arms rather than dropping her in shock, whilst Y/n kept her eyes locked onto the bundle in his arms. Nodding down, she tried to remove the mask (actually just very slightly knocking it to one side) and attempted to ask of the baby. Her throat, being inhumanly dry and scratchy, didn’t really work but Haz still got the message, scoffing in amazement.

“Aurora… here’s your mummy.” Harrisons voice was quiet and wavering as he delicately held Aurora against Y/n’s collar bone, the babies little tuft of har tickingling her chin. Now Y/n was crying with happiness, looking up at Haz’s icy blue eyes and questioning her name. Harrison confirmed with another disbelieving whisper, whilst the arm that wasn’t still holding Aurora clasped Y/n’s hand with a death grip. “Tom’s choice.”

The mention of him had both of them shift their gaze across the room to Tom’s chair. Even with all the developments, Tom still seemed completely unaware, fast asleep with the side of his face squished against the back of the chair making his lips slightly askew. Y/n were acutely aware of the small congregation of doctors that had accumulated in the corner of the bay but they seemed to be respectfully waiting before they would prod and poke. Haz went to call Tom’s name, before he could though, Y/n squeezed his arm and minutely shook her head. That wasn’t what the blue eyes boy had been expecting, causing Haz to unfold and bring Aurora back up to his chest as he quirked his eyebrows at her.

She didnt need to be filled in on the situation to know exactly what was happening. She had no idea why she was in the hospital bed; how long it had been since she’d given birth - but she knew all she needed to. From Harrisons unbelievably shocked face; and from the state of Tom - it hadn’t been good. Her fiancé looked almost ghostly, it seemed evident that he needed her. First then, she gestured to Haz for some water, which after a panicked look to the nurse; then from the nurse to various doctors; she was eventually given permission.

After somewhat alleviating the sandpaper feeling in her throat, Y/n then croakily asked for a bit of privacy. Right now the doctors all were gawking, Harrison assumed it to be because they’d all led him and Tom to believe she wouldn’t wake up for a while- and even then she was supposed to barely be awake, not able to talk and drink or anything of the sort. With an ecstatic nod Harrison, shuffled out - while doing so prompting the medical people to draw the curtains completely shut round the bay.

Already Y/n had tears welling up in her eyes, purely because she hated seeing him like this. He just looked so broken and shattered which honestly felt worlds worse than the labour she’d gone through. Her whole body still hurt, stiff and achy for reasons yet to be explained to Y/n. None of that mattered though, as she strained her arm out to the side in order to gently reach his knee that was folded up and sticking out awkwardly at an angle. After swallowing one again, Y/n squeezed round the joint and tried to shake it slightly. Instantly the man jumped up in his seat, heavy eyes blinking quickly and repeatedly as he tried to adjust to the room.

Being so sleep deprived and stressed out, Tom’s brain was not working normally, instead with a delayed haze as he apparently skipped over Y/n in the bed, rather surveying the the closed curtains and Harrison’s now empty chair. As he was lifting himself to sit more normally up, uncurling from the armchair, was when he noticed the hand on his knee. Breath caught in his chest, Tom instinctively bit his lip as his eyes gradually traced up the hand, to the forearm, up to the shoulder. It felt like a fever dream, as though all it would take is for him to move and she’d slip away again. But there were her green eyes, gleaming in a way that literally lifted a weight from his shoulders. Her smile was tired and a little confused, but so her - after spending days of just seeing all her features lax, Tom swore that it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Only when Y/n finally croaked out a small ‘hi’ did Tom gain awareness of his body, or rather control of it, enough to leap up and leave over the bed - cradling her face in both his palms. Like a psycho he stared intently, swapping his focus from her left to her right eye like a madman.

“Your-I-I” He was trying to speak, trying to communicate all the thoughts and regrets of things he wished he’d said to her all at once. Weakly she reached up to fully remove the oxygen mask, dragging It down to below her chin, before squeezing his wrists in comfort. Only then did Tom notice the small puddle that had collected on her cheek, which made him realise he was absolutely bawling.

“You ‘kay?” Her voice was like sandpaper but everything about her was so completely Y/n and it was just giving Tom this unreal wave of euphoria. Physically incapable of replying, the brunette just scoffed, leaning over the bed even more so he could press his forehead on hers. He was laughing too, the fact she was asking him that seemed so preposterous, given all the tubes and wires attached to her at the moment. It took Y/n squeezing his wrist harder again to make him lean back a little, searching her eyes with his. She seemed so worried; seemed so full of concern - only then did Tom consider quite how much he’d ‘let himself go’ the past couple of days.

It had been two days since Aurora was born, only 48 hours. But the transformation was mad, none more so than mentally. 48 hours had quite literally changed everything for Tom; changed life forever and himself too. It was showing in his unshaven face, with unwashed greasy hair, everything just looking ‘tired’.

“‘m just really glad your awake.” It was so honest and sincere it did have Y/n wondering what had happened and for how long. What had she put her fiancé through?

“How long?”

“The worst two and a half days of my life… I got you now though, yeh?” Tom whispered wetly, while stroking the side of her cheek - wiping both his and her tears away.

“Always.”

The doctors and nurses then came in, podding and poking Y/n like no tomorrow while Harrison and Tom stood back a little - excitedly grinning at each other and the sleepy girl Haz was cradling, before Tom stole her off him. There was a momentary sick-to-his-stomach feeling after some of the professionals had cleared, seeing her eyes shut again felt like everything was crashing around him. Thankfully though, one of doctors noticed the look of despair on his face, explaining to the two men that she was just asleep normally. That although sh’ed spent along time unconscious, waking from a medical coma is in itself exhausting.

After the initial excitement of Y/n waking the next couple of days were pretty samey. She’d been moved down to a normal ward, no longer needed all the incessant bleeping machines but still had to stay in hospital. Tom found it tricky too, he just always felt he needed to be by her side ‘just in case’. In fact, it had been a source of a bit of tension between him and his fiancé - she could see how exhausted he was from looking after Aurora, plus the stress of being in the hospital for hours a day with her. As Y/n got better and more switched on to the state of him, she realised it was inevitable he’d crash at some point.

But after a week and a half in hospital - comprising of a baby, emergency surgery, 3 days on intensive care, followed by 8 on the ward - Y/n was discharged. Nikki and Dom moved in to Y/n and Tom’s place, to provide care support both for Aurora; and Y/n for the rest of her recovery; and secretly Tom for everything he’d been through.

She was still order on bed rest due to her surgical scars, so Tom and Nikki helped to set her up in the master bedroom as soon as they got in. Of course, everyone was aware of Toms odd mood that day. Until then the only thing he wanted was to get his fiancé back at home with him but now she was over the threshold his excitement and joy appeared to have been zapped out of him. In fact, he’d barely uttered more than a couple sentences. So once Y/n was properly comfortable and Dom had brought Aurora and the cot into the room, Tom’s parents quickly made themselves scarce.

Tom hadn’t stopped, finding some reason to rummage around in the chest of drawers m while Y/n chewed at her bottom lip, watching him.

“Tom?” All she got in response was a light hum. “Tom please will you come and sit down for a minute?”

“I just need to-“

“Tom!” Her exclamation finally properly got Tom to listen, jumping round to face her. “Please... please will you just stop for a second?” Y/n’s eyes felt as though they were boring holes in his skull. Really, Tom knew he’d be forced into this at some point because he couldn’t avoid Y/n. She had some power of mind reading over him. So with a defeated nod and sagging shoulders Tom rounded the bed, weaving between his side and Auroras cot - where she was sleeping soundly.

A silence overcame the room as he heavily planted himself on his side of the bed, mirroring Y/n’s posture leant against the headboard.

“I think we need to have an honest conversation T.”

“If you want.” Nothing about his reply was the picture of enthusiasm, causing Y/n to hesitate a little.

“Look I am so beyond grateful for everything you’ve done while I was in hospital... and it doesn’t take a genius to tell you’ve worked yourself half to death-“

“I’m fine-“

“Don’t lie to me. I know you’re trying to protect me but please... will you just talk to me? Honestly?”

His reply this time wasn’t completely unforeseeable but it still shocked Y/n quite how quickly it happened, especially almost unprovoked. Because that’s all it took for Tom to break, for the past 2 weeks to get their vengance, for all the repressed emotion to escape.

He was crying- well more accurately sobbing- into his hands, his back quaking. Naturally Y/n reached out to pull him into her side, suppressing the groan of pain as she moved a little too much for her abdomen to handle. “I’m here T. I got you and I’m not going anywhere m‘kay?”

And that’s how they stayed, for at least 10 minutes, with Tom crying into her shoulder as Y/n rubbed up and down his back. Eventually though, everything did calm down and Tom repositioned himself to lean his head on her shoulder just facing forward and focusing on playing with her fingers, lacing them fingers with his.

In all the time since she’d woken up, Y/n was yet to broach the subject of their babies name yet. She sensed it was a sensitive topic to say the least, so had thought it best to wait till they were properly alone - not in a ward of 6 strangers where the only privacy came in flimsy blue curtains.

“So…. Aurora huh? Thought it was too airy-fairy, head-in-the-clouds for you?” Smiling lightly, both of them were transported back to the pregnancy when they spent hours and hours bickering over names. Aurora had always been Y/n’s favourite but to Tom thought it was more a name for a hippy kid who went around clad in tie dye and bandanas.

“Still is a bit...but I needed a bit of a miracle and Iceland was in my head. Plus I sort of accidentally word vomited while shouting at Haz, for being nice to me.” Iceland as in when Tom had proposed under the aurora borealis in the freezing sky - when Y/n had agreed, promised even, to be with him forever.

“But you like it?”

“Of course... mother always knows best after all.”

“I think it suits her too. One of your best choices to date, listening to me.” Y/n mused, earning herself a very delicate but still playful elbow in the side before the room drifted back to a much more comfortable silence.

“We’re gonna get through this you know? Me, you and her, we’re together in this... I’m sorry I wasn’t in the beginning and I’m sorry I hurt you but now? I promise you got me and I’m not going anywhere…” Y/n needed to say it and needed Tom to properly listen. “ ...literally, I still cant walk properly.” Tom chuckled wetly at that, which made Y/n feel a lot better too.

To be completely honest, Tom was still hurt and he knew it’d take some mending to move past everything. By no means did he blame Y/n in anyway but just the fact he was left alone and abandoned - well, it was the worst time in his life. The way Y/n understood that and had apologised to him - if completely unnecessarily- meant everything. Meant she would help him to heal... whilst he helped her too.

“Can we just go to sleep? I need to wake up beside you in our bed not at tiny hospital one.” It was only 3 in the afternoon but because of Y/n’s medicine she was constantly drowsy and Tom? Tom was still in this permanent state of exhaustion. So it wasn’t so much of a weird request as it was on the face of it. With a nod, Y/n shuffled down on the bed a bit more resting her head against the top of Tom’s. It was exactly what they both needed, just a bit of peace with each other.

That lasted all of 5 minutes before Aurora woke and started to scream.

