#theme: time travel

[merlinfic]

Find Me In The Future

Author: Malus_sieversii

Rating: T

Setting: Canon AU

Word Count: 97,706

WARNINGS: Violence

Summary: 

A few months after Morgause and Morgana's failed coup, Arthur is doing his best to run the kingdom; Gwen is caring for Uther, a broken man, confined to his chambers; and Merlin is still juggling three jobs as manservant, physician's apprentice, and secret guardian angel to a seemingly oblivious prince. As all three grapple with the reverberations of Morgana's betrayal and look anxiously towards the future, the future comes to them in the form of Arthur and Merlin from a decade later, accidentally plopped into their past. Together, they set out to return the pair to their proper place in time, confronting mistakes, secrets, and an unexpected peek into what the future holds. Featuring teasing, arguing, crying, roughhousing, more teasing, innuendo, and a sneaky little horse named Hengreon, join this cast of confusingly named characters for an attempt at humor that became a harrowing emotional journey featuring: Arthur, Uther, Arthur, Merlin, Merlin, Gwen, Gwaine, Gwyn?!, Morgana, and Morgause.

Reader’s Comments: This was such an amazing read, featuring Merlin and Arthur from 10 years in the future showing up on the doorstep of Merlin and Arthur around the beginning of season 4, there are revelations about feelings and magic and all that jazz, plus bonus morgwen! Very very cute and plot-heavy in a good way as the future M&A struggle to get back to their own time.

Thanks to @merthurmagic for sending in this rec!

#other: readers recs #merlin fic rec #merthur fic rec #rating: t #90k100k #setting: camelot #relationship: established #theme: time travel #merlin: court sorcerer #theme: magic reveal #theme: arthur knows #merlin: powerful #poprec: bamf!merlin #arthur: smart #arthur: powerful #relationship: get together #theme: fluff #theme: angst #~ #mod danielle

[finalfantasyfics]

FFVII: Time Range 1.3

Summary: Zack lives.

Ship: Roche/Cloud

Additional Info: Asexual Roche, Cloud doesn't join AVALANCHE, Manipulation

Originally posted here

XxX

At this point, Cloud had tried a little bit of everything. Sometimes he even thought he'd gotten it right, but inevitably something came up and ruined his hard work. Now he thought he was mostly going through the motions of saving the planet, knowing that the timeline would reset eventually, anyway.

He'd come back towards the end of Zack's year on the run, which gave him limited choices on what to do. Of course he'd save Zack, that was a given (even if he decided to pretend to not be as recovered as he was), but he was too late to save Sephiroth or his friends. Too late for Nibelheim.

Instead they lost the infantry tail and snuck into Midgar. Zack insisted on staying together the first few days, but after that Cloud reasoned with him that splitting up, "temporarily," would make them less obvious. The first few times, he hadn't been able to let Zack out of his sight and been fine to feed into his codependence, but he'd come to realize cutting the cord sooner was healthier for them both.

Plus, Zack had Aerith to get to, the one motivation that could sway him away from Cloud's side.

Zack would soon take up what had been Cloud's place as the muscle AVALANCHE needed for now, something that still made him feel just a touch bitter every time it happened. Even though Tifa was a part of Cloud's childhood, she and Zack would inevitably run into each other in the slums and recognize the significance of it, she'd invite him back to Seventh Heaven and find out he was planning on becoming a mercenary, and everything would fall into place from there.

If Cloud took some slight solace in the fact that somehow he had fit in better, that in all the timelines Zack was merely friendly with Jesse, Biggs, and Wedge but never actual friends, he supposed he had a right. Maybe he'd stolen parts of Zack's identity, that first run through (or second, really, even if he only knew bits and pieces from the timeline before), the other had been dead.

He'd never begrudge Zack living, though, had even spent a few timelines focused just on him--keeping him happy and safe, keeping him away from trouble. There was one he'd just ducked into Midgar long enough to grab Aerith then convinced her and Zack to run off together for a happy life. Aerith had, at that point, known just enough of the timelines to accept a break.

This time, while Zack was going through the motions that fate always liked to see, Cloud had to figure out how to access ShinRa. Hojo was still around, which meant he had to keep under Science's radar.