Life had most definitely changed. Especially for Tom. Because even though he was he was mentally and physically exhausted, he only appreciated his daughters screams whole heartedly... because Y/n was there groaning with a tired smile too. They were in this together.

~~~~

I really hope the ending didnt disappoint too much, im aware its rushed as hell, but thank you for getting this far! And I hope maybe this series has done a teeny tiny bit to normalise not everything in pregnancy and child birth being perfect - that there is morbidity and mortality associated. Obviously this is all fictional (esp the amazingly quick recovery and lack of neurological/other impairments) and not medically accurate in the slightest !!

my inbox is always open :) t x

Tagging : @whitewolf51

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #dad!tom #Tom Holland angst

146 notes · View notes

ka-writes · 3 years

Text

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Notes: READ WARNINGS!!

Please I really want you to be safe.. anyways, this is mainly a set up for the next chapter.. it has a shit ton of angst prepare yourself.

Also am very sorry it is late!! ‘‘Twas very hard for me to start writing it, btw I started another AU please go check it out, thank you <3

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Warning: Torture I go into detail, gore, cussing manipulation, characters lose sense of reality.

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In case you missed:

Chapter 1:

Chapter 6:

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Inspired by:

Humans are Space Velociraptors

By:FreshRoses_InMyGarden_NeedTheRain

Some kids come from storks, others come from crashed spaceships

By: mmmajora

Home Again, Home Again

By: teeth_eater

All works can be found on Ao3

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Ao3 link for this work:

And my other AU:

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Change 7: This is a dream… right?

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He was back where he started this whole thing.

In a cage.

One cage over from the door and now in the middle of the room. It felt empty and bare, yet full of an uncomfortable sense of dread and fear, though he would never admit that aloud.

This time there was only one other cage in sight. The room had changed as well. It was no longer covered in grime, or smelled of blood. Instead it was a sickly white and smelled of rubbing alcohol. Which caused his nose to burn with the overwhelming scent of the cleaning supplies, making the entirety of the room feel more and more like one of those horror stories in hospitals, the only difference being that this one was real.

The thing that replaced the other cages and humans was an operating table with vials and tools that Tommy couldn’t identify.

There were no lights currently, except for the same small door window, which was the only thing that really stayed the same.

It was cold, it felt empty. There was no description fit for the amount of dread Tommy felt. It was built up after laying in the dark for so long. It burned his gut and made his head swirl with thoughts of what would happen next.

He wouldn’t ever admit he was scared, but the situation kinda explained itself.

Without warning the door swung open. No squeaks like last time, just a smooth motion allowing the room to be basked in yellow light from the hall.

Then the lights turned on, immediately causing Tommy to shut his eyes. His head started throbbing and every fiber in his body screamed at him to run. The lights turned into blurry blinding blobs that lit everything in a white fire, making it apparent that the room was indeed scrubbed of any stains or blood. Once his eyes finally adjusted, his migraine caught up to him, making the entire thing unbearable.

“Hello there!” An alien stepped in the room. Their features were outlined in white and their skin wasn’t even recognized, simply because it looked like a shadow. They had claw-like hands and wore glasses over their white to red eyes. They had a black doctor’s coat and wore black pants with white knee high boots. They had a devilish tail along with devil horns and a floating white halo. Their fangs poked out from a blinding white mouth, which was curved into a practiced smile.

“My name is BadBoyHalo, but you will refer to me as Dr. Halo.” They finished with a sickly sweet tone and a side smile, “My pronouns are he/him, and I will be taking care of what happens while you’re here.. not that you will ever leave of course.”

His mind was racing. Everything told him this was real, but he couldn’t help but pray that it was all a sick dream.

“Now we will start off easy and move onto the harder stuff later! Please refrain from trying to run, we have a shock function attached to your translators.” This caught him off guard. Why was he using plural tenses?

He looked towards the other cage, that’s when he noticed the strange bee alien also wearing a petrified expression. His eyes didn’t wander to the other cage, only watching Dr. Halo.

“Now who do we start with?” The doctor asked, even though he clearly already knew. A twisted smile shone on his face letting the light catch the awfully amused glint in his eyes, “Let’s start with the droneling!”

——————

There was no explanation for where the two went.

They simply vanished. No traces to follow or reasons to run.

The only logical explanation was Dream catching them. Which meant Techno would have to ask around for where the ship was harboring. The only problem being, he was awful at talking to people.

“So what do you wanna know?” A tall Wollylock person asked, she was the only known person to know anything about Dream, being his mother and all.

“Er- information on the Dream Team Ship.” Techno stated rather awkwardly.

“Why?” The captain asked, impatience clearly visible with her expression.

“They took two starlings from my crew.” At that the captain practically fumed with furry.

“I will help. After all, that boy needs to learn some manners.” The captain stated, her determination was infectious. “What is your craft’s name?”

“The SBI Craft, piloted by captain Philza.” He said robotically.

“Course it has to be Phil. That man has what, four kids he claimed to his crew..”

“Technically, I am not a kid, neither is Wil- Er our scientist, so really he’s only harboring three kids, now one since two were taken..” Techno decided that was the best explanation he could come up with, though there was really no point.

The captain chuckled and brushed off the other’s attempts at defending the crew. “Just send me the ship’s cords and your captain’s contact and I will be in touch.” With that the captain slid a communicator over the table and walked out of the sketchy bar.

Techno made his way back to the ship and delivered his captain the news. He tried to ignore the gut feeling that everything was wrong…

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(The next section has graphics depictions of torture and gore, please skip this section if it could or will trigger you in any way, there is a summary at the end. Thank you <3)

The world moved unbearably slow. The cage opened ever so smoothly, making him want to throw up. It was the sign that everything was going to go to hell.

That’s what this has to be right? A hellish nightmare that wasn’t real..

No that wasn’t right..

Did it matter?

A hand yanked his wrist out of the cage and into the blinding white room, that felt like fire surrounding him as he stepped to the operating table.

Needles and scalpels were set neatly on a silver tray. The restraints were heavy and felt like they burned his wrists and ankles. He was pushed onto the table as the ‘doctor’ slapped on gloves. More restraints were clipped over his waist and thighs.

Then something pinched his leg. He felt the blood rushing it’s way down to the cut, as a scalpel carved out a rectangle. He could hear scissors cutting something, and distant screams… were they from him?

He didn’t know at this point. More agonizing cuts on his legs along with a couple of needle pin marks.. a couple snaps of an illusion disk and a bit of writing, on both his skin and paper..

He couldn’t really feel anything after the first one, only simply knowing that his body was reacting to the pain yet his brain hadn’t quite caught up with reality.

It was like he wasn’t exactly controlling his body, just simply existing in the dream-like state. Time didn’t exist there, neither did recognition of the pain. Emotions ran wild. Turning all of his thoughts sour as he attempted to remember what happened.

It wasn’t until the doctor un-clipped him and put him back into the cage that he noticed the other.

That’s who did this to him. That’s the person that pushed him through pain.

The human wore a terrified expression as the doctor took him out for his turn.

He couldn’t help but smile at the other’s pain. The other deserved it..

Right?

(If you skipped this, Tubbo got tortured and blamed Tommy for the situation.)

——————

“IT’S BEEN A FUCKING MONTH! And you still haven’t found your son’s damn ship?!” The man on the other line was furious, and rightfully so.

Puffy undoubtedly understood the anger the man had. I mean she had been in the situation before when her youngest was kidnapped by another crew of pirates. The only difference in this situation was she was fighting against her son, her duckling… when did her duckling turn sour?

“You’re right about that, Phil. I can assure you Niki is doing everything in her power to track them down, along with Jack.” Jack joined the team after Puffy met Niki.

She must admit that having someone working in the ISF had its perks. Though no one could fully trust him. For good reason of course.

“Ponk is ‘talking’ to Sam, he sure as hell ain’t cracking yet.” She finished bitterly, “Like I said Quakity is waiting for his monthly letter from his fiancé, which would hopefully give us a clue at where to look.”

“I am still trying to wrap my head around the fact that it’s been a month.. Wilbur said the humans barely last a full week if they aren’t treated..” The worry was lining his face and causing the bags under his eyes to look more like nasty black eyes. His face was sullen making it apparent the man hadn’t been eating properly. His wings ruffled at every noise and he seemed to be running purely on coffee. Puffy wanted nothing more than to return the man’s unofficial sons back to him.

——————

Everything was great!

The plan worked perfectly, and Sam hadn’t cracked yet.

Meaning he could easily start on the next faze. The only issue would be he’d have to gain both of the starling’s trust.

Even if the present was a bitter reality lined with things that would annoy him, the end result would be worth it.

Having a human and a nuke expert by his side would allow him to have everything he ever wanted.

Power.

Not just power, but all the things that came with it. He wouldn’t be questioned again, and everything and anything he said would be the final word.

It would be hell for those who crossed him, and even worse for those who abandoned him.

Wilbur, Sam, Ant, Quackity, Foolish, and even mother dearest, Puffy. They would all pay for their disloyalty. Once this is all over, they would never cross him again.

I mean he did give up everything to gain this life.

There was nothing to lose and everything to win, and he’d be damned if he didn’t win.

I mean he sold his soul for this!

It was all worth it.. right?

Of course it is. Stop doubting me child.

——————

28 days of torture, and now they were sitting with their captors playing house.

It was wrong. So utterly wrong.

“Eat your food Tommy.” The captain commanded.

Tommy complied not wanting to go back in the cage. Every day he woke up there, more things were shoved into him and more pain was given.

“You too Tubbo.” The command was given and the other complied, the same fear visibly shown.

“Reports.” Dream stated sternly, the rest of the crew compiled without hesitation.

It was a bunch of regular reports of how no one knew where they were, what supplies needed to be restocked, the current condition of the ship, and any developments with the news. A bunch of boring bullshit. He bit back any sarcastic remarks that threatened to spill, but refrained in fear of what they would do to him.

The crew was dismissed leaving Tubbo, Tommy, and Dream alone.

“I want both of you to listen.” Dream started his tone raising all hairs on the back of Tommy’s neck, “Phil and his crew led you to us. They didn’t comply the first time and poisoned your minds. We did the right thing, and fixed you. Now, there are some rules you have to follow. You may not wander the ship, only go anywhere with one of the crew members. You will both share a room and follow the same schedule. Anything you do that is not an order deserves a punishment, for it is proof of what the other crew poisoned you with. Now! Go to your room, it has a black door.” With that the man finished and the pair headed towards their room.

The speech sounded right, yet felt wrong. But everything was justified, therefore it was fine. Plus the worrying was just a problem for future Tommy, maybe that’s what Dream meant by the other crew poisoning him.

The other said nothing as they entered the room, only fixing Tommy with a bitter gaze which turned into something of confusion. Neither one slept, they couldn’t bring it in themselves to sleep, especially since Dream hadn’t told them to.

Instead both of them settled into a silence as they lay on their bed, only getting up when the man told them too. This was all they could really do as they faced their new reality. Slowly but surely their brains began to believe every word of the speech. Finally when the man asked to join him, a bubbly sickly joy gave them the grace to finally help their rescuer.

Six months after the initial capture, one month of torture and five months of vigorous training, consisting of fighting, weapon design, and hours of studying blueprints, they were finally able to go on their first mission with their rescuer, not questioning anything any of the crew said at this point. Sick months of training and they became living weapons ready for whatever the cruel world threw at them…

This is a dream.. right?

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Chapter 7- End

Words: 2221

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Notes:

Hahahaha I am in pain from writing this... please bare with me.. ;-;

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Dream is being a manipulative bastard... I mean the character. More specifically my take on Dream’s character in this situation... ahhhhh

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I hope you’re staying safe, don’t forget to take care of yourself!! <3 also likes are appreciated but reblogs are always better! <3

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autisticshadowthehedgehog · 3 years

Text

The Rose Emerald

I got bored and I hyperfixate so this is based on the Chaos Emerald Filmverse Theory and Potential Roster

What was left of the Chaos Emeralds were split across the universe after the loss of the red gem. None of the selected planets for safekeeping were allowed to know where any emerald was sans theirs, and most of the emeralds were kept under heavy guard, heavy security, and intense secrecy.

When the fifth emerald was given to the Voxai, it was a shining green- some said brighter than the Master Emerald itself. The Voxai, of course, took their duty to guard the emerald as seriously as they could; the Overmind gave suggestions on how to build its safe place, how to keep it from those who would use it for destruction. For decades, it sat untouched in a glass chamber, inside a temple hidden amongst the Beta colony.

The second guard of the emerald, after the death of the first, was Thebes, and he’d been very nervous about his job. He’d been especially nervous when he reached the emerald and it was no longer green- the psychic energy that emanated from not just the Voxai, but from their planet itself, had leaked into the gem, regardless of their best efforts, and now it was a pale, shining pink. Almost the same color as the markings across Thebes’s translucent shell.

Not too soon after Thebes had begun his guard duties- checking on the emerald and the temple, keeping it clean and stable, making sure nobody else had broken in- the emerald started doing strange things. Glowing, rocking gently in its enclosure, seeming to breathe. The Overmind hadn’t heard of such behavior from the previous guard, and Thebes was getting quite concerned. First it changed color, then it started doing... this.

One day, he came into the temple, floating along the light, icy air of their home planet, but when he looked upon the glass case, he saw no emerald. Instead, there was a small creature- strange, not like the Voxai at all. There was no shell, only some kind of spikes along its skin, and four thick limbs waving in the air. It had a hole in its face, which it was using to make loud, angry noises. The only thing recognizable was the shade of pink. The emerald’s shining pink now coated the creature- no, the child. It was an infant. A baby.

Thebes had to be careful bringing it to the Overmind, not wanting to leave it alone but also not wanting to drop it as he flew. But without an extensive tail (only a puny one), and without familiar limbs, it was hard to even figure out how best to pick it up. Eventually he managed to use his left wings to hold it to his chest, but then it kept screaming and spitting some kind of liquid onto him, which was very unpleasant.

He finally got it to the Overmind, and after several hours of confused discussion, a deep dive into the nearest library, and frantic scrambling to get some kind of nutrients for the infant to get it to stop crying, they finally had information for Thebes. And instructions.

“It’s a Mobian- the kind of alien that held the emeralds first.” Overmind Leucosia explained, as a carrier was tied to Thebes’s shell. “It seems that the Chaos Emerald has shifted into an infant mobian- we must do further research to determine what this means. In the meantime- you are the emerald’s guardian still. So guard the child.”

Thebes had very much not wanted to hear that. He had enough anxiety as it was, he couldn’t add a child on top of that. He didn’t even know how to take care of Voxian children, and they were easy- just a few mental outbursts here and there. And now he had to care for an alien child with needs he couldn’t understand and with the strangest appearance he’d ever seen, and...

Overmind Riadne seemed to sense his fear, and reached out to him, sending a gentle wave through his mind. It calmed him, the comfort she was offering him leaking into his body, his wings flickering slower and his tail swooshing from side-to-side.

He finally moved his gaze downwards, to the carrier strapped to him. Inside of it, the little baby Emerald was curled up, its tiny hands clutching onto the material, rubbing its face against it. It had stopped crying, and instead just looked peaceful. Happy.

“Okay.”

---

The Emerald had given itself life. And it was now a little mobian, crawling across the floor, putting its mouth on anything it came across and falling over with the slightest breeze.

Mobians were very different than Thebes had ever thought. Only a few of them could fly, and they saw with what Thebes had thought were simple markings on the face. They often had differing skin, differing heights and weights, and very strangely, differing minds. Voxai could be individual, yes, but they had a hivemind to connect them, to make them part of each other. The Mobians had no such connection, leaving them all alone to think on their own. How lonely that must be, Thebes thought. To not be able to calm another’s fears, or cheer another on in such a simple, yet intimate way.

The Overmind’s research had yielded nothing. No tales of the emeralds taking form, no tales of any changes in the stones... Thebes wondered if it was his fault, but he couldn’t think of anything at all out of the ordinary he’d done leading up to the transformation, nor could anyone else. But nevertheless, the Emerald didn’t seem to be turning back, so they just had to work with what they had.

Thebes floated to the child, brushing it with a wing. It felt him, and looked up, letting out a loud noise that Thebes had discerned to be laughter. It reached up its arms, trying to grab his wings and lift itself high into the air.

It will need a name, Thebes thought. If it will stay mortal.

The child lifted its arms again, its fists opening and closing, trying to grab onto its guardian. “Up-mi!” it called- it had recently begun attempting to communicate, though its words made little sense. “Uh-mi!”

What is that, little one?

“Uh! Mi!”

Amy. That was a name that meant beloved.

That was fitting.

---

Amy had moved into childhood, and she still would not stop getting into trouble. She climbed on everything she could, trying to get high enough to jump on a Voxai for a surprise ride. She would grab small objects, swinging them around as some kind of game. She poured through tablets, her eyes faster than light as she absorbed whatever information she could get her hands on.

“Thebes, what does ‘sy-kick’ mean?” she asked.

(They had found that while she could connect to the hivemind, it was a very weak link, and so it was easier for her to speak aloud, and for the Voxai to respond in their normal way.)

“Psychic, Amy.” Thebes replied, floating beside her. “It is a word often used to mean one who connects to another’s mind- or sees forward into the future.”

“Like you!”

“Like the Voxai, yes.”

“Am I psychic?”

“A little. We’re not entirely sure what the expanse of your abilities is.”

“I dunno what that means.”

Yes, it took her a bit longer to learn larger words than it would the average Voxai child. “We don’t know what you can do.”

“I can do this!” Amy jumped, grabbing onto his wing and swinging back-and-forth. “Whee, whee, whee!”

Amy was certainly a strange child. She shouted, she cried, and she had to always be moving. She didn’t seem to have an appreciation for stillness whatsoever, and instead needed to run, or jump, or climb, or swing. She could not fly, was barely connected to the hivemind, and was always being loud.

She was a strange child, and she was the Voxai’s child.

It had taken them quite a while to get used to her, but by the time she seemed to gain sentience, the whole colony had gotten into the swing of letting her run and play in her own way. And it wasn’t as if she wasn’t like them whatsoever- it barely mattered that they couldn’t connect to her thoughts, as she always spoke them aloud. She would try to help as much as she could, using her strange limbs to carry materials to and from construction sites, or help garden the small, sparse patches of land that could produce nutrients. She would watch the Voxai children play their own games, and join in when there was a game that didn’t require wings or an intense connection to the Overmind. If she couldn’t join in, she would cheer everyone on, or find a way to play referee, so it was never like she was lonely or left out.

She had a strange way of showing physical affection, too, but they accommodated her as best they could. While Voxai would usually show affection via their hivemind- or, if they had to be physical, by brushing wings or tails- Amy was always grabbing onto some part of them. Forget simple brushing, Amy would climb up their tails, swing on their wings, and cling to their backs, leaning against them and just feeling them breathe under her. At first, it was strange, but it seemed to help her- the more physical affection she got, the more comfortable she seemed, so soon the Beta Colony was used to treating her a bit differently, in pretty much every way.

Yes, she was a strange child, and she was the Voxai’s child. But most importantly, at least to Thebes... she was his child.

He had been there when she learned how to walk- he’d studied for months on how mobians moved so he could best help her amble along. He was there when she picked out what nutrients she liked to eat and would throw the others on the ground, and he would teach her that was rude and she really should have just expressed that she didn’t want them. He was there when she started to speak, learning along with her how best to communicate. He was there when she fell asleep against him that first night, curling his wing around her like a blanket, and he was there, teaching her how to spell and count. He took her to the library to study whatever languages they had, fascinated with how quickly she picked them up, feeling intensely proud of her for running to the nearest librarian to practice her sentence structure. He was there when she scraped her knee and began to cry, and they figured out how to make it feel better. He was there when she’d cry again, reading a sad book, and he was there when she’d run to him, reciting quickly something funny she’d read in a different story in hopes that he would laugh, too, at least in his own way.

Whenever he expressed how proud he was of her, he could see her eyes light up, and then she’d shut them tight and wiggle her nose a little, her smile brightening even the darkest of nights. If he had to express disappointment- if, for example, she said something unnecessarily cruel to another child, or she hid the scroll she broke instead of admitting to it, she would get very upset, leaking water from her eyes, and she would promise to never repeat the behavior, knowing now that it wasn’t right. Thebes hated seeing her upset, but then later, when she did the right thing instead of repeating wrong behavior, he got to be proud of her again, and see her bright smile.

She wasn’t perfect, by any means. Mainly, she had some issues expressing her anger in a healthy way. More than once he had to show disappointment in her breaking something in a fit of fury- though, honestly, he wasn’t quite sure if her way of breaking things was normal for a mobian or not. She would kick a rock and watch it shatter into pieces, or punch a wall and create a gaping hole. He didn’t think mobians were supposed to do that- and it got even stranger when she would stomp on the ground during a tantrum and create a crater, or lift up an entire house to grab a lost toy. Most worryingly, when she was angered, her normally green eyes would spark with energy, glowing the same pink as her quills. He knew that most Voxai couldn’t do these things, certainly, and though she was clearly not a normal Voxai, he wasn’t sure if she was a normal mobian, either.

He also wasn’t sure if that was good or not.

---

Once every cycle, Thebes would take Amy to visit the Overmind, so they could check on her progress. Afterwards, she would play with a toy they’d found for her, while the adults would discuss their research. Since she’d started talking, Amy was always very well-behaved when with the Overmind, addressing them by name and asking them how their cycle had been, answering all of their questions with a smile while bouncing on her paws and letting her tail wag back-and-forth. Then she’d go play, oblivious to whatever discussion was happening around or about her.

That started to change as she got older, though, and it was because of Thebes, unfortunately. Thebes had been unable to hide his discomfort at times, and though he’d told a questioning Amy that nothing was wrong, really, she could sense that something was troubling him.

Indeed, as the years pressed on, he felt that the Overmind was... becoming strange. The hivemind was meant to encourage them all, but sometimes he’d hear whispers of the Overmind being too pushy, sending out instructions that some Voxai couldn’t make themselves disobey. He’d never experienced it himself, but the more he visited with Amy, the more he started to see signs of something strange going on with them. He didn’t know if it was the stress around the lost Chaos Emerald, a corruption of power, a new behavior they’d picked up from another planet they’d trade with, or a combination of all of it, but they were, indeed, getting pushy. They’d ask him questions that were normally considered impolite, about himself and about Amy. At times, they talked about her as if she wasn’t at all alive, as if she were still an emerald locked up in a hidden temple. That above all made Thebes angry. She may have once been that emerald, but now she was Amy, his Amy, who loved to read and play in the garden and climb on whatever she could find, who was curious about this world and any other world she researched.

It worried Thebes, but not enough.

---

One cycle, when Amy was about eight or nine years old, the Overmind stated that in their research, they thought she may be able to summon things with her mind. Bring items out of nothing. Thebes thought this was ridiculous, but he agreed to try with her.

It took several weeks of work, of Amy sitting on the ground, imagining items she’d want to create, and then growing bored and wandering to the garden. Thebes would help as best he could, but in her natural Outermind state, as well as the strangeness of the situation, he couldn’t do much.

One day, she sat with him on the floor of their home, and said, “I don’t know what they want from me, really. What would make them proud of me?”

Thebes sighed, and brushed her with his wing. “Don’t think about that, Amy. What matters is I am very proud of you for trying. You don’t need to succeed if you cannot do it.”

Amy smiled and wiggled her nose at his praise, but then said, “I think I can. I really do. But I keep changing my mind on what I should bring about.”

Thebes considered. “What about those tools you use to help us build our homes? We only get those during trading periods with other worlds- wouldn’t it be useful if you could get them whenever you wanted?”

“That would be nice.” Amy nodded, considering. “I’ll try that.”

It took much longer, but she seemed more focused after that, sitting and humming and trying to make things out of thin air. But Thebes could sense her getting frustrated every day she failed, and though he assured her she didn’t need to do anything she was incapable of, it seemed every day she wanted more and more to do this magic.

Finally, one day, in the garden, she’d sat down among the stones to try and summon something. Then she stood, angered, and stomped a stone into shards. “This is awful! I can’t do it!”

“You don’t have to--”

“But I should be able to! I should be able to do anything with my head, like the rest of you! But nooo, I can’t even do anything normal! I don’t even look normal!”

"Amy.” Thebes said stiffly. “You are normal for your species.”

“Pfft, as if! I’m pretty sure most mobians don’t form out of magic emeralds!”

“Amy, please keep yourself controlled.”

“Why does it matter? I can’t even be like you!” Amy huffed, tears springing to her eyes. “How can I be anything special if I can’t be normal first? No, I’m just weird little Amy! Strange little Amy! Dumb little Amy!”

“Nobody thinks that.”

“They should! Cause that is who I am!”

In her fury, Amy turned towards the large stone behind her, and acted instinctively; what she had wanted to do was punch it, get some of her anger out by destroying the rock she’d sat against. Instead, her hands reached up behind her, in a position not very equipped for punching. And to both her and Thebes’s surprise, in the few seconds it took her to swing, a colorful, extra-large hammer appeared in her hands, and she brought its face to the rock. The impact turned the rock to an explosion of dust.

When the cloud settled, both Thebes and Amy stared in shock. Then, slowly, Amy smiled, and laughed, looking down at her hammer. Then she spun, laughing harder, beginning to dance. “Thebes, look! I did it! I did it! I made something! I made something! I did it right!”

It turned out she didn’t need to think like a Voxai to do it- to retreat into her mind, to focus on the energy around her. What she had to do was think like Amy. To think with her heart, her feelings.

Of course, Thebes was proud of her, but he also had a heavy heart at her previous words. After she’d calmed down, she threw the hammer into the air, making it disappear. And once she’d calmed from that action, which she thought was equally impressive, Thebes took her inside and sat her down.

“Amy, do you really think you’re incapable? That you’re... what was the word?”

Amy curled in on herself; it was an action she did when she was embarrassed, or upset. “Weird? Strange?”

“Amy, you’ve never been like that.”

“Don’t lie.” Amy sighed, glancing up at him. “I know you all just put up with me. I don’t act like a Voxai, and whenever I try, it feels wrong. I have to climb things and touch things, I can’t fly or lift things with my brain, I can barely even hear the hivemind. I’m just a weird outermind.”

“Has anyone told you this?”

“No... but I can tell.” Amy sighed. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that I have to have you fly me up to certain areas, cause nobody thought they’d have someone who couldn’t fly wandering around. Or that there are games I can’t play, or that I don’t have wings and my tail is too small, and I have these legs and arms that none of you know what to do with. I can tell I’m... different.”

Thebes floated beside her, and then curled against her, draping his wings over her like a blanket, as he had when she was just an infant. “Different does not mean wrong, Amy.”

“But it makes it harder on all of you.”

“And we don’t mind.” Thebes brushed against her again. “Do you remember when Croesus’s family’s home was destroyed in that quake, but you ran there before everyone else at night, before we could rebuild?”

“Yeah.”

“And you figured out that it was a location very sensitive to quakes, so you found them a better spot and started building on your own?”

“Yeah...”

“That was all you. You used a Voxai sense, to feel the world around you, and your own research to figure out what was wrong with the location. And then you used your strength to begin building.”

“I guess.”

“Amy, you’re not a Voxai.” Thebes said quietly. “But I don’t think you’re quite a mobian, either. And you’re not a simple stone, locked away without a mind. You’re Amy, the Rose-Colored Emerald who became the Rose-Colored Hedgehog. You’re a curious girl, a temperamental girl, and overall, a kind girl who wants to do no more than help those around her. And that is not ‘weird’ or ‘strange.’ That is not even ‘normal.’ That is special. You are special, to me and to everyone in this colony.”

For a moment, Amy was quiet, and Thebes was worried he may have made things worse, due to the tears that returned to her eyes. But then she leapt up, clinging to him as she always did, burying her face against his skin, and he knew she was going to be alright.

Unfortunately, that didn’t last long.

---

Their next appointment with the Overmind, Thebes was under the impression that Amy was simply playing in the other room. He would discern later that she, instead, sat there, eyes shut, doing her best to connect to the hivemind, to listen to what they were saying, to figure out if they were proud of her for her summoning- which she’d been practicing since her first victory- or upset at her for doing it in a strange way. There was more she’d wanted to know, too- she was curious as to what they talked about when she was busy, fearful that they were saying bad things about her, and... well, recently, she’d become concerned about Thebes’s occasional worry, his distance when thinking about the Overmind. Thebes could tell that Amy wanted him to stop being scared, he just never thought she’d stop her playtime to figure out what was worrying him so.

Unfortunately, this was just about the worst time she could have listened in.

The Overmind had compiled their years of research on Chaos Emeralds, mobian culture, and Amy’s own behavior, and concluded that her magical abilities were powerful beyond their imagining. Her fits of strength, her glowing eyes, were all things that they’d never heard of any species doing, let alone mobians. The summoning only confirmed what they thought- her origins as an emerald had given her not just power, but what seemed to be an unlimited power.

Thebes stayed quiet as they presented this, but then their words turned to what they could use her power for. It was, again, as if she were a simple stone again, one that had been locked away to prevent those from using this power in the way the Overmind was discussing. They brought up how her strength could be used as a weapon, her energy to summon great things for the Overmind and terrible things for their enemies.

“What enemies?” Thebes asked. “We have always been a peaceful society.”

“But with this power,” they tried to say, “We could have a better planet, one without seas of rocks, without quakes.”

“We are fine with the rocks. We don’t need a planet of branches to get tangled in or dirt and water to drag us down.”

“You are not thinking clearly, Thebes. Just because you are used to what you have doesn’t mean you can’t want more.”

“You are trying to use her for battle, something that we hid the emerald to prevent from happening. But now you know what she can do, you want to use her for violence. Have you thought about what she wants to do with her power?”

“She is one of us, and thus in service to the Overmind. So she will be happy to do what we tell her.”

“That is not what your power is supposed to be used for.”

“Perhaps it is. Perhaps we should encourage you to think so, too.”

That must have been when Amy broke; Thebes had a strong will, she must have known, and would have resisted the Overmind trying to force him into something he didn’t want to do. But she had fear, the fear that he would be forced into a shell of himself, that the Overmind would take her away from him and use her in a way that wouldn’t make him proud.

She burst into the room, screaming for them to stop, to leave him alone, and her eyes were glowing pink, her body sparking with that intense energy. They turned to see her, and she raised her hands, wanting to simply express her anger. But again, she acted instinctively; her hands formed around the summoned hammer, and she slammed it into the ground.

The energy that burst up caused chaos. Everyone in the room with Amy felt their connections to each other severed as they were thrown back, into the wall, thudding against it as the child screamed. A blinding light seemed to burst from her, flowing into the sky and across the colony. For a few brief seconds, there was no hivemind, and everyone was alone, and began to panic. Even when it returned, there was that fear, that horror that it might happen again. The blast of energy also hit several stones, several homes, causing them to shake, a few to burst.

When Amy came back to her senses, her eyes widened with horror, and she dropped the hammer, causing it to disappear before it hit the ground. She stepped back, looking in fear at what she’d done, and then she ran.

She couldn’t get far before Thebes caught up, curling his tail around her to carry her to someplace safe and calm. But she screamed as he lifted her, kicking and screaming for him to let her go, to let her get away from him, and the Overmind, and everyone. He could feel her energy as she screamed- she was not angry, but she was terrified, a level of fear he’d never thought her capable of.

He took her to a quiet cave, and when he dropped her, she curled into a ball, crying and screaming ot herself.

“Amy,” he said.

“Don’t touch me! I’ll hurt you again! Don’t touch me!”

He realized that he would not be able to reason with her in this state, and that made him fearful- reason was what he knew best, after all. But he had to remain strong, remain calm, to keep her from panicking farther. So he floated back, and for a long, long, while, let her get her emotions out. She screamed and sobbed, pounding her fists against the floor to make small craters, slamming herself into the wall to cause it to rumble... it was terrifying, how much the small child was capable of, and how she didn’t seem to care if she hurt herself in her breakdown.

But finally, finally, after what felt like forever, her cries quieted, and she stopped slamming against the stone, and instead curled up into a ball, finally calming herself. Slowly, Thebes approached, though he kept at a distance in case she did not want to be touched.

“Amy.” he said again. Then, when she did not respond, “Amy.”

“What?”

He sighed and floated beside her, brushing her quills with his tail. “You are not to blame for what happened. You didn’t know that was possible.”

“But I hurt you.”

“I’m alright. I’m more concerned about you.”

“I’m a monster.”

“Never.” Thebes lowered himself, so that he was covering her with his wings. “It is like I said. You are Amy.”

Amy slowly unfurled from the ball, and then climbed onto his back, wrapping her arms around him in an embrace.

“Are the Overmind gonna take me away?” she sniffled.

“I would never let them.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“I know.”

“I like it here. I don’t want another planet.” Amy pressed herself farther against him. “I don’t even want Mobius. I just want to be here, at home, and make everyone happy.”

Thebes felt his heart swell. “Then you shall stay. Amy, my Amy, you make us happy just by being here.”

“What if I just ruined it? And everyone’s scared of me?”

Thebes considered, and then said, “I know I would never be.”

Amy sighed, and then embraced him tighter. “Then I guess it’ll be okay. So long as you’re still here.”

---

Thebes had to smuggle Amy back to the house, fearful of questions or some kind of repercussions from the Overmind. But when they were finally back in their colony, at their home, Amy quickly scampered into her makeshift bed, curling beneath the blankets that had once been the sling Thebes used to carry her as an infant, and soon was snoring soundly. Thebes wasn’t quite sure what to do while she slept, so he tidied the house, and then sat at the window, staring out into the sky. He thought it best to let Amy sleep, to let her dream of a place without trouble.

What he didn’t know is that that would be the last time she’d have that luxury for quite some time.

---

Amy awoke to the rumble of the ground, and the sound of screams.

Thebes flew to her as fast as he could, and saw her rubbing her eyes, having momentarily forgotten what had happened the previous day. She blinked up at him, sleep still a distant glimmer in her green eyes- he realized, only now, with a heavy heart, they were the same green that the Chaos Emerald had been before it changed. The emerald within her soul.

“Wha’s going on?” she asked blearily, as Thebes swept her up in his wings.

“We’re under attack.”

“What?” That was almost a foreign concept to her. Then she blinked away her exhaustion, and began to tremble. “The Overmind?”

“Worse.”

“Wh- what’s--?”

Amy soon found out, as Thebes swept her onto his back and began to fly as fast as he could. Amy began to shake, letting out startled cries, as she looked to the sky, which had turned blood-red, something dark and looming floating above them and blocking their light. Around her, Voxai were scrambling, panicking, their thoughts a jumble bursting into a confused hivemind. They flew as fast as Thebes could manage, but even in the quick movements, Amy could see the shadows of creatures, strange creatures she couldn’t recall reading about, leaping onto Voxai, smashing them into the ground, screeching and roaring.

“What are they?”

Thebes was hesitant, but then he said, “They’re here for you. So we have to get you safe.”

“What?”

“They must have sensed that explosion of Chaos Energy. So they want your power- and trust me, what they could do with your power is worse than anything even the Overmind, even in this state, could imagine.”

Amy grabbed onto him tighter, shutting her eyes and trying to think of something, anything else, to block out the screams, the crashes, the roars.

When Thebes began to slow, Amy opened her eyes, scared he might have been cornered. Instead, she saw them floating in front of some tall, elaborate building- far more decorated than any other practical Voxai residence.

“Where are we?”

Before Thebes could answer, they heard more screams, more screeching- and then, a horrifying hiss. They turned behind them, and Amy whimpered as they saw a thick gas spreading in the area behind them. As they watched, every Voxai that came in contact with it completely froze, unable to move. Their screams, however, could still be heard in the hivemind- they were conscious, but unable to move at all, leaving them ripe for the taking of the invading monsters.

Amy finally let out a terrified scream, and that pushed Thebes fast enough to act. He took off flying again, into the temple, the one where Amy had been born so long ago. He could only hope he could outrun the gas for long enough to save her.

He burst through the temple, only slowing whenever it seemed that Amy was slipping. He could feel her tremble against him, looking up and around at the temple halls, curiosity and confusion bursting into her fear.

Thebes had not been in the temple for about a decade now, but he still knew the pathways, every nook and cranny, and before long he was able to get them to the chamber that had once held the emerald that became the hedgehog clinging to him now. Once there, he let Amy slide off his back, and flew to the wall, counting the bricks.

“What are you doing?”

“Only the Overmind knew we had one of these,” he said, “and only the guardian of the Emerald’s Temple knew where it was. And... here! Amy, move this stone.”

“The Emerald’s Temple?” Amy asked, realization dawning on her. Then she ran over, pulling a loose stone from the wall as Thebes said. There was something behind it, and she reached inside, pulling out...

“A ring?”

“It’s a teleporter.” Thebes explained. He hooked it around his tail, taking it from her. “It will take you far away from here, where they won’t be able to find you.”

“Wh-what?”

They heard roaring, then, echoing through the temple halls.

“They’re inside.” he said, almost disbelievingly. Then, he shook his head. “You have to leave, before that paralyzing gas reaches you and you can no longer escape them.”

“But you’re coming too, right?”

Thebes took a deep, steady breath. “Those monsters will be here before long. I will not let them follow you.”

“What does that mean? Thebes?”

Thebes then flung the ring into the air. With a jing sound, it expanded, opening up into a huge, dark portal. On the other side was a world Thebes knew Amy had read about, one where she’d be able to survive until she found someone to care for her.

“Listen to me. Your power is unlike anything we could have imagined. That means there will always be someone looking to use it for evil. Do not let anyone use you. Your power is yours- which means it is something beautiful.”

“What are you saying?”

“You must hurry.”

“No!” she stomped her foot, causing a floor rumble. “I won’t leave you! I’ll fight them, I’ll protect you! I’m not leaving!”

There wasn’t time to argue, and Thebes knew it. Even with her strength, he doubted a child as young as she would be a match for the invading creatures, especially with their paralyzing agent. He couldn’t let them use her for their dark ends, hurt her for their horrible means.

He wrapped his wings around her, as he had when she was a baby. Then he spun, and flung her into the ring.

“Thebes!” she screeched, and he watched his daughter disappear into the ring portal, and, as best he could, sent her a calming wave of energy before it could close and the aliens could reach him.

---

Amy ran to where the portal had been, clawing at the air, then the dirt beneath her fingers, much more dirt than she was used to. “No! No! Thebes! Thebes, bring me back! Dad! BRING ME BACK!”

Her eyes sparked with that pink energy, tears flowing from her and landing on the ground, before turning into steam from the magic within her. It finally hit her that the ring would not open again, that Thebes had sent her away, and that... that Voxai... they must all be...

She sunk to her knees, unable to hold herself up any longer. She stared into space, letting the strange wind hit her, feeling the strange plants under her, and letting herself cry.

This was her fault.

No.

But it is. They were after me. My power.

Amy hugged herself, despair overwhelming her.

Then, slowly, Thebes’s words entered her mind. “You are not to blame for what happened. You didn’t know that was possible.”

But if it wasn’t for me, they wouldn’t be dying right now.

What would Thebes say to that? “It doesn’t matter. It happened, and you must go on.”

How could I go on without my family? My home?

“That is for you to decide.”

She shivered, hugging herself tighter and curling into a ball, hearing those last words in her head. “Your power is yours- which means it is something beautiful.”

Right now, it sure didn’t feel beautiful.

But after a while, she sat up, the words ringing in her head. Thebes sent her away, but not out of fear of her. To keep her safe. She couldn’t let that be in vain. She couldn’t sink into despair in the middle of this strange place. That wasn’t what Thebes would want.

She struggled to her feet, taking a few steps before sinking again. And then she got up, and took another step, and another, focusing on making her way across the unusual terrain.

She walked for what must have been hours, the sky above changing from its dark black to a bright blue. It seemed strange, that the sky could brighten when her home was gone, that anything could be light ever again. She felt heat against her quills as she pushed through tall plants- trees, she thought, from her reading. She found a long trickle of water- a river. It was strange, seeing one of those- usually on Voxai, their water was extracted from the small plants that survived on the stone. It was amazing that someone could have so much water it flowed across the land.

There were stones in the middle of the river, and as she hopped across them, she felt a brief flash of home- except these rocks were wet, and slippery. It was almost like a taunt, reminding her she would never be home again.

But she followed the river. Most species needed water to survive, so she’d find someone. As she walked, she wondered if she wanted to do this at all- what if they wanted to hurt her, too, and Thebes’s sacrifice had been for nothing? But then, what if she wasted away in the woods, dying because she didn’t understand how this world worked? No, she had to at least see who lived here. This had to be a planet she read about, right?

She’d been walking for so long her legs ached, but she kept pushing on, until she finally reached the river’s end. She looked up at a huge waterfall, amazed by the roar it produced, the droplets flickering onto her. She’d never seen anything like it.

There was a rustle behind her, and she jumped, turning. On instinct, she pulled the hammer, again, out of air, in case one of those monsters had followed her.

Instead, something flew at her, too fast for her to react. But when it stopped, right in front of her face, she saw it was something organic, something alive. A bright teal creature, flapping with tiny pink wings. It had legs and arms like her, and blinking eyes, these a dark blue as opposed to her green. It stared for a long while, and she stared back, the two of them trying to figure each other out.

She heard a rustle again, and the creature retreated a little bit, turning to look. Amy’s stare was then directed at what emerged from the plants.

A mobian.

She was small, miniscule. A little girl, with the same body shape as Amy, the same head, limbs... but she wasn’t a hedgehog. She had long ears, so long that she tripped over them as she waddled over, and a puffy, bushy tail.

“Hi!” the creature said, in the Mobian language. “I’m Cream, and this is my very best friend, Cheese. What’s your name?”

Amy kept staring.

“Maybe you cannot talk yet.”

Amy swallowed a cry, and then carefully said, “I’m Amy.”

“Oh! You can talk! I’m so glad. A lot of people don’t visit the garden, mama says. I bet she wants to meet you. We take care of the chao, like Cheese. Do you like chao? Do you want some food? We have cookies--”

She sure talked a lot for someone who was so young- barely past the toddler stage, probably. At least, Amy figured. She didn’t know how fast mobian children developed. All she knew was... herself.

Amy turned to river, watching her rippling reflection. She was filthy, with red cheeks and dark circles under her eyes. But she looked mainly up at the quills on her face, which pointed outwards, spiking like jagged stones.

Slowly, as the rabbit talked, she reached up, pulling her quills down. If she pulled them to point down, against the sides of her head, it almost looked like a Voxai shell.

“--my house is back this way. I bet Mama will be real real happy to see you, we like having visitors. And we have pretty pretty flowers! Do you wanna see?”

Flowers. Amy had never seen one up close before. She wondered if there’d be one the color Thebes had described her as. The Rose-Colored Emerald, he’d said.

“Okay.” she said, and followed the rabbit through the garden.

#sonic fanfiction #amy rose #sonic 2020 #the dark brotherhood #sonic chronicles #voxai #mine #connie writes #chaos emerald theory

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 years

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The Unraveling

The Unraveling is Ben Rosenbaum’s debut novel. If you’ve followed Rosenbaum’s work to date — glittering, cerebral, hilarious short fiction — then it will not surprise you to learn that this is a book that is as weird and wild as shoes on a snake.

https://www.the-unraveling.com/

I wrote a novella with Ben, “True Names,” a tribute to the Vernor Vinge classic. It took something like five years to write and got nominated for a Hugo. Writing with Rosenbaum was a genuinely surreal experience.

https://archive.org/details/TrueNames

Like, I’d add 500 words to the story and email it back to him, and he’d mail back 500 more, along with a 2,000 word essay on the nature of consciousness and identity and reality and what he was trying to get at with his 500 words.

The fiction was amazing, but the notes were like mainlining Rosenbaum’s neural matter, some kind of overwhelming frazzledrip mind-meld that I couldn’t quite impedence-match. I could see that there was something amazing going on, but I just couldn’t quite…understand it.

It was like attending a recital of the world’s greatest poet, but he was declaiming in another language…which turned out to be the language of the dolphins.

But, you know, in a good way.

That’s pharmaceutical-grade Rosenbaum, the stuff that comes up while he’s figuring out how to downshift it so it makes sense to the rest of us — his Grundrisse or Silmarillion. It’s not really meant to be enjoyed in its pure form — just kind of admired from a safe distance.

Rosenbaum’s been working on The Unraveling for a long time — nearly two decades — and I think the time was basically spent figuring out how to skate precisely on the rim of infinitely dense Rosenbaumium-218 and something that’s safe for human neural consumption.

And he just nails it, honestly. But the consequence of his careful just-this-side-of-too-strange-for-mortal-ken means that summing up this book is hard.

Fundamentally, this is a book about a sociological rupture: the end of a long, stable period of seeming utopia.

It’s set on a distant world in a distant future, something like a million years from now. The world was colonized long, long ago by a long-haul spacefaring human civilization with incredibly advanced technology and the kind of wild hair that sends you to other galaxies.

Hundreds of thousands of years later, after a lot of turmoil, the spacefarers’ descendants have deliberately constructed elaborate, metastable social and technical structures that allows for a trillion people to live in a hollowed-out planet surrounded by artificial moons.