He realized there was one person he could trust to get him access without anyone blinking an eye, though he hadn't run into him in a few lifetimes. It took a little while to setup, getting money from caches and accounts he knew of from previous lives, buying a bike and fixing it up, getting above plate where all the suburban kids were fixing for a thrill and had the open space for racing.

Roche was unmistakable. And exactly the same, just as he always was, even in the lives when he couldn't become a SOLDIER.

And, as with almost every time they met, Cloud caught Roche's attention easily. At least this time, he wanted it.

With contacts dimming the mako glow in his eyes and an outfit that was more fitting for racing than reminiscent of a SOLDIER, Cloud only felt slightly vulnerable in his presence.

"My friend, the heights we have reached this night!" Roche sighed in near-sexual pleasure, his arm around Cloud's shoulders as he dragged him through the building.

Roche didn't actually want sex, Cloud knew, he wanted adrenaline highs and cuddling, which fit into Cloud's own preferences far too well. If anything, Roche probably did untoward things to his bike in private, but Cloud had carefully never confirmed that.

Instead, he was an easy in to the private SOLDIER floors, where the Thirds had their small apartments. Cloud could have slipped out, using the blind spots in the cameras to sneak through the building. He could have assassinated an enemy or two, grabbed some files, corrupted others, even gotten into someone's office and waited for the morning where he'd reveal to them something that would gain him their assistance.

This time, though, he slept, and woke in the morning before Roche's alarm. He let himself spend moments soaking up the human contact before he slipped into the studio's little bathroom and cleaned off with the unlimited hot water the building featured.

"My, my, what a lovely sight to wake up to, resplendent as the dawn!" Cloud huffed out a laugh, dropping a kiss on Roche's cheek as he slipped by.

"Left my number in your PHS. Text me."

And then he was gone, just another unauthorized one night stand a SOLDIER dragged home. He made Roche wait a week before agreeing to another race and they repeated the outcome, except he stayed long enough for Roche to drag him to the cafeteria a few floors up and introduce him to a few of the other SOLDIERS.

"What the hell do you see in Roche?" One asked him the third time he'd done the "morning after" meal surrounded by SOLDIERs. "You could do a lot better." And there was that hungry look Cloud had grown so used to, someone seeing a pretty young thing and deciding just what he was good for.

"He's silly," Cloud answered with a shrug, "and sweet. Better than most guys."

From there, he soon became "Roche's boyfriend." It wasn't hard to get a Regular Visitor's Pass, to become just another person in the background at ShinRa. Even easier to get Roche to let him "sight see" in parts of the building he wasn't authorized to see. No one paid them any mind, Roche was unpredictable and wild, but that made him oddly trusted in his own way.

It was only three months before he conveniently "ran into" Tseng in person, freezing at the sight of him and making the pained-confused-distressed expression of someone getting whammied with repressed memories. "Do I...know you?"

Tseng was startled, but Cloud only knew that because he was so familiar with him after so many years.

They were interrupted by some SOLDIERs, who pressured Cloud into a VR session that was almost tortuously hard for Cloud because he had to hide his enhancements. He knew Tseng would be watching that, might be watching him a lot after, and he kept on good behavior.

"Cloud Strife," Tseng greeted him, the next time they "ran" into each other, too conveniently alone in an area that got very little foot traffic. "We need to speak."

"We are speaking," Cloud pointed out, eyebrows raised, and was unsurprised when he found himself herded into a bare, unused office nearby.

Tseng would know he'd been in Hojo's care, that he'd escaped with Zack, and that Zack was hanging out with terrorists. Beyond that, well, Cloud had a lot of time to think of what to fill in the gaps with, and couldn't wait to see what expressions he managed to force out of Tseng.

#ffvii fic #ship: roche/cloud #fandom: ffvii #theme: time travel

[mneiaifics]

Throne of Glass: Biding Time, Chapter 1

Originally Posted October 17, 2019 on AO3

Summary:

At first, there was peace--the day was saved, the evil defeated, the bright future shining ahead of them--but peace could not last in a world so broken. And Dorian is sent back decades earlier, to just before his world of glass starts to shatter, to fix what is already long lost. Post Kingdom of Ash Time Travel AU

Ships: Erawan | Duke Perrington/Dorian Havilliard, Kaltain Rompier/Dorian Havilliard, Aedion Ashryver/Dorian Havilliard, King of Adarlan & Dorian Havilliard, Chaol & Dorian Havilliard.