Everything everyone does is visible to everyone else. Everyone has “followers” and when you do something interesting (or bad), you go viral and your follower count shoots up. Everyone is in constant contact with a bunch of AIs that serve as advisors on social comportment.

People live in households constructed of collections of “Mothers” and “Fathers” (more on this later) and as many kids as they can get away with, based on ratings with the people who follow them — if your ratings tank, you lose your kids and are forcibly evicted and divorced.

People have lots of bodies. Three is a conservative number, but some people have dozens of bodies. Mostly these bodies are human-ish, but some people go for weird canids and other fancies.

Also, they live to be about 1,000, and among them are “aliens” — later-come spacefarers who have access to lost technology that allows them to live for hundreds of thousands of years. People seriously stan these aliens. They’ve got huge followings.

There are, finally, two genders.

The Staids are kind of Talmudic scholars who spend much of their time cloistered with sacred spoons (yes) in religious ceremonies where they memorize, recite and debate the “Long Conversation” — their civilization’s lore.

Meanwhile, the Vails are hotheaded, romantic, violent lovers who are into rough sex and honor-battles in closed-off dojos.

Vails and Staids marry each other and raise kids together, but they don’t have intergender sex, which is considered seriously gross.

Gender, meanwhile, has nothing to do with whether you have a penis or a vagina. Some people have both, or several of one or the other. Some people have genitals that consist of prehensile, twining moss, or long feathers that droop to the ground and drag behind them.

That’s the world, more or less. The hero is a young Staid named Fift whose childhood best friend is Shria (a Vail). It’s OK for them to be friends, but there’s more going on, heavy Romeo and Juliet stuff with high stakes due to AI and social media panopticon and whatnot.

Fift and Shria are manage to keep it under wraps until the Clowns — one of the many political factions — declare a new show, and Fift and Shria both end up holding Tickets. As they travel to the outer reaches of the world to find the Clowns, they happen upon a riot.

This riot is a seriously unusual thing for this society. It turns out that despite 20,000 years of political stability, there’s this simmering Vail underclass that resents its political fortunes and wants to overthrow the order.

Being caught in the riot puts Fift and Shria’s forbidden friendship in the social media crosshairs and threatens to cost them both their families and more.

As Fift’s Fathers and Mothers strive to perform social propriety for their feeds, they miss that society itself is unraveling — that the riot was the torch that set off a slow-moving, unquenchable blaze that creeps and then races through the trillion people of the world.

Fift and Shria, meanwhile, become the focus of the revolutionary uprising, a symbol for all the discontented, gigastars whose actions are monitored by billions (think of Locke and Demosthenes from Ender’s Game, but far more anxious).

Rosenbaum skilfully weaves all of this stuff together with madcap multi-PoV action-scenes inside all three of Fift’s heads at once, and a juxtaposed claustrophobic story of forbidden teen love and the vast, slow collapse of an unimaginably huge and ancient civilization.

It’s bananas. It’s hilarious, it’s mind-bending, it defies description and beggars belief. It’s really quite a thing.

Anyway.

Ben and I are launching this strange artifact Monday Aug 23, with LA’s Book Soup. I’m going to make him explain it.

https://www.booksoup.com/event/benjamin-rosenbaum-conversation-cory-doctorow-discusses-unraveling

#pluralistic

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remmushound · 3 years

Text

Not a request, but a random bonding idea I came up with for my one-shots, so enjoy!! @assanmaharielsreblogs

Michelangelo was making dinner like he always did. While the brothers frequently indulged themselves in pizza and other fast food, that was usually a lunch thing for them. Breakfast and dinner always fell to Michelangelo, just how he liked it. On the odd occasional Michelangelo was hurt or sick or exhausted from a long night out on a mission— too exhausted to get up early or too tired to make dinner— Splinter or Leonardo always substituted (though Leonardo’s substitution was almost always takeout he tried to pass as his own cooking, even when Donatello’s cash count said otherwise. Leonardo always left a generous tip.) Splinter’s cooking wasn’t bad, but it was always some obscure, vaguely familiar dish from his heritage, such as unagi or tempura, that they almost never had all the right ingredients for. Splinter’s supplementation for the missing supplies never really turned out right, though he insisted it tasted just like the real thing. Still, if finances allowed, Donatello always made sure to splurge on supplies at the end of the month so that their father could make the dishes properly and bring some joy to his life. Something to hold onto from his human days.

One time, he remembered, Leonardo had a complaint about the dish Splinter had presented (hiyashi chūka, if Michelangelo was remembering right) and Splinter just about blew a gasket.

“You will eat what I served you..” the old, angry rat had said to his then twelve year old son, “...or you will eat nothing at all!”

Michelangelo carried a similar mentality into his cooking, though he’d always switch to Doctor Feelings before dinner to get everyone’s recommendations, and if they still complained even after the alterations were made, then Doctor Delicate would come out to play.

“Not all of us have your iron stomach, dad.” Twelve year old Leonardo had argued back to his father, to which Donatello had added:

“Only one of us did, actually.”

Then all eyes had turned to thirteen year old Raphael, who was onto his third bowl and was absolutely demolishing it with a savage, starving ferocity.

“RAPH STILL HUNGRY!” The teen had spat before throwing one of their good bowls at the wall, which earned him a time out (and also more soup to keep him content).

But that was then, and this was now. Michelangelo was cooking a new recipe— a four cheese ravioli with marinara sauce and pepperonis. He remembered the New Brothers asking about something called Pizza Gyoza and he wanted to try it out for himself. It didn’t take him long to realize he was being watched. Still with a smile on his face, he turned to meet the spy.

“Hey!”

Mikey gave a yelp and tried to shrink back out of view around the corner. Michelangelo frowned and tilted his head as he left the ingredients to go investigate.

“Hey.” He repeated again, holding a patient hand out to his counterpart, “didja wanna help?”

Mikey seemed surprised by the offer. “I’m not a good cook.”

Michelangelo shrugged. “And I don’t know how to play the tuba— doesn’t stop me from practicing every Sunday night! Just ask Donnie.”

Mikey laughed, and it made Michelangelo smile to see the other him not so scared anymore. Through the laughter, Mikey sputtered out words that Michelangelo couldn’t quite make out, but it seemed to bring the speaker joy so he didn’t mind.

“So?” Michelangelo prompted after the giggle fest had run its course.

Mikey gave a few last giggles before he was still and sad once more. “Are you sure...? You don’t think I’ll ruin it?”

Michangelo took the older turtle around the shell and began to guide him to the counter.

“There’s no wrong way to mess up a recipe you’re making up! Besides, even if it’s bad, raph’ll eat it like it’s five star lobster! I don’t even think he can taste anymore.”

“Really?” Mikey gave a look that showed he didn’t quite believe, “my Raph’s really particular about what he’ll eat....”

Michelangelo snapped. “Ah, a picky eater! I got one of those! That’s why I gotta make Donnie’s portion separate on most nights. Splinter tried to use the ‘can’t leave the table until you eat it’ technique and Donnie say there for almost two days refusing to touch it before splinter gave in.”

Mikey whistled. “I don’t think I could go two hours without food...” he clutched at his stomach, “let alone two days...”

Michelangelo gave a patient smile and patted Mikey’s shell to urge him closer to the counter. Mikey looked out over the perfectly laid out supplies, and then back nervously at the other.

“W... what are you making?”

“What do you think?” Michelangelo motioned to the ingredients. “Take a guess!”

Mikey narrowed his eyes as he took a second look. Several jars of Marinara, four different cheeses laid out... pepperonis and meat-cutting scissors... flour, salt, eggs, olive oil...

“Are... you making pizza gyoza?” Mikey could feel his stump of a tail beginning to wag excitedly at the thought of the soft, cheesy goodness of the treats his friend murikami often made for them.

Michelangelo tisked his tongue and bopped his other on the nose. “Close~ I’m making my own version! The best chef can improvise with what he has in his kitchen! The gyoza you described would be put in a dumpling, but this one will be improvised to fit in a ravioli! I could have done the traditional gyoza, but I like putting my own spin on things! It’s gonna be a four cheese ravioli with pepperonis mixed in and topped with marinara sauce! I call it Mikey’s Masterpiece!”

Mikey could feel his mouth running at the thought and swiped his tongue across his lips. “Sounds tasty...”

Michelangelo nodded, almost about to open his mouth to offer more praise before he saw that the poor mutant was still looking nervous and unsure.

“Here,” Michelangelo slid over several cups of flour and a measured amount of salt. “Mound them on the the counter and Make a well.”

Mikey poured the ingredients in the table and stared at them for a few seconds before Michelangelo recognized his mistake.

“Oh! Mm. We’re gonna make... a lake! See, the flour and salt will be our sand and the wet ingredients...?”

“Will... be our water?” Mikey offered tentatively.

“Exactly! So make the sand, but leave space in the middle so we can put in our water!”

“Oh!” Mikey giggled as he began to make a surprisingly well-crafted well, “this is fun!”

Michelangelo let the turtle have his fun before bringing over his egg mixture and offering it.

“Your ‘Water’ my liege~”

Mikey took the bowl and, after an encouraging nod from his other, carefully poured the mixture into the center.

Michelangelo cleared his throat. “OH NO! The tides coming in!”

Mikey gasped.

“And it’s taking a bunch of sand back with it!” He knew lakes didn’t really have a tide, but it worked for the euphemism. He took his hand and swiped some of the flour into the liquidy center. “Do you know how tides work, Mike?”

Mikey shook his head, his eyes in awe as he imagined the water cutting across the Sandy shores and taking them away into the cold depths.

“Well, tides come in a little at a time, so they can only take a little sand at a time.” Michelangelo explained, “and then!” He began to mix the liquid around with his hand, “the waves all get crazy in the middle and have a party! Now the tides gonna take even more sand! You try!”

Mikey knocked some of the sand into the mixture and, when he wasn’t scolded for doing something wrong, he began to carefully mix it. Michelangelo guided him through the rest of the steps until the ingredients were all mixed into a soft, doughy ball.

“What now?” Mikey giggled— his face and hands were now coated in flour to add to his genuine enjoyment of the activity.

“Now: feel how it’s all gooey-ooey?”

“Ya!” Mikey poked the dough.

“That’s like mud!”

“Mud?”

“After it rained all day and the earth got soft! But it’s January! What happens when night comes?”

Mikey scratched his head. “It gets all cold...”

“Aaaand...?”

“And the mud freezes!”

“Exactly!” Michelangelo folded the dough safely in plastic wrap and put it in the fridge. “So now it’s night!”

“So we go to sleep?”

“No silly! We’re ninja! We stalk the nights!”

“We own the night!”

“Exactly! So let’s own the night and keep busy while the dough freezes!” Michelangelo hummed as he looked over the cheeses. He took a handful and showed it to Mikey. “See these?”

“Cheese?” Mikey took a piece and ate it happily.

“No! It’s not cheese its... mystic crystals! Do you have those in your world?”

“No.” Mikey gaped, “Well, there was this one time that April got an evil Crystal from an alien planet. Does that count?”

“No. These are mystic crystals! They take on the properties of whatever they’re added to!”

“It just looks like cheddar to me...”

“That’s exactly what it wants you to think.” Michelangelo winked. “Now, we’re gonna make a magic potion with our mystic crystals!”

“What does the potion do?”

“It’s a... warmth potion! For when you’re cold! So we gotta add a lot of heat for it to form proper!”

Michangelo put a skillet on the stove and added olive oil, half a fan of marinara, and garlic. He offered a cup of heavy cream to Mikey, who promptly took a sip before pouring the rest of it into the concoction— it was going to get boiled anyway, so it shouldn’t matter. After a few minutes of standing over the heat, Michelangelo offered his friend the cheese.

“Now is the time to add the crystals— slowly!” He quickly added as Mikey went to pour the whole thing, “we don’t want the crystals to be on top of each other! They need to melt for the potion to work!”

Mikey nodded and obeyed, and while he did, Michelangelo started to warm up the rest of the marinara on a separate pan and preheat the oven. He checked in quickly on the brewing potion and removed it from the heat once it was ready, taking a wooden spoon to scoop up a small bit and taste before offering the rest to Mikey. The box turtle practically melted as the heat overtook his body in a pleasant mix of sauce and cheese.

“Mmmmm...” he moaned softly, “that’s really good!”

Michelangelo grinned, and began to sprinkle some pepperonis in and begin to mix it around. “Oh good other of mine~! I think it’s daaaaawn!”

Mikey gasped and hurried over to the fridge and pull out the flattened dough, giving it a poke. “It wooooorked...”

“Now! Roll it on the table, quick!” He tossed Mikey a rolling pin, “before the dough worms come out!”

Mikey’s jaw fell open. “The whaaaaat?”

“THE DOUGH WORMS! They live in cold dough and steal all the flavor! Now hurry and smoosh them before they can escape with the taste!”

“OH NO!” Mikey slammed the dough on the table and began to roll it out.

“No thicker than a nickel— the worms are really small and can survive otherwise!”

“I WONT LET ANY OF THEM ESCAPE!”

Mikey did an excellent job of flattening out the dough into a large, thin sheet. After reassuring him he had gotten all the ‘dough worms’, Michelangelo carefully cut the sheet in half and began to lay his cheese mixture.

“See these?” He held up the spoonful of the mystic potion, “when mystic potion is added to dough and boiled, it’s affects increase tenfold!”

“Ooooo!”

“So put them in piles like so...” Michelangelo began to lay out spoonfuls an inch apart, “so we can make a bunch and share it!”

“Good idea! We all need to stay warm and toasty!” Mikey grabbed another spoon and began to help.

With the playful assistance of Mikey, they had finished making the ravioli within two hours and Michelangelo let Mikey serve to to the hungry brothers.

“Mmm...” Leonardo moaned almost sensually at the explosive taste in his mouth. “This is really good.”

Leo had been hesitant at first when he found out it had been Michelangelo preparing the dinner, but a quick sight test showed nothing awry. A smell test yielded only a warm fragrance, and lastly a taste test...

Leo’s eyes shot open and he was sure they had fallen from his sockets in his surprise. One small nibble had turned into swallowing the chopstick-ful whole and almost purring in delight as the warm, perfect mix of sauce and cheese and dough rolled down his throat. Once their brother had taken the dive, Raph and Donnie exchanged shocked glances and began to scarf down their shares as if they hadn’t eaten in days.

Mikey didn’t open his mouth, except to eat his extra tasty dinner of course. Just seeing his brothers happily scarfing down something that he’d made was more than enough.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt au #donatello #donnie #leo #leonardo #Mikey #Michelangelo #raph #raphael #one shots

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whittakerjodie · 3 years

Text

Safety (13th Doctor X Reader)

Requested by @supermegapauselouca , prompts 59 and 63 from the prompt list

Words: 1.7k

Authors Note: Hi love, I chose one of your requests as I’m quite busy with the holidays and didn’t want to leave you waiting too long. Thank you to everyone who requested for this batch and I hope you have all enjoyed! Requests will open back up after the special

also, more angst than 13 but she comforts at least! Sorry about that haha.

Warnings: Violence, near-death experience, ANGST

Your heart pounded in the same rhythm as your feet as you sprinted across the pavement. Running was something you’d become accustomed to, travelling on the TARDIS, but this time was different. This wasn’t your usual ‘Run-for-your-life’ scenario. Usually during those you had better chances. Not this time. The sycorax warrior was hot on your tail, far too close for your liking. It would take a miracle to create enough distance to not be as terrified as you were. Several times it lunged for you and you could feel its fingers briefly make contact.

Your own fingers were clenched around a flashdrive, which needed to be inserted into the ship's mainframe to cause a power outage strong enough to shut everything down. It was quite odd technology for the Sycorax, but you were sure the Doctor was defeating whatever other aliens they had teamed up with this time around. She was the one meant to take care of the flash drive business. However, during the chase and all the confusion and panic that came with it, the flash drive had ended up passed around from companion to companion, until the it and the responsibility accompanying it, rested in your hands.

The mainframe was right up ahead, only a few steps- You shoved the flash drive into the socket as soon as you could, nearly knocking yourself out from the impact against the wall. The sycorax warrior decided to take matters into their own hands, tugging at your shoulder and throwing you to the ground. You yelped, trying to kick them away. It didn’t seem to do much; their alien form towered over you, arms poised for the kill. In that moment, you were nothing but prey, without protection, without chance, without hope.

Then the lights went out.

Before you could even register the darkness in your mind, which screamed for you to move, connected with the rest of yourself and you rolled out from underneath the Sycorax. It’s fists collided with the floor, causing it to hiss in pain. While you processed this you continued to urge your body to move faster, but everything was dark. Your hands seemed to slip against the wall, your balance wobbly, unable to find your way to safety. The only thing keeping you going was the idea that there was some mysterious combination you could work your way towards solving that would save your life.

After several minutes of fumbling, you could hear a familiar voice: the Doctor. She was shouting, directing the other companions. It seemed to be getting closer- she was looking for you. The Sycorax was as well, but they too were restricted by the darkness you’d entombed yourself in.

“Y/N!” you heard Yaz shout. Knowing you couldn’t respond without alerting your foe, you did your best to work your way towards her. The Sycorax would follow, you knew, but you were mainly hoping that it would be too late for them to do anything by that point.

Suddenly, it felt like hands were on you. Instinctively you shrieked, jumping back, but more arms caught you. It was your friends.

“Shh, it’s us” Ryan whispered. “That was crazy, what you did, yeah? Totally amazing…”

His voice trailed off in your mind as you felt another pair of arms, this time supporting your wait by shifting it onto her shoulder. The Doctor’s scent filled your nose, and you breathed it in for comfort. Everything seemed much too fluid, the adrenaline that kept you going beginning to crash now that you were in safe hands. Despite the comfort though, it felt wrong. But why? As your friends dragged you off back to the TARDIS, your mind began to recap everything that had just taken place, making notes and critiques- and some uncomfortable realizations.

It had been hours since you’d buried yourself underneath the blankets of your large bed on the TARDIS. There seemed to be more of them- and pillows, too. Almost as if the time machine could sense every branch of distress you seemed to be growing and was determined to cut them off at the root. While she didn’t succeed in doing it, it helped a little to have such a comfortable environment to return to. The air seemed too cold, so you pulled one of the blankets over your head, submerging yourself in darkness.

Suddenly, you were back there. Reaching into the black, trying to make your way through to the other side before you were dragged under. You could still feel the coldness of the wall and could still hear the frustrated growls of the sycorax as they tried to capture you in their claws. Despite knowing such an instance never occurred, you could feel the sycorax succeeding, pulling you backwards and-

You shot up in bed, throwing the blankets off to avoid the scene you’d conjured. That never happened, you asserted. You got away, you saved the day, you’re on the TARDIS, in bed safe and sound. Yet, as you told yourself these things, you couldn’t properly grasp onto the relief and happiness you sought to provide with them. Why not? You saved the day. But at the same time, you’d come within an inch of not doing so.

Mind still in turmoil over the battling emotions, you climbed out of the safety of your bedroom. Perhaps the TARDIS would have more surprises in store for you as you explored. It wasn’t exactly exploring, though. You were searching for someone, which presented another dilemma. You imagined that finding the Doctor to talk to was the best option, as she experienced these near-death situations far more often than any of you. However, one of the other companions seemed like a nice option, too. They were human. Frequent near-death situations or not, they knew what the finality of them actually felt like.

When you reached Yaz’s room, though, you found that she was fast asleep. Knowing Ryan and Graham likely were as well, you sought out your favorite timelord. It wasn’t hard to tell if she was awake or not; you could hear the various clanging and thuds from her activities through the walls. Chuckling a little at the odd noises, you became fully aware of just how heavy your shoulders felt. Even raising your hand to knock on the Doctor’s door hurt.

She answered promptly, grinning. You spotted a multitude of tools and odd metal shapes and pieces all across the room when you cast your eyes downward.

“Y/N! How are you feeling?” She asked, posture shrinking slightly to your level.

“Uh..” Your voice trailed off, blocked by the lump in your throat. Another sign of tension and upset that you hadn't realized in your search for the timelord. It was soon joined by a puddle of tears that began to pool in the corner of both of your eyes. Before any of them could fall, the Doctor’s arms wrapped around you.

Moments later, when she had found you a comfortable spot on the edge of her bed, she asked: “What’s wrong? Is it about what happened today?”

You nodded, inhaling shakily. After wiping your tears away, you managed “I know everything turned out alright, but I can’t help but think about how close I was to... well, not having everything go alright. Now it’s like all I can think about is that possibility, of me failing, and that’s making me think of every other time I came close to-”

“Here, slow down a bit,” The Doctor encouraged. Her hand rubbed your back in comforting circles. You leaned into the touch, and into her, nodding and working on keeping your breathing in check.

“ It’s hard to explain… I’m safe here with you. Everything went okay and everyone’s safe. I know I should be happy…I did well…I always do well…so why can’t I believe in myself?”

The Doctor thought for a moment, considering your words and feelings with great care. You imagined she had to deal with issues like these often, considering how many companions she took on great adventures. But the way she looked at you, you knew there was no repetition or normalcy involved. She was treating your case as if it were its own unique event, working with words that she knew would mean the most to you especially.

She moved from your side onto the floor, kneeling in front of you so she could properly look into your eyes. It felt nice to not have to lift your head to embrace her. You didn’t imagine you could handle the weight of it all.

“I want you to be proud of yourself. I want you to believe that you’re good enough because you are. You’re so amazing.” She stressed, her hand moving upward to rest against your cheek. If you couldn’t handle the weight, she would take some of it on for you. “We can’t help or avoid those risks and what-ifs that come up when we run like we do. What we can do, though, is tackle what happens after they appear.”

As she continued to talk, she stood from her spot on the floor. Giving you a plethora of tips and good wishes for your recovery from the day's events, she would occasionally pause to squeeze your hand. Then, she began working on the bed behind you. Eventually you turned, curious. The TARDIS had supplied extra pillows and blankets again, all of them lightweight to ensure that you wouldn’t feel trapped.

The Doctor, noticing you were watching, smiled softly. She patted the pillow next to her and you crawled up the mattress, joining her. She pulled you into her arms, wrapping several blankets around you. You surrendered to the warmth.

This time, the darkness was not a frightening what-if but a comforting certainty. There was safety in the Doctor’s arms. Before you allowed yourself to stop running from the darkness, you felt a warm kiss against your forehead to send you off.

#the 13th doctor #13th doctor imagine #13th doctor x reader #doctor who #doctor who imagine

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asclepius-erebus · 3 years

Text

Nevarro

Title: Personal Eden (Ongoing)

Chapter 3: Nevarro

Rating: Mature (17+)

Word Count: 4.3k

TW: mentions of abuse (lmk if I should include any more!)

The next day, as anticipated, you land on Nevarro, where upon disembarking a flurry of droids scurry up to the ship.

“Hey!” Mando yells, paralyzing all the droids, “No droids!”

You learn that the baby is not in fact Mando’s, but a foundling he’d taken up first as a quarry but then adopted. You’re not sure what’s so special about this child, but for it to have a bounty over it’s head before it can intelligibly speak seemed cruel enough, and you don’t ask any further questions.

You also learned that Mando is a man of few words. He tends to keep his responses curt and to-the-point; and never straying away from the subject of conversation. From your observation, he has not gone onto tangents or disclosed any new information, willingly, that did not immediately pertain to the topic. It made it even more difficult for you to learn anything new about him, his character, humors, and appearance. He is a complete mystery, and yet you find him fascinating all the while he continues to intimidate with both his outward appearance, and lack of openness.

The day on Nevarro is grey despite the sky being totally clear. The landscape isn’t strikingly beautiful like some of the other planets you’ve been on with Malsifer. It’s gritty, dusty, and terribly suffocating. The air feels dense and warm, that kind that made you feel sticky and uncomfortable. The sky is a dull blue, but blue nontheless.

Since joining Mando on his ship, he’d allowed you the time to wash off the caked on makeup from the other night, some of which you’d cried off, like your ruby red lips. It was a nice color, you were fond of how well it complimented your skin and the shape of your lips- but it had overstayed its time on your face and it was time for it to go.

However, upon stepping onto the rough planet, you realize how out of place you appear to be. Not only is the green alien child perched on your hip and babbling to himself, but you’re still dressed in what Mando had rescued you in a few days ago. The wispy fabrics fluttered in the subtle warm breezes, carrying with them the muted but bright colors of an oceanside sunset of lavender, magenta, and gold. You felt exposed among the muted and dark colors that Mando and his child limited themselves to, sticking out like a sore thumb.

Mando’s child begins to fuss, deciding that he wanted to meander around in the dirt as Mando took a few steps towards an unfamiliar man. The man is of a darker complexion, though his beard and hair suggests he is of a wiser age, and extended a friendly hand to shake. They must already know each other.

The child giggles and laughs, grasping and tossing any rocks he finds on the ground. You crouch to his level, structuring his play by tossing him back the rocks he’d thrown. From this, he giggles excitedly.

“Greef.” Mando greets the aging man, Greef Karga, approaching him at the opening to the city, densely lined with clay houses and open markets. It teems with a unique variety of inhabitants and passersby- like Mando, who does not stand out in the crowd as obviously as the brightly colored dresses his new acquaintance was dressed in. That, was something he’d address soon enough.

“Mando.” Greef smiles, eyes lighting up upon seeing the familiar helmet, “How are you old friend?”

Mando looks over his shoulder at his companions before returning his attention to Greef, “Surprised to be back. What are you doing out here?” He asks with a tired sigh.

Greef raises an inquisitive eyebrow, “I’m just as surprised to see you out here… Tying up a few loose ends. Who’s your new friend?”

Mando hooks his gloved fingers at the top of his chest plate, resting his arms casually over himself and relieving some of the weight of the Beskar on his shoulders, “That’s who I’m here to find some information about. She’s one of Malsifer’s.”

“Malsifer?” Greef’s eyes widen, “What is she? A quarry?”

Mando’s helmet shakes, “No, Malsifer was. Malsifer had an indentured servant situation and I need to know more about her… Anything would be useful, but especially any bank records.” Mando says quietly, sliding a small note with the name of his newest crewmate scribbled onto it.

Greef looks down at the note inquisitively, “Malsifer, huh? Doesn’t surprise me… He always rubbed me the wrong way… Though I’m not surprised that his luck, or lack of it, finally caught up to him.”

“She’s got no where to go. Is there any way you can find out anything about her that’s useful…?”

Greef looks between Mando and the cooing child and woman behind him, and then down at the name on the note, “Get back to me in an hour or two.”

Mando turns to wave yourself and the baby to his side, the man with whom he was conversing with turning away and headed into the city.

“What was that about?” You ask, the baby occupying itself with a metal ball he’s produced from his bundle of clothing.

“Business.” He says briefly.

Business. You think to yourself, the most colorful response I’ve gotten since I boarded.

With the baby balanced on your hip, Mando navigates you both through the streets of a busy marketplace. Vendors line the streets and advertise their products and produce, crafts, and other items for sale, all ranging in complexity and beauty that you admire from a distance. The baby on your hip is thoroughly entertained with all the sights, sounds, and colors, teething on a pastry he managed to swipe off a vendor when they weren’t looking.

Of course you attract some attention. Not only did it not help that the baby you tote clearly is not yours, but your impractical and fluttering dresses had other passerby step and trip on them as you went- sending you a few gross side-eyes and raised eyebrows. You clutch what you can in your hands as you follow Mando’s glistening helmet through the crowd.

He approaches a stand fluttering with colorful fabrics, handcrafted designs embroidered to the hems of cloaks, dresses, and shirts. They’re all so pretty and wonderful to look at.

Mando begins a conversation with a middle aged woman at the stand in her native language, her weathered face and dark eyes glancing at you from time to time as Mando continues to explain something to her. She raises her hand and counts on her fingers as she explains something to him in response, Mando filling her palm with a few coins. Pleased, she nods and produces a neatly folded up wad of fabric. She extends it towards you with a forced but friendly smile.

“Something to cover yourself with for now…” Mando explains, “Later, on the ship, I can find you some clothes.”

Accepting the folded fabric, you briefly study its particular shade of purple. It’s dark and neutral, almost barely detectably purple should someone care enough and stare long enough at you. You unfold it to find an opening, and you slip it over your head, a hood catching on you as the rest of the fabric settles on your shoulders and over your torso. The baby gets caught in it too, but frees himself with a shake of his enormous head. It is a cloak, the fabric feeling pleasurably heavy on your figure and comfortable on your bare shoulders. It feels protective and warm, but breathable and completely functional as an everyday garment. Not only does it feel well, but it conceals you much better amongst everyone else.

“I buy my cloaks off her.” Mando responds simply, the first time he’s shared a new fact about himself, “She’s also going to find you a pair of shoes.”

He’s right. Perhaps the pair of sandals tied at your ankles aren’t the best fit for a shoe to be blundering around planets with. It was certainly enough for the occasions you accompanied Malsifer to meeting his clients, and the extent of your time out in the elements was limited to barely nothing. Malsifer concerned himself more with whether you appeared to his liking and aesthetics.

The older woman returns, producing a short pair of dark brown leather boots of a matte finish. They are simple and easy to slip on, with no intricate buckles, zippers, or ties. They hug your feet comfortably and accomplishes all the criteria necessary for being a practical piece of footwear.

Mando glances around and hands the woman a few extra coins, nodding in thanks as she accepts them and waves kindly at the child on your hip.

“Thank you.” You tell Mando as the three of you walk away from the stand of fluttering fabrics. He doesn’t react, at least as far as you can observe from the faceless helmet that you looked at when speaking to him.

“We have some time before we meet up with Greef again.” Mando says, ignoring what you’d said, “We can-“

“-Take a look around.” You interrupt, your curiosity about the rest of the market piqued. Surely there were other useful and interesting things the three of you can look at other than the four metal walls of Mando’s ship.

Mando agrees, but you’re not necessarily sure if it was from acquiescence or genuine concurrence.

It is difficult to read him, you’ve noticed it bothering you, without any facial expressions and other visual cues to clue you into his mood. His body language was often also very grey and difficult to deduce. This is unlike what you’ve relied on in the past to understand and predict other people’s behaviors. Malsifer was an individual very prone to giving himself way via his expressions and tone of voice, which made it easier to clue you into how you should respond, if at all. It’s natural to rely on social cues in order to know how to respond to a given situation, but with Mando, it feels quite the contrary.

He strolls with you at a relaxed pace, his hand firmly placed on the hilt of his blaster he keeps attached to his waist.

Your eyes flicker between his helmet and his hand. You’d seen him use his blaster with deadly precision, it drove you to tears to see the barrel trained at the space between your eyes. You hadn’t heard of stormtroopers being as accurate, and you question what he is, and what he represents. You can already deduce that he’s a bounty hunter, why else would he be looking for quarry? But why the child? Why the armor? And why the ship you’d finally observed to be very Old Republic.

“Mando-“ You begin to ask curiously…“Can I ask you a question?”… cautiously.

“Sure.” He says simply, his helmet turning to observe a long blaster rifle on display at a vendor.

“Where are you from?”

Mando’s helmet continues to follow the long rifle as he walks away, “No where. I was a foundling.”

“A foundling from where?” You ask again. “Who found you?”

“I don’t remember.” He says dryly, his gaze returning forward as he scans the vendors again till something catches his eye… visor.

“So then what’s with the armor?”

He stops midstride, and you sense that you’ve either said something wrong or insulted him in some way.

Your cheeks immediately feel like their burning despite the chill that raced down your spine. You blink back a million-and-one thoughts and possibilities on how he might respond. Was he mad? Dumbfounded? Absolutely furious? It’s too hard to tell. By the way he’d stopped and now turned his head towards you, your hands clench into a fist- not prepared to strike, but to brace.

He chuckles. He chuckles. Warmly, softly, and bemusedly, his modulated blitheness is musical and so incredibly comforting. You’re not sure how you should react. It’s not the reaction you’d braced yourself for. After all, you’d insulted him, didn’t you?

“You mean to tell me that you’ve never seen Mandalorian armor before?” He asks, resuming the slow pace he took beside you.

You shake your head, looking down at the ground as you resume walking a few paces behind him. The child, unbothered, continues to chew on the pastry and inquisitively looks between yourself and Mando.

“I’m surprised Malsifer never let you see one.” He says, “No wonder you seemed pretty scared when I was there.”

You’d kept your gaze down at your feet as you walked, feeling ashamed to ask a dumb question in the first place. Of course you knew what a Mandalorian was, but you’d only ever read about them in flimsi books you’d managed to smuggle in and out of Malsifer’s library. They seem downright fictional, down to their very demeanors of being militant and mute. It didn’t help that the only information accessible to you came in bound flimsi books that in itself was probably older than yourself or Malsifer’s combined existence. You’d never seen their armor, at least not the kind that Mando was sporting in pure Beskar and with a helmet that looked too much like a storm trooper’s. You’d sooner expect he was an ex-trooper, or someone who simply stole or bought their armor.

“It was terrifying.” You admit softly, “You, pointing a blaster in my face. Doesn’t help that you’ve got all that armor.”

You see his boots stop moving and turn towards you. You still keep your gaze down, distracting your hands with the child’s robes as the crumbs of his treat fell from his face.

“Look at me.” He says sternly, and you obey, looking up into his visor, “You need to… unlearn whatever this is.”

You chew your lip, intimidated by his presence so close and so powerful over you. You fight yourself and your nervous glances away from the glare of his visor.

“I don’t know what Malsifer put you through, but here, with us… none of it.” He continues, “Can’t have you walking behind me like some shadow, not with my kid.” He takes a step back from you and turns away, but stops.

His shoulders drop and his demeanor softens, “You were walking next to me.” He says, awaiting for you meet him at his side, “You were saying…”

Meeting up with him, the child in your arms coos and reaches out to Mando, who scoops him up from your grasp and you hide your arms under the cloak. He is right, it’s different with Mando and his kid. This is an equal playing field where you’re a part of a cohort of other individuals just like you. Of course, Mando is the leader, he provides, flies, and protects. The new dynamic is refreshing, but old habits are hard to beat. Which isn’t a natural nor healthy response. But neither was being caned across your knees and shins if you didn’t do so.

Mando stops at a vendor selling a wide assortment of things. They all seem extremely random, from switchboards to datatapes to bacta kits. Perhaps these are things the vendor was able to scavenge off broken ships and droids, this isn’t the first time you’d seen scrap collectors try to sell off what they can’t trade at a refinery. You’ve heard of such beings called Jawas who are infamous for such scavenging, but you also know that they’re not entirely open to the idea of selling what they find.

Mando strikes up a conversation with the vendor, a tall and slender specimen with small black eyes and three digits on each of their four arms. They’re haggling, is what you can assume, as Mando shakes his head and points to a well-stocked bacta kit on the table. The vendor insists on a certain price, counting it off on his palms before accepting a deal with Mando’s budget. He swipes the bacta off the table, and tosses it.

You catch it and immediately hide it under your cloak. Mando notices, walking away from the vendor saying, “Keep that there, don’t want him noticing he let me take the wrong one.”

His dry friendliness is welcoming, it made you feel like you were walking with a friend rather than a tank. The child giddily had finished his snack and entertained himself with his metal ball, which now you’d deduced was from a switch or lever, likely coming from the cockpit of the ship.

“So… your armor. Mandalorian?” You ask, keeping pace with him.

He nods, “Mandalorian.”

You think back to what you’d read about in the flimsis, “If I recall correctly, some Mandalorians choose to keep their helmets on? Or do all of you have to wear it all the time?”

Mando nods, “When I swore to the creed, I swore to keep my identity secret. It’s part of our code.”

“So ‘Mando’ isn’t your real name?” You ask.

“No.”

“So what is your name?”

“Mando.”

You furrow your brows, not wanting to press further. You admire the devotion, despite it frustrating you further. You wanted to learn more of him, but now you know that such learning can no longer pertain to his appearance, and you must now learn his character. Though it wasn’t the only thing weighing on your curiosity, you’ve already begun building his profile.

Like you’d learned during your time in hyperspace that he is a man of not-so-many words. He isn’t aptly good at beginning a conversation, and usually such conversations are limited to small talk on the basis of his work and ship… But that had been debunked when he disclosed that he gets his cloaks from the woman at the colorful stand, and joked to you about the bacta-kit hidden away under your cloak. You hope he will reveal more of himself to you with time. You’re patient enough for that.

You respect that his physical appearance as an extension of his anonymity. It’s not the only instance where you’ve experienced the sort of veiling that came with particular religions, cultural identities, and personal choices. It will be up to him to disclose what he wants and when- it would be rude of you to pester. It’s not your place.

The three of you walk leisurely, stopping occasionally to look at something interesting at a stall before returning into the direction of the ship. In the distance, you observe the man from earlier standing and waiting for you, Greef, you remember Mando mentioning the name.

Mando hands you the child back into your arms, “Get back on the ship.” He instructs, and you nod, the baby beginning to doze off to sleep in your arms.

“What did you find?” Mando asks taking a few steps towards Greef and out of earshot from his new crewmate.

Greef’s usually friendly smile is thin, “I found one result for her name, one that appears on an obituary. According to the systems, she’s technically dead.”

Mando exhales sharply, disappointed, and curiously tipping his head to the side, “So, what? How long has she been ‘dead’?”

“Five years.” Greef says bleakly, “And she has no digital footprints anywhere. No record of her ever even having an account to hold credits, or receipts from anywhere that she’s spent credits.”

Mando looks back in the direction of his ship, watching you board the Razor Crest with the child in your arms, how tenderly you hold his head and attend to his sleepy babbling. This is unfortunate news, that Mando would need to tell you sooner rather than later.

“I don’t know what to do with her.” Mando admits quietly, your silhouette disappearing in the ship.

Greef clears his throat, “I know this is none of my business, but the baby seems to like her, it’s pretty obvious… Until she can figure things out on her own, she can stick around, learn a thing or two, and you’ll have someone who can take care of the kid when you have jobs.”

Mando nods, “This isn’t the first time Malsifer faked someone’s death just to drain their accounts?”

“It’s also not the first time he’s trapped pretty young girls into being his personal assistants.” Greef says, raising an eyebrow in Mando’s direction.

“He abused them.” Mando says, “If it wasn’t for their money, what else did he need them for?”

Greef shrugs, folding his arms across his chest, “Malsifer seemed like the controlling type… He liked being in control of anything and everything important to him which is money and power. I don’t think she was a part of anything more sinister, but I certainly wouldn’t rule it out.”

“I’ll find that out more when she feels like talking. Right now… I don’t know what to do with her.” Mando crosses his arms.

Greef looks back at the ship behind Mando and back to his visor, “Let her stay until she can figure something out for herself. She can be useful while you work, keep the ship and the kid safe while you’re out…”

Mando nods again in agreement, “It’s my only option right now. Thank you… for your help.”

Greef smiles, “Anytime, old friend.”

Mando appears on the ship shortly after you’d put the child to sleep in his shiny egg-like crib. He’d tired himself out from the morning shopping and was happily full of whatever pastry took him the entire walk to eat.

You’d put the bacta pack in the bacta kit soldered on the metal of ship and managed to clear out some of the dust that had blown into the hull while the door was open. You’d observed Mando’s ship to not only be Old Republic but also just old in general. Though it is in excellent flying condition for its age, it lacked in amenities that more modern ships had like touch-pads instead of buttons and actually finished floors and walls. Either Mando is a man of old fashion, or simply too preoccupied to take care of his ship like others do.

He is quiet, walking up and down the hull checking lights, buttons, datapads, and other things. While he did that, you patiently sit on the familiar wedge prepared to strap into the metal wall and prepare for take-off. Your hands occupy themselves with the hang nails that plague your fingers.

You see, from the corner of your eye, something tan and grey. Looking up, it was Mando, handing off to you a pile of clothing he’d gathered in his quiet pacing around the hull.

“Thank you.” You say softly, standing to get to the fresher.

Mando nods, “Meet me in the cockpit, we need to talk.” And he turns before you can ask any questions. He disappears up the ladder.

The cockpit? You think to yourself curiously, what in the worlds does he want to talk about?

The mirror in the fresher is just reflective enough to call itself a mirror. It clearly once existed as a piece of scrap that Mando had repurposed to decorate the blank wall above the sink. But it fulfilled its purpose in reflecting back the visage of yourself you present every day.

Today, you look tired.

Dark circles around your eyes hint at some much needed deep sleep and the tired squint you gave to yourself only emphasizes this.

You look at the clothing Mando handed to you, consisting of a large white shirt and some pants that definitely needed to be tailored to accommodate your height and lack of… lower… masculine features. These are clearly articles of clothing Mando has no use for, and you’re thankful for them despite Mando’s somewhat apparent reluctance.

You undo yourself from your dress, somewhat sad to see the magical colors fall to the floor in a wispy heap. This was healthy though, a transition into a different person. After all, you’re fulfilling the prophecy you’d begun to brainstorm the first night aboard the ship: a change of clothes.

The shirt is square, harsh but hemmed edges of fabric for sleeves, a collar, and buttons to secure said collar closed. It sat rather high on your neck, so you keep the first two buttons undone, one side of the collar falling open to reveal the raw edge of the hem. The sleeves were of a comfortable length, also squared off with a button for cuff-links that you undo and gently fold up your forearm.

Looking back up at yourself in the mirror, you look like a little girl trying on her father’s clothes. It’s clear that they’re too big, but you make do with tucking and folding where you can. But the broad and structured shoulders the shirt gave you made you feel… bigger? Something about it made you feel more robust.

The pants are… another story. Of course they sat a little low on your hips and were too loose around the area where you lacked the facilities of a man. But the utilities of having so many pockets and places to stow away small items brought you some small joy as you cuff the pants around your ankles and tuck the shirt into them.

You style your hair simply up, anything to keep it away from your face and off your shoulders till it’s time to wash and you think what to do about them then.

Looking back into the crusty mirror, though your eyes see themselves, a whole new person has taken shape behind them. It felt foreign to you to appear so fresh-faced, neutral, and unassuming in a world where Malsifer demanded you always looked your best as an extension of himself and his appearance. That usually translated in wearing makeup on a near-daily basis, and extravagant colorful gowns to even the most casual of events.

The dress is a pastel mess on the floor of the fresher, and looking down at it, you feel a twinge of guilt for having to abandon it. It’s pretty…

You bundle it up and head out from the fresher.

You walk quietly across the hull, your bare feet making light patting noises as you went. Sitting at the wedge in the wall, you ditch the dress behind you and slip on your boots again before standing up, and head towards the cockpit like Mando told you to.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #the mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #the mandolarian #asclepius-erebus

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ibijau · 3 years

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chap 3 of the modern xisangyao, also on AO3

Lan Xichen deals with emotions and regrets that aren't quite his own while trying to make sense of what's happening around him

Something about the young man in that chair strikes Lan Xichen, making his heart race in his chest the instant he sees him. He can’t explain it, that man is hardly older than Lan Xichen’s little brother, and looks like the sort of people said brother usually hangs out with, but there’s something about the stranger that speaks to Lan Xichen’s soul, making him ache with a sorrow that he isn’t sure is his own.

Puzzled by this alien pain, Lan Xichen is startled when his own shock becomes mirrored on the face of that young man.

"You!" the stranger gasps. "What are you doing here?"

Fear is not an emotion Lan Xichen usually evokes. Even his students aren't afraid of him, unless they have anxieties of their own, and his insolent brother has never been so much as impressed by him a day in his life. And yet, there’s no mistake possible.

That young man is terrified to see him.

Meng Yao isn’t doing great either. He’s been nervous for a while, since they got into the car actually, but only now is Lan Xichen realising that perhaps Meng Yao lied and took him to that house without the permission of mister Shanzi, never expecting to be discovered. But if this intern denounces him…

He has to be an intern of some sort, or an assistant, or…

Meng Yao is shaking like a leave, he’s so pale, but that doesn’t mean this young man is… he can’t be, everyone knows mister Shanzi has been in the art business for decades, he can’t, not unless…

Not unless he, of all people, manages to reach immortality.

The thought, already odd on its own, feels like it doesn’t come from Lan Xichen’s own mind, and more from the memory of a mind that used to be his. It is a disconcerting feeling and Lan Xichen finds himself fighting against the intrusion until his vision sways. He takes a step forward, more to support himself against the wall than to enter the room, but the young man inside misreads his intentions and cries out. He motions toward the door which closes on its own, as if pushed by a gust of wind.

There has to be a hidden mechanism, Lan Xichen tells himself, his disoriented mind clinging to this odd detail. Doors don’t move without being touched. He cannot question it or investigate it though, because Meng Yao grabs him by the elbow with unexpected strength. Lan Xichen is dragged away from the basement, back toward the kitchen. He stumbles onto a chair and falls onto it while Meng Yao, still trembling, starts pacing in front of him.

“I can’t believe I fell for your act!” Meng Yao hisses. “Oh, you’re good, you’re really good!” He spits, pointing an accusatory finger at Lan Xichen. “With your airs of innocence, your clumsy flirting… and how did you manage to insert yourself into so many publications? Or is that part real? Are you really a researcher?”

“Of course I am,” Lan Xichen says. He closes his eyes, overcome by an outrage that isn’t his, no more than the other emotions he seems to be feeling since entering this house. Last time, it was him making accusations, he thinks, and A-Yao wasn’t innocent in the least so what right does he have to treat Lan Xichen this way?

A wave of nausea hits Lan Xichen.

He’s never called Meng Yao A-Yao before. Never even thought of calling him that way. So why does this nickname come to him so easily now?

“What do you want from him?” Meng Yao insists, his earlier pallor disappearing as anger turns his face red. “Where did you meet mister Shanzi before?”

“I’ve never met mister Shanzi in my life,” Lan Xichen says.

“Well he’s met you!” Meng Yao retorts.

Lan Xichen feels another wave of nausea hit him. That man, that boy in the basement, that can’t have been mister Shanzi. Not only is the age wrong, his name isn’t… that’s not his name.

His name is…

His name…

But that can’t be his name.

“I’ve never met him,” Lan Xichen repeats. Not in this life, he’s certain of that. In another though…

A picture flickers through his mind. A young man in green and grey, crying and throwing himself at someone Lan Xichen held dear. He remembers affection for both people. Pity as well, and perhaps longing. Regret too, so much regret, though the regret, he thinks, isn’t something he felt when that scene happened, it is only something that came later to taint that memory, long after both these people had left.

He only caught a brief glimpse of mister Shanzi, and the memory of the man in green is fleeting at best, but there might be a family resemblance between them.

“You have to leave,” Meng Yao orders. “I’m taking you back to your place, and then I swear if you ever try to come in contact with me, I’ll…”