Warnings: Dark, Character Bashing, PTSD, Cannibalism, Character Death, Possession, Manipulation, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Bigotry

XX

Dorian awakens to the familiar, horrible chiming of the clocktower's bells. He lies in bed, heart racing, trying to convince himself it's just some bad dream.

For the bed is one he recognizes, one that hasn't existed in years. The same with the room around him. The same, he knows, if he looks out the window towards the clocktower he can feel, pushing sluggishly against his magic. And the glass palace that is surely there, as well.

Fix this, Hollin had said, staring at him with horrifying black eyes that Dorian knew weren't from possession. You ruined it all, so you'll be the one to fix this.

His brother had killed himself, then, adding his blood to their mother's, activating the last of the wyrdmarks he'd carved. There had been no time to stop it, no time for Dorian to use his magic to prevent...whatever it was.

And now he was here. In a younger body. In an earlier time period.

Guards rushed into the room and he flinched, barely refraining from reaching out with invisible hands to push them back out. These, he reminded himself, were not the possessed guards that eventually filled the buildings and grounds. These were Chaol's men.

"My prince! We heard a shout!"

Dorian blinked at them, before taking a deep breath, shaking his head. "It was nothing, just a bad dream."

That explanation didn't seem to satisfy them, but they left. And he, seeing the rays of sunlight beginning to reach through the horizon, slid out of the bed.

He spent long moments running his hands over the clothing in his wardrobe, styles he no longer wore, fashions that had not been seen in years. After choosing what he thought was a neutral enough outfit, he hurried out, heading straight towards the library.

First, he'd find all of the books on wyrdmarks he could and bring them back to his rooms, hide them among his collection so they were unnoticeable. Then he had a sword to collect.

And then--he paused, eyes going up towards his father's rooms--and then he had to decide what he would do about the Valg. About his father and Erawan.

After seeing Yrene do it, Dorian knew he could burn out the prince within his father, but Erawan...he wasn't so sure. Not when the Valg king still had two of the keys in his possession. And if he took out the prince in his father without taking care of Erawan, it would give too much warning.

Already there were experiments being done. Already there were forces being gathered.

He'd dropped the books off in his room, the ones he could find, and was on his way towards the room that would be Aelin's in another life when a page caught up to him. "My prince," the boy murmured, bowing, and motioning towards the glass castle. "Your father is...concerned by your absence."

Dorian mentally cursed as he followed the boy back towards the castle and the council meeting he'd overlooked. As king he'd set his own schedule and would not have forgotten such a thing, but as prince he was still at the mercy of his father's often abrupt planning.

Or, abrupt-seeming. He had no way of knowing how many of these were scheduled to distract them all of them from what the Valg were doing.

Duke Perrington was there, just the sight of him, even as innocuously human-seeming as he was, set Dorian on edge. He had to clamp down on the untrained magic stirring in this body, on the expression of distaste he wanted to make.

"So kind of you to join us," his father ground out in reprimand as Dorian took his seat.

It was only halfway through the meeting, as they began to wind through a report on wine exports, that Dorian realized what meeting this was. Of course Hollin would send him to this exact moment.

When his father announced his 'need' for a Champion, Dorian felt a sinking in his stomach. He glanced up, accidentally catching Perrington's gaze, and for a moment he swore he could see the gold lurking behind the black.

XX

Original Author's Notes:

I just love time travel fics lol I feel like I should specify (if the summary didn't do so) that this is Dorian attempting a fix-it not for what happens in the books, but for the dark future that comes after all of the dust settles. Because the world is REALLY fucked up by that point and it's hard to imagine all they needed to do was kill two Valg and suddenly everything is going to be puppies and sunshine. Anyway, also you should heed that this is DARK. Dorian already has a pretty massive amount of PTSD and shit to deal with at the end of the series and he's coming off of a bunch more awful stuff happening, so he's gonna be a little OOC. The actual events, the details and stuff, of his past (post canon until he gets sent back) will come out as the story progresses. And anyone who knows my ASOIAF fics and my obsession with Starks having Other blood can already guess that this is going to do a lot of delving into Dorian (and Hollin) having Valg blood and what that means for them. This will update infrequently and just a warning but I'm not sure I'll finish because this isn't really my fandom.