“I’m not leaving,” Lan Xichen snaps.

Meng Yao stops pacing to instead look at him as if he’s lost his mind. Perhaps he has.

“I don’t know what you want with mister Shanzi, but I’m not letting you hurt him,” Meng Yao threatens, darting toward the kitchen counter and opening a drawer in search of a weapon. All he finds is a silver knife, but he still waves it toward Lan Xichen. “I’m not betraying him?”

“Why not? You have already,” Lan Xichen hears himself say, which makes Meng Yao flinch.

He means that taking Lan Xichen here was a betrayal.

He means also something else, something older, so old neither of them can remember it.

This is when it hits Lan Xichen. Mister Shanzi isn’t the only one he’s met before. It’s harder to be sure because Meng Yao looks too different, because Lan Xichen’s mind is a mess right now and he probably wouldn’t recognise his own brother for sure, but he can feel something familiar about the soul waving that knife at him and…

And a part of him, ancient and broken, wants to laugh at the idea of Meng Yao so protective toward mister Shanzi. If he knew…

If he knew…

It ended in blood last time.

It might end in blood again, if they’re not careful.

“What’s so funny?” Meng Yao snaps, gripping his pathetic knife tighter.

Lan Xichen realises he’s laughing. Or something that is part of him does, anyway. A hysterical laugh that turns into heavy sobs he can’t control either.

“What’s wrong with you?” Meng Yao asks, just a hint of worry to his voice.

He always used to be so worried, something tells Lan Xichen.

Smiling but worried.

He doesn’t smile as much as he used to, does he? But neither does Lan Xichen.

“You can’t stay here,” Meng Yao repeats.

“I’m not leaving,” Lan Xichen retorts. “This is my home.”

It is, or it was. Past and present feel like odd concepts right now. But Lan Xichen knows he spent too long inside these walls. The place has been changed and redecorated, but it’s still the same, still his Hanshi, his home, the place he lived, the place he died, when old age crept on him in spite of his efforts.

Not that he really was trying anymore toward the end, was he?

Eternal life would only have brought eternal guilt. He remembered being relieved, every time he died, because his choices never seemed to be the right ones.

“I’m calling you a taxi,” Meng Yao insists, dashing out of the kitchen, knife still in hand. “Don’t try anything funny or you’ll regret it!”

Lan Xichen doesn’t try anything funny. He doesn’t try anything at all. Without Meng Yao’s presence, away from mister Shanzi, Lan Xichen’s agitated mind starts calming down somewhat. The ghostly feelings harassing him mellow out, enough for him to wonder what might have caused them. Unlike his uncle and some of his older relatives, he’s never had any strong religious feelings, and the idea of reincarnation isn’t one he’s ever been convinced by. It apparently doesn’t matter what he believes though, because aside from having met mister Shanzi and Meng Yao in another life, he can’t explain what just happened to him.

It should bother him more than it does. A day ago, he would have laughed at this sort of thing. Having lived through it, he just accepts it. His soul has lived other lives before, it is just a fact he cannot deny.

After a long while, Meng Yao returns. He still holds that knife in his hand, still looks agitated. Less than he did in that other life they shared, Lan Xichen distantly thinks. But then again, at that time, Meng Yao knew he had lost everything he had to lose, everything except his life… and even that he hadn’t kept for very long, had he?

“I’ve managed to find a taxi company that will come here,” Meng Yao announces, pointing his knife again at Lan Xichen. “I swear if you try anything…”

“I just want to speak with him,” Lan Xichen says. Or at least, some part of him says. He has nothing to say to mister Shanzi, but the man he once was, the one who died old and alone in this house, has plenty to talk about.

“About Nie Huaisang?” Meng Yao asks with a mocking grimace.

Lan Xichen startles, then nods. This will, indeed, concern Nie Huaisang. It cannot be a coincidence that mister Shanzi has such an interest in that obscure painter, much like Lan Xichen himself does.

“I just want to speak with him,” Lan Xichen repeats, more firmly. “I think I’m here for a reason.”

“You’re here because I’m an idiot,” Meng Yao snaps. “If I’d been thinking with my brain instead of my…” He sighs. “Nevermind. It’s a lesson I won’t forget. I’ll be more careful on my next job… Fuck, but I’m so fired. Do you have any idea how good this job was? Why did you have to ruin this? You’re just…”

Meng Yao stops speaking and turns to look out the window, as does Lan Xichen. There is a noise coming from outside, like the rumbling of an engine going at great speed.

It’s too early to be the taxi, since the house is so isolated. A taxi wouldn’t be going at that sort of speed anyway. Pushed by curiosity, Lan Xichen rises from his chair and walks to the window. Meng Yao glares at him and points the knife at him, but for him too curiosity is too strong and he joins Lan Xichen at the window.

A sleek white car speeds toward the house. For a moment it looks as though it will crash into the Hanshi, but the driver slows down abruptly at the last possible moment in what Lan Xichen finds to be both a demonstration of great skill and complete recklessness. From where they are, Lan Xichen cannot see the driver, but he hears two car doors open and close.

“Did you call someone?” Meng Yao hisses, pointing the knife at Lan Xichen's throat.

“No. Do you think mister Shanzi was expecting someone?”

“He would have been dressed better than that,” Meng Yao says, lowering the knife already, which Lan Xichen finds oddly comforting. Their past life was a mess, he thinks, but he really does like Meng Yao as he is now. “Do you think we were followed?”

Lan Xichen considers the idea, but before he can answer, there’s a knock on the door, startling both of them. The knock is only for show though, because immediately the front door opens. The two of them exchange a look. Lan Xichen quickly grabs a knife of his own which he hides behind his arm as well as he can. Meng Yao and him nod at each other before exiting the kitchen for the main room where they find two men.

Lan Xichen drops his knife.

Although both men are familiar, although the man in red and black is probably the most striking of the two with his bold makeup and elaborate outfit, it is the other one who catches Lan Xichen’s attention. That tall man with cold eyes and long dark hair has, for some reason, a ribbon tied around his forehead. On anyone else, it would look somewhat ridiculous, Lan Xichen thinks, but on this man it looks elegant, dignified even.

“Well, that’s a surprise!” The man in red and black exclaims. “Hey Lan Zhan, look who it is!”

The man wearing a ribbon sports a shocked expression which mirrors Lan Xichen’s, and cannot seem to take his eyes away from him.

“Xiongzhang,” he says with emotion, stepping closer.

Lan Xichen, breathless, falls to his knees.

His brother.

Not the one he knows, not the one he grew up with, but his brother still, one he has missed more dearly than he could ever say. And now, after several lifetimes apart, his brother is returned to him.

Lan Xichen breaks into tears for the second time today, while next to him Meng Yao screams in terror and points his knife at the newcomers.

#xisangyao #xisang #xiyao #sangyao #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #counterfeit au #I didn't do any beta-ing on this #I mean even less than usual #just needed to fucking write something already

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imagine-loki · 3 years

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The sniffles

TITLE: The sniffles CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: ONE SHOT AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump ORIGINAL IMAGINE:

After the Chitauri attack on New York, imagine Loki being sentenced to public service on Earth, specifically in aiding people who got hurt during the attack. His magic has been limited to only be enough to aid keeping Odin’s spell in place so he wouldn’t turn blue. His task is to help people with special needs, to do house chores, help them get around, do their grocery and keep them company while they recover. He is assigned to a girl who ended up blind after one of the Chitauri shot at her.

Imagine that against everything you both thought possible, Loki gets the flu.

RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: It’s getting to be chilly season, so the flu is lurking about. Get your flu shots! Be careful! Socially distance! Language, maybe? Mostly fluff. Mentions of illness? (Do people tag that?) Not beta’d or edited, really–probs lots of typos.

SUMMARY: Loki gets sick, though he insists it’s just allergies. Charlie puts on her bossy pants and shows Loki she’s a bamf. Loki is a Nervous Nelly.

Loki had nearly frowned himself into an alternate dimension when it first happened–a simple sneeze. He had been sorting through some paperwork that Stark had asked him to complete, a mindless task meant to keep him occupied under the guise of his rehabilitation. With a shrug, Loki aired out the papers, assuming dust had tickled his nose for the briefest of moments, but thought nothing more of it.

Two years into his exile to Midgard and working under the tech guru, Loki had pretty much worked off his sentence in Tony’s eyes. According to anyone with half a brain, depriving Loki of his magic, the major condition of his exile, was punishment enough for the Prince (Loki would never admit that the act of cleaning a whole kitchen to perfection on his hands and knees was methodical and soothing, but it was one of the many joys of his near mortal existence). Still, it turned out that Stark was a bleeding heart and could recognize the tell-tale signs of a son who never got proper validation from their father (or enough hugs). It could have also been the fact that the former hissing-serpent-of-an-Asgardian all but turned into a golden retriever after he fell in love. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that Stark was deathly afraid of the five-foot-nothing woman Loki now shared an apartment with, and who would most definitely cause him bodily harm for overworking her boyfriend.

All in all, within the constraints of this supposed punishment, everything was wonderful.

Then, Loki sneezed again.

And continued to do so.

But, of course, he wasn’t ill.

Achoo!

Charlie started, letting out a half-strangled shriek that soon turned into a groan as objects clattered on her desk. Her jaw clenched together so tightly, she thought her teeth would crack.

Now, Charlie wasn’t irritated that her dork alien of a boyfriend was sneezing in her presence while she was trying to get work done. No, she was irritated because she had sent him to bed (again, for the sixth time) twenty minutes ago when his fever and chills started to turn him into an unintelligible, hallucinating mess. She thought she had been quite clear in her order for him to get some rest. After all, it had been three days since Loki first sneezed, and though he had brushed it off as a bad case of seasonal allergies, his denial was starting to get ridiculous, not to mention, harmful.

Turns out thousand year old demigods-turned-mortal are no better at following orders than any other man on the planet. In fact, Charlie was pretty sure he was being more of a brat than any other mortal… not that she’d ever tell him.

Pushing away her keyboard, she stood away from the desk, taking a second to orient herself and stare in the general direction she had heard the sneeze come from.

She schooled her facial expression into what she hoped was a no-nonsense expression. “Go. Back. To. Bed.”

Loki grumbled, his voice particularly hoarse and gravelly with an added nasally quality from his blocked passages. “It’s allergies and I have things to do,” he retorted stubbornly, ignoring the fact that his whole world seemed to tilt ever-so-slightly with each step he took.

“Allergies, my ass. Loki Odinson, you have the flu. You belong back in bed. Don’t make me be the bad guy here.”

He let out a half-hearted snort, pretending that he did not at all feel the need to double over and repeat whatever little breakfast he was able to get down his gullet that morning. “I am not sick. I haven’t been sick in four centuries. Your sorry Midgardian microbes cannot infect me.”

“Yeah, when you had your full powers. Now, though–”

“I’m fine-d.”

It was a small, momentary miracle that Charlie wasn’t able to see the way he swayed on a spot, holding his head pathetically against the sudden bout of vertigo that assaulted him. At least he thought she couldn’t. Though Loki could not explain the fact that her hand grasped him by an elbow a moment later with what appeared to be no difficulty. Clearly he was off his game, and he didn’t even bother complaining when Charlie half-dragged him all the way to the sofa and forced him to sit.

He couldn’t help but smile at the brows knitted together in worry or the lower lip being chewed within an inch of its soft, supple life. The extreme gentleness and care she took in smoothing back his hair and pressing the back of her hand to his forehead made his stomach twist in the most pleasant way. This was the best antidote, he supposed, just watching her fuss over his shivering body. Loki certainly wasn’t used to being taken care of in this manner. It felt almost wrong to succumb to the desire of slumping into the pillows and letting her dote on him.

“I love you,” slipped from his lips before he was even aware that his brain had attempted to convey the message.

Charlie beamed in response, cheeks turning warm copper with a blush. Her fingers trailed down the sides of his face to cup his cheeks. “I love you, too, sweets, but if you don’t stay still and rest, I will put on Stark’s suit and make you.”

Loki smirked, twining one of her curls around his finger and letting it bounce back with a gentle tug. “Have I told you how attractive I find you when you get all bossy?”

“Only every single second this week, Lo.”

“Well, I firmly believe in truth-telling, dove,” he added, voice betraying the exhaustion that seeped into his bones. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that the gentle circles she drew around his temples were some sort of ancient magic. “I’m late for work,” he protested, making an effort to sit back up. He would admit that they way Charlie shoved him back onto the cushions was a little distracting for two entirely different reasons: one, he was weak enough that Charlie could push him down like it was nothing; and, two… it was sort of… sexy. He would take them both to his grave.

“I called Tony and told him you were sick.”

Loki frowned. “What did he say?”

“He asked FRIDAY to queue up ”Ding dong! The witch is dead“,” she joked, lips tugging up in a smirk. “He said to take the week off. No one needs your Asgardian super bugs rolling around the Tower.” Charlie’s lips pressed against his forehead, followed immediately by a sigh. “You’re burning up again, Loki.”

“Everything hurts,” he conceded in a small voice, feeling like a failure when the concern etched in her features deepened further.

Charlie took in the complaint with a resolute nod.

“OK. I’ll go to the pharmacy down the street for some medicine and some electrolytes. You get some rest.” She patted his cheek and made to stand when Loki’s hand wrapped around her wrist.

“I’ll come with you.” He assured, at once, hoping the edge of nervousness wasn’t obvious in his voice.

“Nice try, super spreader.” Her fingers peeled his, dexterously. “No. Get some rest. I’ll be back in twenty.”

“But–”

“I promise you I will be fine, Loki. It’s nothing I haven’t done before.”

Loki was still reluctant as he watched her cool and confident expression. He shifted awkwardly. He knew that Charlie was entirely capable of any task and she had adapted well to the technology available to her as a non-seeing person, but… Norns, he was just a pathetic mess when it came to her. The thought of anything happening to her… “I know, but–”

“You worry. I understand, but this is important, Loki. You’re important and you’re sick and you need me to go get you medicine.”

He sighed, resting his forehead against her hand for a long moment before finding the courage to speak. “Just… be careful, alright? Maximum alertness, yeah?”

“I promise,” she assured in a whisper, leaning in to kiss his crown. “Please get some rest until I get back.” Her fingers were back to scratching his scalp, combing through his shaggy locks until he could no longer fight against the heaviness of sleep. He uttered half a protest before drifting off, leaving Charlie to cover him up with the spare blanket she kept on the sofa and tucking him in.

Charlie would not say that she was nervous about going out without Loki, but she was certainly not not nervous. She wrapped herself up warm to ward off the autumn chill and triple checked her belongings: keys, phone, card wallet, cane. Her head turned over her shoulder on instinct, as if attempting to spare a glance at Loki sleeping on the couch, before she closed the door behind her.

Loki awoke with a start what felt like an eternity later. His hair was sticking out in all directions and his clothes felt like they were pasted to his body with sweat. He was no longer on the couch, but in bed, and he felt… marginally better. Still, his heart was thumping loudly against his ribcage with a sense of uneasiness.

Charlie.

Where was Charlie?

“Oh, gods, please no.” It was too still. Too quiet. “CHARLIE!?” He called frantically, kicking the covers off of himself, despite the fact that his head disliked his sudden change in momentum. He grit his teeth against the nausea that rose immediately after. He needed to get out of bed and–

“Oh, you’re up!” Charlie chirped happily from the doorway.

His head snapped toward her voice to find her standing with a tray and very carefully balancing a bowl of soup, a sports drink and a bottle of water atop it. The grace with which she was managing to balance the liquids over the wooden serving tray was uncharacteristic–Charlie had never been particularly poised due to her impatience and going blind had not helped matters. After a minute, she placed the tray beside him on the bed and managed to sit down without any major spillage. Loki beamed at the satisfied look on her face and the anxiously flitting and hovering gaze she got when she was particularly excited.

“You’re back,” he breathed softly, fingertips trailing over the hand resting closest to him.

“I was only gone for fifteen minutes.” Charlie giggled. “Do you not remember taking your medicine and coming to bed?”

Loki shook his head before remembering his replies had to be aloud. “Er… no. No, I don’t.”

“You were pretty out of it,” she admitted, not thinking anything of it. “We had a lot of extra veggies, so I made you soup.”

He swallowed at the lump in his throat to no avail as he watched the perfectly cubed pieces of vegetables floating in a golden broth. He could practically feel her efforts radiating off the bowl with every plume of steam that rose enticingly. “You cooked?” His voice caught slightly.

“Yeah. Don’t tell me if it’s no good. It took me forever to chop things, so I might actually cry,” she replied, only half serious.

He picked up the bowl and tentatively sipped at the broth, letting out an involuntary moan when the rich taste flooded his taste buds. “Charlie, it… it’s perfect. It’s delicious.” The satisfied grin she gave in response made the remainder of his pain float away like dandelion fluff. He sipped some more before letting out a contented sigh as his bones warmed. “You are a wonder of wonders, Charlotte Camden.”

Charlie snorted. “I went to the pharmacy and managed not to burn down the apartment. I am middling, at best.”

“Say what you want, but I am proud of you,” he whispered, enjoying the blush on her cheeks as he slurped down the rest of his soup.

He knew she was secretly pleased with the praise, even if she didn’t admit it. Loki was aware that he worried all too much about giving her extra independence with all the what-ifs that popped up in his head. She was always so eager to challenge herself and had proven time and again she was capable of so much more than what she did on a daily basis. Loki was still in her life because she desired it, not because she needed anything from him.

For goodness’ sake, here she was, minding him.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Charlie. I feel restored, already.”

“Finally, he admits illness!” She snickered under her breath while Loki grumbled. “Of course, Loki. It is my distinct pleasure.�� She leaned in just enough to prompt Loki to proffer his cheek, skin warm from the flush that could only half be attributed to the warmth of the broth. Her fingers trailed over his scalp, making him shudder from head to toe. “Drink all your fluids and back to bed,” she ordered gently before disappearing back out the bedroom door.

Loki wasn’t used to being taken care of like this but… he could get used to it.

#Loki #Lover #Others #Submitted one shot #submission #the sniffles #fanfictrashdump

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “You Survive We Thrive

Things are heating up with Krill’s mini plot line. Sorry I posted a little late today :) Hope you like it

“So, what do you think?”

….

“This is… disturbing, most disturbing.”

“That poor?”

The psychologist, a sturdy little vrul, steel grey in color, with red-tinted orange eyes looked up from where he was examining the projected data rolling in lines of minutely scripted characters through the air to vanish.

He had no issue with his divided attention, continuing to read the scrolling data as he spoke with the official, “That bad, I have never read a psychological evaluation this…. Strange….”

“Psychological degradation.”

The doctor shook his head, “That is what seems strange about it. There WAS no psychological degradation. His intelligence quotient remains high enough that the test cannot accurately represent it in numbers. He not only succeeded in all our tests, but often broke them from the inside going out. He shows extreme scores on logical thinking, and procedural memory, but the strange part is his creative problem solving has skyrocketed enough to break the test. There is no degradation, but his scores and IMPROVING. I even created a matrix for emotional intelligence, not a perfect test, but think accurate enough, and he scores extremely well on that.”

There was a pause between the two of them.

“Did you think to test him against the human? See if maybe the changes could be explained by that?”

The psychologist looked on miffed, almost insulted, “Of course I took that into account. That was one of the first things I did.” He switched the projected information, “The human’s scores are….. Well they are erratic at best and downright confusing at worst. Let me explain. You see this here, as far as intelligence goes, he's about as smart as the average beta, which gives him a little over average for humans. I mean you would hope that he is, but there is nothing special. His spatial intelligence is…. Well its excellent, far beyond excellent. And the same can be said about creative problem solving. Emotional intelligence is higher than the doctors both show the same in procedural memory, however a relating to semantic memory the doctor far outstrips the human. Numerical intelligence does not seem to be the human’s strong suit. In fact, I don’t think I have ever seen someone score that low before. I would say the same for episodic memory, accept worse. The human seems to think that he can remember things well, but it seems that he actually cannot.” “What does that have to do with anything.”

“Well you know how I said that the human’s intelligence scores put him at the low end of beta…..”

“Yes.”

“Well in aggregate, putting all his scores together, he would count as an alpha.”

The official stood back in surprise, “How? How can that be possible.”

“I am not entirely sure at this moment, but…. It is quite fascinating… I was thinking about going to talk to the human face to face, see if I can’t figure out this mystery.”

The official nervously shifted in place, “You should be careful, psychologist, you are starting to sound like the doctor did before he went off his rocker.”

“Has he gone off his rocker though?” The psychologist retorted.

“I mean yes, of course he has.”

“The tests say he hasn’t.”

The official harrumphed, “Well, aren't you also saying earlier that he had shown extreme increases on the aggression quotient as well as that for emotional response.”

“yes , but that hasn’t affected his other scores.”

The official sighed but then nodded, “Very well, but be careful, and don’t spend too much time with the human. He has proven to be dangerous, and may have an affect on you.”

“You worry far to much, it took the doctor months to be affected by him, and he had already showed signs of instability before that. I will be fine.”

***

“Dr…..Dr….. try to pay attention please.”

Krill lifted his head in annoyance pulling himself from a contemplation of all the stupid things the humans had probably been doing while he was gone, “I have answered all of your question. I have no idea why you would still be interested.

“We have plenty more questions.”

“No you have the same question but phrased slightly differently every time.” Krill sighed and glowered at the illuminated blue walls.

“Why are you so angry, doctor.”

He turned to look at them, “I am angry because I realize there are things about humans that I prefer over my own species sometimes.”

There was a pause.

“And what might that be?”

“Well, for one humans generally accept an answer after the tenth time I have given it. Not to mention that….. Well…. There are a lot of things.”

“Go on, we are listening.”

Krill sighed his shoulders sagging. He tried to control the human body language, but was finding it difficult, “OUr species has spent decades surviving, but isn’t the measure of a successful species one that can flourish. Our population has been stable for the past thousand years, and it has functioned the same way during that time. We don’t try to get better, we make it to, yeah that's ok and then we quit. Humans don’t just Survive, they TRIBE they are always trying to get better, to improve upon what they have. Where illness is a reason for death because we are no longer useful, they created technology to make life come to them. It has been less than a decade, and humans already live all across the galaxy. Their population has reached an all time eruption, and there is no reason it cannot get bigger. And here we are piddling along on our single planet, in upwards of ten cities doing the same thing we have done for generations.”

“The point of our species is survival.”

“We have proven to be good at that, why not go on from survival and into…… thriving.”

“The Universe is not meant for us. We are not as durable as others. Our planet is all we have.”

Krill shook his head growing more excitedly agitated, “that is where you are wrong, the bigger universe is out there for us. I have proven it. I have visited and stayed on death worlds for weeks at a time. Do you want to know the secret?”

The other Vrul looked a bit surprised, but intrigued. Looking on at Krill like he was insane.

“The secret is sociability. I survived because I had humans to help me. WIth their help I have been able to go anywhere and survive in any place. If we learn from them, we have a chance to live like they do.”

“And how is that?”

“Free.”

***

Commander Vir floated in near darkness a soft blue light illuminating him from all sides. He couldn't have said which was was up or which was was down. The only color he saw was blue, and aside from his own body there was nothing else, so he floated, rotating slowly his hands held out to his sides his legs relaxed and resting easily in the air. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine the warm heaviness of a space suit, and his breath against the glass, a thin barrier between him and space.