#title: biding time #ship: erawan/dorian #ship: kaltain/dorian #ship: king of adarlan & dorian #ship: chaol & dorian #theme: valg dorian #theme: time travel #theme: dark #theme: valg lore #type: multichapter #fandom: throne of glass

[abyssal-glory]

I love you angry characters I love you revenge arcs I love you protagonists who kill people and don’t feel bad about it I love you manipulative heroes I love you gray morals I love you terrifying protagonists I love you characters who hold boiling grudges I love you characters who reveal that their perceived harmlessness was just patience the whole time I love you stories about atonement and rage and vengeance that don’t end in forgiveness or guilt I love you stories that explore the healing power of incandescent rage

#my blorbos have been Themed lately #i love you meme #nox talks #this is at least partially abt nie huaisang yes. but also just these things in general #time travel aus are also big purveyors of these kinds of protagonists

[fourth-dimensional-thinker]

Back to the Future + excerpts from "Keeping Up With Teen-Agers"

#back to the future #bttf #marty mcfly #george mcfly #lorraine baines #i #so I'm working on another project that has nothing to do with bttf #and I found the pamphlet while doing research #I wasn't even thinking about the movies at the time #but when I was reading it #there were some familiar themes #and I got inspired #the generational gaps between family is an under-discussed aspect of bttf #there's a lot of posts about Marty's switch from Twin Pines to Lone Pines #but rarely do we talk solely about the Twin Pines McFlys outside of time travel #I get some feelings from it

[blueskittlesart]

FINALLY finished my acnh island and set up my dream address so i drew my map to celebrate!! it's an urban/city theme and took me over 2 years to fully finish :)

bonus screenshots of some of my fav areas/builds:

#can you tell that i was super indecisive about the theming. lol. personal fav is the random persona 5 build in the middle of it all #also yes i am part of the 1% of the population that still diligently plays acnh #we arent going to talk about how much time traveling went into this build tho #personal

[nicolloyd]

i want ninjago to have a time travel episode to season 1 and reuse the weekend whip intro with no changes whatsoever same animation same designs same everything and then we could have the old recaps too and i think it would confuse everyone and it would make me extremely happy

#ninjago #plz dabble in time travel again i loved that shit icl #i love it when tv shows change the intro for that 1 episode just to match the theme.. btw i took inspiration from ducktales 17 for this

[bewuvved]

the lgbt community has not forgiven brennan lee mulligan

#dimension 20 #fantasy high junior year #for legal reasons this is a joke #obviously ayda will be back because time quangle #there better be a cute time travel themed letter or gift every episode mulligan or else

[citizenoftmrrwlnd]

stimboard : of tomorrowland, magic kingdom pre recent modifications for myself, being very self-indulgent since i've been real stressed lately! decided to make some gifs of tomorrowland... i think i'm going to make one of these for each land eventually!

x | x | x x | x | x x | x | x

#💫stim #💫for me #💫red line | skipping the queue #disneykin #disney kin #theme park kin #theme park stim #disney parks stim #fictionkin stimboard #fictionkin #alienkin #alien kin #androidkin #android kin #robotkin #robot kin #spacekin #space kin #time traveler kin #kin care #kin stuff #disney parks #tomorrowlandkin #tomorrowland kin #tomorrowland disney

[merlinfic]

Again & again & again

Author: Purpletyrex

Rating: M

Setting: Canon AU, Post 5x13

Word Count: 166,296 (WIP)

WARNINGS: Violence, Major Character Death

Summary: 

The world is falling apart, plastic is flooding the seas and there is almost no magic left. Merlin has been hanging on by a thread when he meets a weird stranger who tells him that he will be given one more chance to fix what went wrong the first time around.

It turns out saving the world, or Arthur, is a lot harder than it seems.

Reader’s Comments: Its a slow burn, fix it story in which Merlin goes back in time. I would love for more people to read it!

Thanks to @purpletyrex for sending in their fic!

#other: readers recs #merthur fic rec #merlin fic rec #rating: m #post5.13 #canonau #100k> #theme: time travel #theme: slow burn #theme: angst #merlin: immortal #relationship: get together #merlin: depressed #~ #mod danielle

[finalfantasyfics]

FFVII: Time Range 1.2

Summary: Time travel AU. An alternate Nibelheim breakout.

Ships: Zack & Cloud, Vincent & Cloud

Originally posted here.

XxX

Waking up in a mako tank was never a pleasant experience, even less so when the memories of the past (present?) poured into him and informed him exactly where he was.

When he was told he'd be sent back in time, he wasn't expecting this. He'd hoped, foolishly, it would be years earlier, in time to save his mother, and Sephiroth, and many others.

He hadn't expected it to be soon after Hojo had given up on him, declaring him a failed specimen and leaving.

Him and Zack.

Breaking out was hard, even though he had been sent back as he would be and not as he was, the extra strength from his dips in the Lifestream still within him. Harder, perhaps, because he kept being distracted by memories.

His own memories, clear and whole. He had double vision type ones where his and Zack's overlapped, he had unexpected ones of missions with Turks or other SOLDIERs he hadn't gotten from Zack's copied memories. Two years of Midgar that Tifa could never give him that he wanted to cling to and relive, wanted to exalt in until he knew every little detail.

But he couldn't, not yet. He had to save Zack.

"Get up, Chaos, you asshole, we've got a Calamity to stop," he shouted into the coffin room, figuring the entity would know what Cloud was, if not have memories of him.

But when the lid flew back and Vincent sat up, he was staring at him. "Cloud?"

His own response caught in his throat as he realized this was Vincent, his Vincent, and who was more perfect to have here with him than the other person who knew first hand not only what it was like to be one of Hojo's experiments, but also the constant fear of having himself subsumed by another, foreign presence within him.

"Vincent, we need to get out of here. I've got Zack, he's recovering but it's sooner than it was before, he's still out of it."

Without needing to say another word, Vincent assisted with taking out the security they needed to worry about while Cloud fetched clothing for him and Zack. His hands hovered over the SOLDIER uniforms for a long moment, before he reluctantly dug around for civilian gear, instead. The uniforms hadn't saved them before and he'd take anonymity over the slight protection of the armored pieces for now.

He did still pack two in the bags he found for their supplies, though. Vincent didn't comment on the show of nostalgia (he knew he had no room to, not with that cape of his making it through so many years).

Zack was awake enough to walk as they set out, bundled in the best winter gear despite his protests about Cloud's well being.

"This is nothing, jungle boy," Cloud joked, though he knew he'd be suffering if he weren't so augmented.

Sometimes, when he caught Vincent watching from the shadows, he could feel the weight of his opinion: that they should find a safe place to stash Zack and go on their own, that a normal SOLDIER like Zack would slow them down. Cloud pretended he didn't understand and Vincent let him.

Three nights out and Zack, pressed against Cloud to share warmth, brushed his lips against his ear and whispered, "There's someone following us."

For a moment, Cloud almost panicked, and then he realized that was impossible--yes, people could find them, but to follow them when Vincent was the one keeping watch?

Except Zack hadn't seen Vincent, yet.

"Vincent," Cloud called in the direction he could feel Chaos and moments later he was there, causing Zack to pull away and go for the Buster Sword, putting himself between them. "It's fine, Zack, he's a friend. He was...he was there, too, in the labs." Technically true, which Reno would claim is the best sort of truth.

That relaxed Zack only a little. "And he's been following us this whole time?"

"He's been with us. You've just been out of it, so we thought it better if he didn't come too close."

Zack shifted so he could see both of them, frowning. "When did you have time to get so buddy-buddy?"

Cloud met Vincent's eyes and they had a silent conversation over a few seconds before turning their attention back to Zack. "A lot of weird shit happens when scientists mess around with alien parasites and demons, Vincent and I already knew each other before I broke out and got him."

"Alien what?"

Distracted by a thorough explanation of what Jenova was and a far less thorough explanation of what Hojo had done to Cloud, Zack didn't pry for more details about Vincent.

They decided to leave Zack in Cosmo Canyon (with Nanaki, where he could hopefully protect him if necessary) and promised to bring Aerith to him--he was former First Class, more recognizable, Cloud reasoned with him, whereas Cloud could pull off being some nobody Third if it came down to it.

When Zack pointed out that Vincent looked like the villain in some off-Loveless play, Vincent had simply said, "On Loveless Ave, surely," and made Zack jump because he hadn't realized he was there, proving their point.