Images of his first spacewalk ran through his mind with the fiery light of a star rising behind a strange alien world.

There was a sort of soft rumbling that broke him from his thoughts, and he spun in mid-air to find a vrul float into the room. It seemed as if he was upside down though…. Or well he couldn't have said which one of them was upside down considering space didn’t seem to have a right side up or upside down.

He struggled for a few seconds rotating to face the Vrul.

Despite being the captain of a spaceship, he didn’t actually spend much of his time in zero Gs, though that was a fact he would forever be salty about.

“Commander.” The Vrul acknowledged floating closer as Adam finally righted himself.

“I am afraid you have me at a bit of a disadvantage…. Who are you?”

The Vrul stopped his orange-red eyes glowing strangely in the blue light, “I am the psychologist.”

“Ah, let me guess, you wanted to see what about a human makes your species so vulnerable to change?”

“Precisely, smarter than your tests suggested.”

Adam frowned, “You know that seems to be a thing with you Vrul. Every time I meet a new one of you, I spend most of my time getting insulted, and yet there isn’t really much I can do, since you guys don’t say anything that isn’t true.”

“And the doctor does not?”

“Not anymore.”

“Why is that.”

Adam, in boredom, began rotating backwards feet thrown up into the air, watching the Vrul as he slowly spun in a circle, “Hmm…. I think…. I think the answer is because we socialized him.”

Spinning back around, the commander would have said that the Vrul seemed surprised. Generally those emotions were easier to read on Krill, but he supposed that was part of the reason why he said what he said.

“That is… an interesting theory, human.”

“Not really a theory. A theory implies that it cannot be tested. I would suggest it’s more a hypothesis.”

The vrul looked at him in a contemplative manner, “Go on, I am interested to hear what you have to say on the subject.”

Adam was a little surprised, “Vrul were kind of known for being stuck up pricks who thought they were smarter than everyone else, but he supposed that this might just help krill out of his current predicament.”

“Well you have talked about the doctor changing a lot, and I have this theory that every one of those changes have to do with his adaptability living in a pack.” The Vrul waited for him to continue, so he did, “You say something about how Krill is more emotional now, right? Well, emotions are adaptable to humans. Aggression allows people to keep their place in the hierarchy. We have trouble listening to krill like we should, so he gets mad at us, as a way to show us he SHOULD be respected. You might have discussed his use of human facial expressions or body language, well, body language is EXTREMELY important to properly communicating with a human, if he didn’t adopt those habits than he wouldn’t be able to communicate with us effectively. You guys talk about how he moves wrong, well that's part to do with body language and part to do with how quickly humans move. He can’t keep up with us if he floats.”

The psychologist looked Adam over with a critical eye, “Have you been thinking about this?”

Adam shrugged, “Not really, it just makes sense. And I argue that it PROVES that your species is more adaptive than you originally thought. Krill isn’t broken, he has…. Well micro-evolved. I guess.”

The psychologist looked on with interest, “And…. what do you care about him.”

Adam snorted, “Look. Once you make friends with a human, or a group of humans your as good as family, sometimes better than. We have a saying on earth, the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. It means that the people you choose can sometimes be more important than the people you didn’t. Well we adopted Krill into our pack, he's as good as family to me, and I will do ANYTHING to keep him safe.”

WIth a slight shift of his body, the Vrul floated back.

Adam floated forward, “And when I say ANYTHING, I mean it.”

“But he's not even your species.”

Adam shook his head, “Doesn't matter, the human bonding instinct is so powerful that we routinely bond with inanimate objects. I bought a cactus (a plant) during my time in the airforce academy. I named him melvin, he’s still alive and lives at my parents house. We are great friends. I know a guy who won a stuffed pig at a carnival, and now it goes with him everywhere. My sister always buys the most mangled shaped food because it makes her sad to think that no one will buy it….. She's sad…. For vegetables.”

The Vrul had floated back even further.

“So when I say that we can bond with inanimate objects, imagine how we feel about Krill. Not only my good friend, but our doctor and our surgeon. He saved my life on multiple occasions which also means I owe him a debt of honor like the Drev see honor. I can’t let him go until I repay him, and even then I don’t plan on it.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I am saying that I WILL get y friend back, no matter what I have to do.”

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

All in the Family

Chapter 126: OWLs

Frank landed as uncomfortably as ever, with no clue what he was fixing to crash into as he went sliding along the floor and his nose was a hair width away from entering a very odd looking object.

They were all surrounded by beautiful, dancing, diamond-sparkling lights. As his eyes became accustomed to the brilliant glare, he saw clocks gleaming from every surface, large and small, grandfather and carriage, hanging in spaces between the bookcases or standing on desks ranging the length of the room, so that a busy, relentless ticking filled the place like thousands of minuscule, marching footsteps. The source of the light was the towering crystal bell jar that stood right in front of him.

It appeared to be full of billowing, glittering wind, and even as he watched a tiny, jewel-bright egg rose in the jar, cracked open and a hummingbird emerged, which was carried to the very top, but as it fell on the draught its feathers became bedraggled and damp again, and by the time it had been borne back to the bottom of the jar it had been enclosed once more in its egg, and the loop continued.

Alice came up beside him and took his hand, helping him to his feet and guiding him carefully away. He did not protest, nobody spoke a word in the room.

The ticking was vaguely terrifying for some reason, the dark shadowed corners were of no comfort to anyone as the Marauders were just as lost in here as everyone else had been in the forest. Frank spotted the book leaning on a glass cabinet full of odd, miniature hourglass-looking necklaces.

"Don't touch!"

Frank startled and dropped his hand before he grabbed the book, only to look around and see it had been Pettigrew scolding Regulus Black. His fingers were still half-extended towards a coo-coo clock that was spinning 360 degrees in all directions for no good reason.

He dropped his hand, looking thoroughly chastised even as his eyes roved hungerly around, but Frank was a tad terrified to look at anything too long, the magic radiating from this place felt as powerful as the book he gingerly picked up as if new all over again. He realized why as he weighed it for a moment and truly felt the magic in the air, it all gave off the same sort of energy. Time magic.

"Nobody touch anything," Potter's voice agreed with absolute sternness. "Merlin knows what half this shite is, and I am not looking forward to being a dad so much I'll cart around one of you lot as an infant."

"The most sensitive thing I've ever heard you say," Lily told him.

Frank fought very hard not to laugh at the stunned look on his face as he went looking for his chapter. A collective groan went up from the present fifth-years, but he tried to tell them all, "look at it this way, it's almost cheating. You'll be getting some firsthand account of what to study, more than I ever got. Can't wait for Harry's seventh year for that."

Lily at least looked delighted at this point of view, but the Marauders still grumbled their distaste at having to hear a whole chapter over Harry's OWLs and moved even farther away.

It started with Ron still captivating attention over Gryffindor's win though, and Harry and Hermione weren't trying very hard to pull him back from that with news of Hagrid's 'small' giant of half-brother. Sirius had been in such a state he'd read right over a game victory and not even realized it. 'It's not like I care,' he kept reminding himself as he stalked off to the farthest corner. 'One less thing to worry about, they don't care about you anymore just like you wanted! No makeup required, problem solved!'

He was still staying well out of the way, leaning dangerously against a steaming purple cauldron. Merlin what he would give to go off somewhere with Remus and pretend this wasn't going on right now, but he wouldn't have dared even if they weren't in such a highly strange and potentially dangerous place. He needed to talk to James about why he kept doing that, he knew that now, though he and Remus hadn't exactly gotten to talking about it recently, and it had been Moony's idea to hide it in the first place.

James and Remus both came over slowly anyways, though he didn't notice until they were right in front of him, too busy glaring at absolutely nothing.

"I told you not to touch anything," Prongs sighed, frowning as he sat on the lip.

"You're touching the floor," Sirius shot back.

James made sure to look him dead in the eye as he drew his wand and tapped himself with it, and was now hovering a few inches above the ground. Sirius couldn't help it, he chuckled and got off, hands raised in surrender.

"I'm fine," he insisted as they kept frowning at him like he was mad enough to dunk his head in that thing, let alone actually mess with anything around here. "I don't care, honestly, good on Pete finally growing some and telling us to shut up."

Remus's mouth actually opened in surprise while James rolled his eyes in disagreement. Peter and Sirius obviously still needed to have a conversation they were avoiding, and he had no clue why Peter lost his temper when Sirius had tried! At least Padfoot wasn't flying into a temper and starting a fight with them in retaliation. This new, passive, approach felt alien in comparison though. It was what they'd asked for, right?

Sirius really was trying though, rather than giving those two a piece of his mind about constantly wandering off and being annoyed with him for trying to join in, he forced himself instead to nod along and feel sympathy for Ron as he was let into the news of Grawp the giant. Some part of him even did mean it, he honestly respected Peter just a tad more now than he ever had before, finally standing up to anyone in his life. He just wished it hadn't been him, about Regulus!

Whatever his little brother's problem was before though, Peter seemed to have helped. He'd always been best at that, listening to them, just sitting patiently and hearing them out, giving practical advice that never felt too insulting for not getting there on your own. James had a tendency to just talk at you and refuse to relent until you laughed which helped soothe most of Sirius's problems, and Remus was great about giving space. Sirius...never helped with anyone's problems. He usually was the problem! He huffed miserably and ran a hand through his hair as he really felt the guilt dancing along his every thought and tried valiantly to push it all away and focus on the story.

Prongs began doing exactly that now as he saw this, going over in detail and ever increasing unrealistic proportions of each of Ron's spectacular saves they hadn't been privy to in hopes to get a laugh out of Sirius. He watched Remus wander off and give him his space, and tried to tell himself this was good, this was normal.

Alice was distracted from watching a handsome wristwatch spinning backwards by Frank's voice getting an uneasy tone for Griselda Marchbanks, an examiner, being mentioned, and didn't understand why until Neville explained his gran knew her.

She grimaced with distaste with more reason than ever and tried not to let the memory of that photo creep back across her mind at a time like this, instead turning to Lily and asking, "I would never, but I am curious, if we used one of those time-turners, think that would get us back to when we started?"

"I haven't the foggiest," Lily sadly said as she turned away from a sundial with the phases of the moon etched along the edges back to her. "You're right too, best we don't try, tampering with time magic is worrisome enough, let alone trying to mix it." She was eyeing that cauldron in the corner with heavy curiosity but refusing to allow herself to go investigate it; Potter and his friends were around.

Regulus was still drifting off by himself, hands firmly in his pockets now, but with a look of almost childlike wonderance for his surroundings. Peter watched bemusedly as he was also clearly still taking in every word of Harry's exams, the Charms one now being described in detail. He was surprised to see Remus disengaging from James and Sirius to come over, watching Regulus with a bizarre expression. He supposed, if you hadn't been paying attention to him, it was very far off from the usual stoic way he kept himself at most times.

Peter tried to tell himself Remus was the least likely to tell him off for how he'd dealt with Sirius, but he still couldn't help but get a bit defensive as that seemed exactly what he was about to do when he sidled up and scuffed his foot for a moment, building himself up to say something Peter wasn't sure he wanted to hear. "Regulus is going through something, and Sirius has shitty timing!" He tried to say calmly, but he was failing a bit by the end. "I notice you and James keep telling me to be patient with him! I wonder if you two are over there with the same old tosh to Sirius, oh he'll come around! Padfoot can't control his temper, let Peter whine it out!"

"Actually," Remus managed through gritted teeth, "he's been trying to work on that!"

"Oh," Peter said quietly in surprise, instantly mollified.

Remus breathed through his nose for a moment, unclenching his teeth so he could continue, "yeah, he's really trying Wormtail, but he's got it in his head you two don't want anything to do with him now."

"How's that my fault?" Peter tried not to snap back. "He ignores me unless he wants something, been doing that to Regulus his whole life! We're not all just here for his entertainment!" He wasn't quite shouting, but his voice still sounded sharper than he meant to.

"Just," Remus pressed his face into his hands, rubbing at his tired eyes before looking back at him in exhaustion. "Nobody wants a fight, right? Can't we all agree on that? He's trying Peter, I still hope you are too. And Regulus," he added after only a moment of thought as he watched him again.

"Yeah," he quietly agreed. "Regulus still cares what he thinks too," he added. He'd never come out and said it, but Peter could tell in the same way he still watched his big brother.

Remus sighed in relief that was at least a good start, now eyeing the gap between the lot and trying to figure out whether to call Sirius and James over here or get Peter to go over there, it was like a never ending tug of war with those two lately.

Regulus answered the problem for him, he'd circled the whole room by now and was right beside them without even seeming to realize it, nose dangerously close to the potion as he watched it bubble.

Sirius reached over and grabbed the back of his robes, pulling him back and tutting. Both of them moved over on instinct, but he'd already let go and said with only pure exasperation, "where's all this curiosity come from then?"

Regulus blushed rather than answer, he looked chastised when Sirius had only sounded curious himself for his brother's sporadic change in his usual tight-faced character.

Peter eagerly jumped in, "he's actually been asking me loads, that's a lot of what we've been talking about, he's quite curious about the world."

"Oh," Sirius looked genuinely impressed, he'd really never thought he'd even progressed past questioning his parents, let alone asking for more than they'd ever offered in their 'lessons.' What else had he missed?

They all almost missed whatever was going on with Umbridge and Hagrid, but quickly spun back to Frank as his voice began edging with concern.

"No," Lily started chanting under her breath in disbelief. "No, no, no, no!" Hagrid was the nicest person in that school, offering a friendly ear and a cup of tea to any students he came across on the grounds, like a lonely girl crying to herself in the shade of the Forest. How was it possible Umbridge could force him from the school like this?

Then McGonagall got involved, and she felt like screaming. She began backing away from Frank and shaking her head, trying not to even hear of this disaster, she heard the gasp and looked on instinct to see Potter with his wand in hand and a look of outrage on his face for their head of house being attacked like that. Alice caught her before she could back into that strange hourglass, and they held hands fighting back their own galloping fear for the state this school was in.

Professors Flitwick and Sprout, at least, were still trusted members of staff to turn to, but the slowly dwindling numbers had them fearing Umbridge would somehow manage to get rid of them before the exams even finished!

Frank found it hard to believe Harry was forced to just go off to his last exam like nothing had happened after that, he felt like the chapter should have ended with that kind of mess, what else could happen during Harry's exam? He shifted and muttered impatiently the whole way through the History of Magic questions, it was one of his better subjects and even he'd been grateful to drop it, he couldn't concentrate on a single thing Harry was forcing himself to recall in his sleep-addled mind.

Then Harry started dreaming again, except they were never just dreams, they never had been. No, Harry started seeing again, right into You-Know-Who's mind as he finally got past all the doors that had been blocking him all year, and into an entirely new room all together, one that terrifyingly sounded similar to this place. He read the next description as this place was bypassed with dread as Harry began to explore and Frank tried to convince himself not to throw the book away in fear Harry was about to come across a dead body, that they weren't headed to this cathedral-sized room and row ninety-seven next to find out whose fate would be gone.

You-Know-Who was right there, right on the other side of one of these doors. It wasn't some random bystander like Bode though, it was a member of the Order again. It was Sirius Black.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #HP #reading the books #OotP #Marauders #wolfstar #JIlly #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Regulus Black #Peter Pettigrew #Lily Evans #Alice Smith #Frank Longbottom

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tanadrin · 3 years

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Khoda Station

For a long time after she joined the Project, Sirrek had found Tjumak to be a puzzle, the most difficult to understand of her colleagues. She took as read that you had to have pretty good reasons to want to risk defying the Archive’s most sacrosanct law, and also to spend half of every year out in the middle of nowhere, hundreds of kilometers from the nearest transport routes and thousands from the nearest settlements. For most of the people at the station, their motives were actually pretty simple. Koridek believed passionately in the work; so passionately that he was willing to break his most deeply held convictions about what it meant to be an Archivist. For him it was all about values. His desire to serve humanity ran deep, and that was what made him a good fit for the Archive. His desire to serve Paradise, well, that ran even deeper; it was the source of his desire to serve humanity, to protect their nascent colony, but also to violate an order that had been created decades before Sirrek was born, to prevent terrible bloodshed. Depending on how you looked at it, that made him a very bad archivist indeed.

Ardhat was also simple. She was a problem-solver. That wasn’t all of it, but it was most of it. Of course, she believed mightily, too, but Sirrek doubted anyone could believe in anything as strongly as Koridek did. But above all else, Ardhat wanted to solve the biggest problems she could find. That was what got her up in the mornings, and drove her forward. She was a puzzle-cracker, a code-breaker, a solution-seeker, a builder-of-systems. She would have been a fine architect, or a talented engineer, or a clever physicist. But what greater puzzle was there than the Great Record? What greater problem to solve could there be than resurrecting a lost world out of the most ancient memory of the past? Of building a whole new ecosystem, alongside and on top on alien to it that already existed? Sirrek was quite certain that Ardhat would die to protect the Project if it ever came to it, but in the meantime, she would live for its mysteries.

Sirrek? Well, introspection wasn’t her strong suit. But where Ardhat had a cordial indifference to authority and Koridek a deep but respectful complaint against it, Sirrek just hated being told what to do. And they had told her, you shall not be a biologist. Not in the way you want to be. You shall not undertake any part of the great work--for it will not begin in your lifetime. They had said to her, you shall leave Paradise fallow, at least for a human definition of the term. And so Sirrek hated them for that, hated them for deciding before she was born that all her talents and her ambition must be sacrificed in the name of politics, hated the religious zealots and the blind ideologues whose fledgeling war meant that it would be many lifetimes before the Paradise she dreamed of would come to be. She was compelled to disobey. That was what got her out of bed in the morning.

But Tjumak. There was a mystery. He affected it a little, Sirrek thought. He spent his days ensconced in the middle of his dark laboratory, like the heart of an animal, or the engine of a machine. He did not come and go, like Koridek. The dim light of the displays shone on the glossy exterior of his support apparatus. He had once had a survival suit, Koridek said, and had gone back and forth from the surface like most of the other Archivists, returning to Ammas Echor when the strain of surface living became too great. Archivists were not born for planetbound life; they were humanity as it lived between the stars, made for the long dreamlike time in the cold and dark, and for keeping the long memory of their people alive. How long did our ancestors travel from star to star? Sirrek had once asked her mother, when she was young. For countless ages, she had replied. Since the Garden was lost to us in the beginning of time.

A survival suit was meant to be a temporary thing, a way to endure the stresses of gravity and the immoderate temperatures of the surface. What, do you go naked in space? Sirrek had asked Koridek. Koridek laughed. No, he said. We still have to wear suits on the vessel, though they are much lighter. You see me only as a hulking, heavy thing in this armor. In microgravity, I am considered graceful; above the sky, I can dance. Why someone would exchange that for a planetbound prison, much less one where they could not leave the room they worked in, Sirrek struggled to guess. But that was what Tjumak had done. From the outside, he looked almost like a silly toy: a round, smooth metal body, topped with a round, smooth head on a short, flexible neck. His arms were more graceful, and the apparatus in which he set could turn this way and that to reach th various monitors and keyboards around him; but apparently much of the interface was actually inside the suit, which in Tjumak’s case was more of a chamber, one in which he floated in a carefully-formulated synthetic fluid. And if the power goes out? Sirrek had asked. He will be very annoyed until someone finds the switch for the backup generator, Koridek said.

Direct neural prosthetics like the Archivists used, and which Tjumak relied on for his work, were rare among the younger generations, so it was probably a less claustrophobic way of living than Sirrek imagined. And if he really had to, he probably could switch back to a survival suit. Like if they ever got caught, and had to evacuate the station. That was a possibility she did her best not to dwell on.

She got a little window into Tjumak’s world, or at least his thought process, when they spent several long weeks working on a section of the Great Record. It was a frustrating and exceedingly difficult task, and the missing portions that Sirrek needed amounted to only a handful of characters, but the Record was nearly impossible to work with directly. When she was little, her teachers had explained that the Great Record was a library of the genetic information of every animal and plant and little microscopic beastie that had ever lived in the Garden, the world humankind had come from. And when their most ancient ancestors, the ancestors of their unimaginably remote ancestors, had had to leave the Garden as exiles, they preserved the Record, and kept it safe, for hundreds of thousands of years.

That was almost, but not quite, entirely a lie. When she had started studying biology, with an eye to genetics and to endobotany specifically (back when she imagined that she might be permitted to do something with her training), she started learning about how the Great Record worked. It wasn’t just a record of DNA; that on its own would have been quite useless, she was assured. DNA was an important part of it, of course, nuclear and mitochondrial both, but only a small part. Rather, the Record had been compiled as an image of the shape of a living cell: it described actual genetic code, but also how DNA was formed, how proteins were folded, how DNA and RNA were transcribed, processes of methylation and copying, how mitosis and meiosis functioned, and so on and so forth, attempting to describe the metabolism of an ideal cell, one which contained within it the potential to embody almost any form of life to which humankind had once been related; and it was by reference to this elaborate, ideal lifeform that literally millions of other species, from single-celled bacteria that lived in the human gut to storybook leviathans, were described. And the reason, Sirrek was told, that the Record had been composed in this way was that, long long ago, their ancestors had once had the technology to use those reference descriptions directly. The heart of the Record was a terrible lacuna, a tool that had been so widespread, and so useful, that it had once been presumed it would never be lost.

Oh, fathers of my fathers and mothers of my mothers! Sirrek had thought. How far your children have fallen. The senior geneticists referred to this technology as the key to the universal cell; or just the key. What, exactly, it was and how it had functioned was hard to guess. It was related to other technologies they had that barely worked, and that they did not understand at all, like the ones the Archivists used to modify their genes and to improve their neural prosthetics. There were baseline humans who had been brought all the way from Rauk on the last journey, in sarcophagi that had preserved them between life and death. It was a form of the key that had brought them back to wholeness, and let them live out the rest of a natural lifespan. But it was a specialized version, a crippled and ghostly version. They did not have the true key; and they were working to rebuild it. Perhaps one day, many centuries from now, they would live up to the promise of those long-ago masters of the living world, and they would read forth out of the Record a whole teeming world, as had been intended.

But they didn’t need the key to start understanding the Record, and ordinary genetic engineering and cell manipulation techniques would serve to clone the most basic organisms recorded there. Of course, all of this was hampered by the fact that the Record was at both extremely terse, intending to encode an enormous amount of information in as small a space as possible, and maddeningly repetitive. It was not really one Record, but many; the collocation of multiple copies, in some places defective, and in others damaged. Later, totally uncomprehending generations had apparently lost all but the memory of the importance of the thing, and carefully copied what they did not understand into new forms. It was only in the glare of Rauk, millennia ago, that the Janese had finally understood what they had had in their grasp, and built it into the skeleton of Ammas Echor itself.

Understanding the Record had been the original purpose of the Archive, and in the long, slow journey to Paradise they had labored ceaselessly at their task. Still, it was slow work. And since their station did not have the benefit of access to either the Archive on Ammas Echor, or to all the latest work from investigators working on the surface, sometimes they had to work at it themselves. At Ardhat’s encouragement, Sirrek had been trying to get a handle on some of the plant species that, by their position in the Record, seemed to be relatively basal. Much of the work in unraveling that portion of the Archive had been done by others, and was well-known, but little attention had been paid to the bryophytes. Under the logic of the agreement between the Renewalists and the Instrumentalists, this didn’t matter. Actual resurrection of species was not slated to begin for nearly eighty years, and even then it would be confined to laboratories. But Sirrek wanted practical results. What she ideally wanted was trees, flowers, grasses, important primary producers that also occupied slightly different ecological niches from the xenophytes, and could be integrated alongside them. But mosses were step zero. Possibly even step negative one. All she needed was a single viable spore. In theory, everything she needed was in the Record, somewhere.

In their long, slow labor, the Archivists had painstakingly indexed the Record, but it was an immense of information, and one that was only partly understood. The language of the record, if it could be called that, was a sophisticated polyvalent writing system that could encode chemical formulae, the structure of molecules and proteins and organelles, and dipped in its most specific registers into the subatomic scale, to describe the precise interaction by which choloroplasts captured the light of the sun, to convert into energy; and at its most general, sketched a mathematical relationship between the populations of a predator and its prey. Yet for all that it said, it also left maddening amounts unsaid, details that were perhaps assumed by its creators to be common knowledge, or which simply could not be fit in.

“It’s almost gibberish,” Tjumak had observed dryly. “Almost.”

“Why do you think they made it in the first place?” Sirrek asked Tjumak. “Do you suppose they really thought the umpteenth children of their children would be able to make use of it?”

“I can only assume so. Hubris, perhaps, or merely an unfathomably acute case of optimism.”

“It had to have been made in the Garden, right?”

A small movement suggested a shrug from Tjumak. “To speculate on the historicity of our people before the last journey is to engage in theology as far as I can tell. Whatever the Garden once was, it is now more myth than fact.”

“Maybe,” said Sirrek, tapping her chin as she moved the same section of the Record back and forth on the display. The curling, two-dimensional network of shapes blurred together if you tried to take in too much of it at once, not to mention it was dispiriting. It was far easier to concentrate on the smallest legible piece, and work through it one symbol at a time. Tjumak peeked over her shoulder, and glanced at her notes.

“No, that’s not right,” he said. “That’s not a DNA sequence, it’s a protein sequence. Look, that’s a symbol for a folding geometry, in the corner.”

Sirrek muttered an impolite word and started backtracking.

“They can’t have made it during the Exile, anyway,” she said. “You can’t put millions of species on a generation ship. Even if most of them are beetles.”

“Perhaps not,” said Tjumak. “But what is an object such as this? It is a monument against ruin. If they made it in the Garden, they made it knowing its desolation was close at hand.”

“So you’re definitely in camp made-to-be-used.”

“I think… I think it doesn’t matter why they made it,” Tjumak said. He was scanning his own section of the text, which in real terms was inscribed about a meter and a half away from Sirrek’s on the same section of Ammas Echor’s structural frame; but which felt like it might as well have been on the other side of the planet. “The question is, why do we want to use it?”

“Hubris, and/or an unfathomably acute case of optimism?”

“It’s a reasonable question. We could have come to Paradise, gone down from the Ammas Echor, and made our living on this world as it is, with no attempt to change it besides the introduction of ourselves. For that matter, we could have stayed in orbit, bringing up such resources as we needed, air and water and soil, to make life there far more comfortable than it ever could have been on one of the airless or gasping worlds our ancestors lived their lives on, and left Paradise almost entirely unchanged. Yet when we arrived, we nearly fought a war against one another, not over whether to make use of the Record to resurrect the creatures of the Garden, but only how.”

“Do you think we should have considered the possibility?”

Tjumak leaned back from the display he was hunched over. The head of his support apparatus tilted up toward the ceiling, which was as close as he ever got to looking pensieve.

“I cannot honestly say yes. I’ve known space, Sirrek, real space. Not orbital microgravity, but the deepness beyond the summit of the sky. Some of my earliest memories are of the firing of Ammas Echor’s great engines, to turn our path inward toward the light below. Of the long, slow spiral down to the inner worlds of Kdjemmu. And even that emptiness was brighter and warmer by far than the great darkness between the stars that my mother and father were born into. When they were young, ever joule of energy was precious beyond reckoning, every drop of water or puff of air worth more than a human life.

“The other worlds around this star, they’re airless, or formless giants, or scorching hot, or worse. And every world our ancestors ever visited, if the tales are true, from the Garden-which-was-lost to Usukuul-we-mourn, was as barren as them. I cannot imagine what suffering generation after generation endured to bring us here--and it would spit in the face of every soul that died on the journey not to bring Paradise to flower.”

“We will, Tjumak,” Sirrek said softly. She had never seen Tjumak speak so earnestly before. “And we will not ravage, and we will not burn. And one day we will call our brothers and sisters out of the darkness to live with us again.” The rhythm of the ancient litanies came back to her smoothly. Her parents had not been religious, but her grandmother had been. She had recited the litanies to Sirrek when she was small, a soothing voice to sleep to.

“Will they thank us?”

“The other Exiles?”

Tjumak shook his head, then pointed at his display. “No. The ghosts we’re going to call up.”

“What do you mean?” Sirrek asked, perplexed.

Tjumak swiveled in place to another display, and tapped a few keys on the panel next to it. The image of another part of the Record appeared, this one displayed alongside long sections of plain text. There were ghostly outlines of various creatures superimposed on it and displayed alongside it, gracile things with four legs and taut muscles, and things with sharp teeth and long claws.

“This part of the Record was indexed four generations ago, and pretty well translated,” Tjumak said. “It’s an unusual one--it’s organized by relationship between constituent elements, not by phylogeny. It’s probably from a lesser Record that was only integrated into the whole later.”

“What are they?”

“Animals. Warm-blooded, furry, placental. Very much like us, in some ways, but quadrupedal. And, to judge by the annotations, quick. Well-muscled. Herbivorous and carnivorous.”

“One is predator, and one is prey?”

“Likely.”

Sirrek had that dark feeling again, the one that was tinged with despair. Sometimes it came up when she looked at too much of the Record at once, or when she spent too long thinking about the aching gulfs of time that they hoped to bridge with the Project. The feeling that it was too much--too much for her, too much for anyone, too much for innumerable lifetimes.

“We’re a long way from placental mammals, Tjumak.”

“Yes. But we’ll get there one day. I don’t doubt that. What I wonder is, what would they say? If we could ask them. And, you know, they could talk.”

“I don’t think there’s anything alive that doesn’t want to live.”

“Ah, but they are not alive. Not right now. It will be us who make them live, if we choose to. And consider, my friend, what that will mean. For some, they will be the prey. The hunted. The fearful. The one whose existence ends with blood and pain and screaming. And others, they will be the predator. Hungry, ever-hunting, fearing that one day their source of food will move beyond the hills, or that a harsh winter will kill them all, and leave the hunter to starve.”

“You think it’s not a life worth living?”

“Would you want to live such a life?”

Sirrek shook her head. “It’s not a coherent question. Does the ferngrass or the swarmbug want to live? The ferngrass can’t react to external stimuli at all, and the swarmbug has six neurons wired in sequence--basically glorified clockwork that tells it when to fly and when to land, and when to lay eggs. There are more complicated xenozoa in Paradise, but they aren’t anything like us, either. And these mammals? Maybe they’ll be able to feel pain, and hunger, and a kind of fear in the moment--but ‘life worth living’ is a human concept. I’m not sure it applies.”

“Surely it must. Even to creatures without language, without tool use, without abstract thought. If they can suffer and feel joy, there is a place where suffering outweighs joy, however you favor one side of the equation over the other. Someone that brought a child into the world, knowing their whole life would be without joy and full of suffering, would be cruel indeed.”

“Are you really proposing we put the entire Project on hold to decide if the creatures we bring back might suffer too much for the Project to be worth it?”

“Just humor me for a bit.”

“All right, fine. A parent has moral responsibility for their child’s welfare.”

“Unless and until we discover something wiser than us already living here, we have moral responsibility for this world.”

“And it would be cruel of us to go out of our way to inflict suffering on the things living in it. You don’t see me pulling the wings off swarmbugs. But that moral responsibility only goes so far, because we can’t impose human values without limit onto things which live very different existences from us.”

“Not so different, these beasts here,” Tjumak said, tapping the display.

“Different enough. Different enough that in order to even begin to pose the question of whether their life was worth living, you would have to alter them mind and body until they were far more human than anything else. If you cannot pose the question without destroying the thing you propose to investigate, it is a bad question.”

Tjumak tilted his head in what Sirrek had come to recognize as the sign of a smile somewhere on the face she could not see. But he didn’t seem ready to drop the argument yet.

“Aren’t all values human values in the end? Unless you believe in a creating power with the authority to order the ethical universe by its own whim, which seems rather like a self-contradicting idea to me. The only values we have to judge the world by are human values. They’re limited tools, but they’re the best ones available. So if a human could have a life not worth living, so could an animal, by the only standard we have available to judge.”

“I don’t know if I buy that,” Sirrek said. “But even so: everything that lives desires to live. If you could bring one of those beasts back, and then you tried to hurt or kill it, it would run away. There’s something like volition there, and as far as I can tell, a vote in the ‘let me live!’ direction.”

“Hardly a spirited defense of the idea, though!” Tjumak said. “A mere stimulus response, maybe.”

“You can’t have it both ways. You can’t say a beast’s volition matters if it doesn’t want to suffer, but doesn’t matter if it wants to live. It’s not human, so you can’t ask the question as you would to a human, or to another creature capable of abstract thought, and in the only way it knows how to tell you, it tells you it wants to live. And, presumably, do other things. Eat. Run. Have babies. You might not let it do all those things. You certainly don’t have to let it eat you. But if the creature’s experience of the world matters at all, its desires must matter in some sense, too.”

“There’s always the option of just leaving out the carnivores, you know,” Tjumak said. “After all, your moss here doesn’t feel pain. Probably.”

Sirrek smiled. “I really hope not. And maybe that is an option. Or maybe we don’t know enough. Maybe the carnivores are as essential to the herbivores as the herbivores are to them, in some way we haven’t seen. I think a certain expansive humility is necessary when poking at these questions.”

“Humility. Humility!” Tjumak roared with mock outrage. “Expansive humility, says the woman who opposes the Archive and the consensus of the whole world, and seeks to resurrect an ancient biosphere from the dead! While remaking an alien one to boot!”

“You can be ambitious and humble at the same time,” Sirrek said. “It just means you set your sights high, but aren’t surprised when you fuck everything up.”

Tjumak laughed sharply. “You’re a good sparring partner,” he said. “Koridek always gets annoyed with me when I try to start an argument, and Ardhat has learned to ignore me. It’s good to have a new face around.”

And for the rest of the evening, that’s all Sirrek thought their conversation was--a verbal wrestling match for Tjumak, a way for him to sharpen his wits, and get to know Sirrek at the same time. But later that night, as she was brewing a cup of bitterstalk tea to take to bed with her, she saw a dull glow from Tjumak’s lab, when his monitors were usually all dark, and he was asleep. She went to the door, thinking to say goodnight, but paused when she got there. His back was turned to her, and he was looking at the image on his monitor, the one that showed the ghostly outline of runners and hunters, of the ones that long ago had died, and the ones that long ago had killed. He seemed to be staring at it, intently, one finger tapping slowly on the side of the display.

As she lay in bed waiting for sleep to overtake her, it occurred to her that Tjumak’s cynicism was just as much a kind of protection as his support equipment. It was his armor against the world, and the fears of his own heart. She didn’t doubt his commitment to the project. She did not doubt the commitment of a man who had exiled himself indefinitely to the loneliest place in the world. But he understood, perhaps, that he was responsible for the world he hoped to create. Maybe it was right that it should keep them all up at night from time to time.

#tanadrin's fiction

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xparadisexlostx · 3 years

Text

Palaemon

So this is a ficlet I’ve been working on for a while now. I don’t know if it’s really going to go anywhere, but I’ve worked on the first chapter, editing and deleting shit for a while and while I have some issues with it, I wanna post it just because of all the work I’ve put into it.

This story will have some body gore/mutilation, and especially as it goes on just elements of things that are Not Ok (and I mean that in a SHIELD brought Coulson back to life against his will and I fully believe they do shady/potentially immoral experiments way).

I have a whole profile for Winnie that I’ll link when I find it lmfao.

“Data log six-four-seven. Project name: Palaemon. This is project head Dr. Winifred Fletcher.” She wanted to make her voice a monotone over the recording, but as she passed the guards at the entry point and headed up the drive she could feel a shiver of fear crawl up her spine that caused an unconscious little quiver in her tone. It’d been a long time since she’d personally done any field documentation. Years, even. Back when she’d been young and zealous and determined to make a name for herself at SHIELD. Now she had dozens of low-level researchers and new hires in those same shoes she had been, eager to run headfirst into danger if it meant getting her approval. She didn’t have time to deconstruct how she felt about that. SHIELD had always kept her too busy.

She pressed the button on her recording device again. “It is May twenty first two-thousand-and-fourteen. I have been called in to assess a scene at cite three-nine-nine. All seven agents deployed are active participants in Palaemon and were last administered compound HDR 3-00-1 six days ago: the fifteenth of May, two-thousand-and-fourteen. All participants were cleared by medical staff before deployment two days ago, with no unusual side-effects documented during examination.”

Her voice had returned to its normal, professional drone, but something was making her deeply uneasy.

She wasn’t afraid of death. She wasn’t even particularly afraid of pain. It wasn’t the dark gravel drive only illuminated by headlights, or the dilapidated building that leaned like its tired wooden bones might snap at any second that sent chills up her spine. Part of the lure of SHIELD was the thrill of danger, and the morbid, twisted curiosity that came from the unknown. She didn’t fear any external force… only herself and the consequences of her own actions.

Her foot pressed just a little too hard on the brake as she stopped, and it threw her roughly against the seatbelt, which locked like a retractable leash around the neck of an ill trained poodle. A little cough left her, and she groped blindly beside her for the gear shift before finally freeing herself of her bindings. She snatched a bag from the passenger seat and pushed open the door. Immediately the night air rushed around her, heavy and humid, clinging to her skin, laying on her chest, and making it harder to breathe. Cicadas were droning a loud, repetitive song in the trees around her, and by the time she began ascending the stairs to the porch, her heavy breathing had fallen in sync with the alien music.

There was a terrible smell coming from the house, like that of wasting fish and burned fat. And someone was crying. Soft piteous whimpers that turned into wails that escaped the cracks of the open windows. Winnie recognized the voice as Veronica Cooper---one of the field agents who had recently joined Project Palaemon. There were other voices, talking in soft, short sentences that she assumed were platitudes that would make the agent calm down, but she couldn’t quite make out the words. She did note, as she pulled on a pair of sterile gloves, that the attempts apparently failed. The crying only grew louder and more desperate.

She opened the half cracked door and felt a hard lump form in her throat. When the stench hit her eyes they immediately began to burn in their sockets. Directly inside the doorway, a dead agent was lying prone on the floor, his face straight down in a puddle brown vomit streaked with blood that, upon further investigation, appeared to be his own. His body was covered in bites and scratch marks, his shirt was ripped away to reveal a bloated stomach, and in his still clenched fists he was clutching shards of glass. Winnie looked around, her headlamp only illuminating fractions of the hall at a time, each just as bloody and horrific as the scene in front of her. She determined he must be holding onto the remnants of a light fixture that had been ripped forcefully from the ceiling. Wires were hanging from the hole, and directly below, the metal fixture had been discarded---it’s lightbulbs torn out. Why? The shards were too small to use as weapons. Perhaps he’d been holding onto the light as he was being attacked? Possible. But…

From her bag she produced a tongue depressor as she knelt down by the body. Carefully, she pulled back his lips as best she could. Shards of glass glittered in the bright light of her head lamp. They were deeply embedded in his gums and crushed between his teeth. He’d been eating them when he died. That possibly explained the vomit. But what could possess a man to do something like that?

“Doctor Fletcher?” A man’s voice called. An agent she didn’t know. She heard Cooper screech and then begin to violently sob. The old, thin floors shook as the vibrations from the other room carried down the hall. That same male agent swore, and there was a scraping sound of wood on wood as if someone had run into a table or a chair. She was going to have to make her assessment of the dead wait until she had dealt with the living.

Winnie carried on down the hall, gingerly stepping over and around everything she could. Blood was smeared along the peeling remnants of wallpaper. And there were no lights except for that which came from her flashlight. Fixtures were ripped out of the ceiling, and there was a lamp on the floor that had been violently shattered with three disembodied, mangled fingers laying in the wreckage. She passed the dining room, her light just barely illuminating three mutilated figures. Each with swollen stomachs and eyes that had been torn from their sockets. They had fallen close to the entryway, each with a single bullet hole in their heads. But she couldn’t stop to observe them the way she wanted to.

By the time she reached the living room, Cooper’s wailing was so loud it made her ears ring. There was no light at all coming from the doorway, and she frowned. Her confusion didn’t last long. The second she stepped into the room, headlamp blazing, Veronica Cooper began to screech and howl like a wild animal. She was handcuffed, but it still took two other agents to restrain her. They were trying to keep hold of her arms while a third agent was attempting to put a blanket over her completely nude upper half.

“Will you cut that fucking lamp off?!” One of the agents hissed as Veronica bit into his arm like a rabid animal. Blood began to bubble out of the wound and dribble through Cooper’s parted lips before the third agent managed to forcibly pry her jaw off.

The doctor hesitated for a moment, needing to get at least a preliminary glance at the agent Cooper. She looked much like the dead bodies in the dining room. Her stomach was heavily bloated, and one of her eyes was missing from its socket. Claw marks and bites were all over her exposed upper body, and her hand was missing three fingers that Winnie assumed matched those she’d seen in the hall.

She turned off the headlamp.

Immediately Cooper went from a raving wild woman, to a crumpled, sobbing creature. When the blanket was brought back to her, she didn’t resist. At least not that Winnie could see. Granted, she couldn’t see much. The only light in the room came from a trickle of moonlight that snuck its way through the torn curtains.

“Agent Cooper.” The doctor stepped forward blindly. It didn’t draw any visible or audible response from the agent. “Agent Cooper, can you understand me? It’s Doctor Fletcher. Can you tell me what happened?”

No response.

One of the agents restraining her chimed in. “When we arrived at the house Agent Cooper and three others were alive. Cooper was in the hall, and we managed to restrain her. I heard crying coming from the downstairs bathroom. There was also gurgling and---running water. No one responded when I called out for them, but when I stepped into the room and they saw my headlamp, they started screaming. I ran, thinking I could calm them down or find some way to restrain them if I could get back to the other agents, but they pinned me down in the dining room, and Tillman and Renolds were forced to open fire. When the scene was secured we attempted to speak to Agent Cooper, but she was confused. She hasn’t said much aside from ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘please’ or ‘water.’”

She nodded and bit the inside of her cheek. “And the others? This was a seven man team. We’re missing two agents.”

“We searched the house and the two exterior buildings but they were clear. Best guess is when things got weird they bolted.”

“Or they did this to them and fled the scene.” The man who had been bitten growled. He was holding onto Veronica with a vice grip now. She couldn’t see him properly, but the way the poor girl’s shoulder was awkwardly raised while the rest of her shadowy form slumped lifelessly toward the floor was proof of his tight hold on her. “We got a search team out in the forest looking for the-shit!”

Fletcher saw his shadow contort awkwardly as he tried to maintain his grip and distance himself from Veronica all at once.

“Jesus fuck-Renolds grab her. Grab her!”

“What--why? You’ve-”

There was a thud as the agent dropped her completely and stepped back. “She’s licking the blood off my fucking arm!”

“Water.” Agent Cooper was hoarse from all her screaming, and there was desperation in her tone. The men shuffled awkwardly as Veronica attempted to get closer to the bleeding man again. “Please! Water!”

“Can’t you give her something?”

“No.” Fletcher said, her response automatic. She wasn’t sure what was turning faster, her mind or her stomach. But she knew that they couldn’t give Veronica anything. Not yet. “There’s a medical transport outside parked behind me. They’ve been instructed on what to do, but ride with them back to HQ and help them keep her contained. Afterwards my staff will assess any injuries you have and release you back to your duties.”

There was a long silence.

She was glad it was dark. If her light was still on, she would have likely seen disgust on their faces. It was on hers. Here she was denying Veronica even the slightest semblance of peace. It was callous at best, and unforgivably monstrous at worst. But HDR 3-00-1 was one of the most bizarre drugs she’d ever worked with and these were their first human trials. Any drug, even a mild sedative, could interfere with accurate lab results. As soon as she’d been given a full examination, her team would give her the best care SHIELD could offer. Fletcher would make sure of it.

One of the men cleared his throat. “The search party will radio you directly if they find anything.”

The agents had to carry Veronica out of the house. She fought them all the way down the hall, but once she saw the light of the med-transport there was no containing her agonized screams. When her cuffs were released she began clawing at her own face, and when the agents pulled them away, she fought them like a wild animal. One of the med staff caught a foot in the jaw as they laid her onto the metal gurney and pulled the straps up to restrain her. Even after one of the men pulled off his jacket and draped it across her face to blot out the light, she continued to howl and buck against the restraints, nearly tipping the gurney onto the ground. The last thing she heard as they pulled the doors shut was Veronica Cooper’s raspy, haggard voice begging for water.

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