Then they started towards Midgar in truth, working through what must currently be happening and what they needed to change. It wasn't the best case scenario, Jenova and Sephiroth would still be out there, Deepground was too far along not to be an issue, but it was better than what they'd had.

They'd make sure of that.

#ffvii fic #theme: time travel #fandom: ffvii #ship: vincent & cloud #ship: zack & cloud

[beamattack]

boyz & girlz of octopath traveler II

(ko-fi)

#octopath traveler 2 #octopath traveler II #osvald v. vanstein #hikari ku #temenos mistral #partitio yellowil #throné anguis #agnea bristarni #castti florenz #ochette #i spent way more time on the girls than the boys but I DIDN'T MEAN TO. i just had a harder time with the girls lmao #anyway. castti looks like she haven't slept for 3 days and that's because i was listening to her theme on repeat and it makes me emo

[chaotic-minds-think-alike]

Our little dance soon became a losing battle. ---

I heard this audio on tiktok and had to make something inspired off of it

#myart #rainworld #rainworld iterator #iterator oc #iterator #ummm something about how this was before he got betrayed and brainwashed #he was legitimately invested in the ancient's religion (even if part of it was just because the aesthetics) #I really wanted to put more karma flower imagery because he works with plants but it didnt look great so I settled with the running #spotlight theme I had going on #I dont really imagine him having a huge role in his colony's religion but more of just a guy to talk to and vent to about it #if travel puppets were a thing at the time he would've walked among his citizens #also imagining he would've been painted or depicted with karma flowers at the time #he doesnt have the majority of his decor anymore due to the fact that it unnerves Eight and he wants to respect that

[steddieunderdogfics]

For the time travel/time loop fic recs: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54162271/chapters/137139502

It’s a WIP so hopefully that’s okay, but it is a universe/time jumping AU that is SOOOO good. @thisapplepielife never misses!

All Across The Universe by thisapplepielife

@thisapplepielifeepielife

Rating: Explicit

77,898 words, 8/16 chapters

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Tags: Post-Season/Series 04, Post-Stranger Things 4 Vol. 2, Canon Divergence, Steve Harrington-centric, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Eddie Munson Lives, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Tripping through history, Using real History but fictitiously, Tripping Through Time, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Wishes, Time Travel Fix-It, Time Travel, Time slip, Blundering Through History, Time Keeps On Slipping Slipping Slipping Into The Future, Or Into The Past, Time Isn't Picky, Historical References, Historical Inaccuracy, Platonic Soulmates Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Gareth & Eddie Munson Are Best Friends, Minor Canonical Character(s), Revolving Door of Characters, Mixed Media

Summary:

Steve Harrington knows this world isn't permanent. They never are. He blinks into existence, brand new and disoriented. He might not know where he is, or when, but he knows he's searching for something, for someone, as he's called on and on, all across the universe. He always finds him. Eddie.

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Theme Weekend. The theme this weekend is Time Loops & Time Travel.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

#steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #theme weekend #time travel #canon divergence #hurt/comfort #fix it

[insomniamamma]

Threefold: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

A/N: I am still working on my kiss prompts for @yearofcreation2023. Yeah yeah. I know we are well into 2024. But I am determined to finish these prompts. The prompt for this fic is "Kiss as a lie." This does not connect to any of my other Prospect fics, even though some terms may overlap. Enemies to reluctant allies. Reader is disabled and relies on body mods to assist her breathing. This one really got away from me. like 6K away from me.

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of injuries and medical procedures. Alcohol and drug consumption. Vomiting. Smut but nothing super graphic. Mentions of bodily fluids. This is not my usual Ezra. He is a shit in this one.

 “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t splatter your brains all over this bar.” You jam your thrower into the curls at Ezra’s nape. You watch him in the bleared bar mirror, watch the color drain from his face even as he smiles, starts to turn his head and you dig the barrel of the thrower in deeper, feel your finger tightening involuntarily, your need for vengeance vying with your need for satisfaction, for some sort of answer for what he did, finger curls slightly and releases again, Kevva knows you never expected to see him again, Kevva knows—something cold jams beneath the angle of your jaw and you snap back into the present. The bar mirror shows a slight girl with a halo of pale hair and thundercloud eyes, a small, freckled wisp.  “Put it down,” her voice is soft and steady, “I don’t want to hurt you but I will.”   “Well if this isn’t quite the predicament,” says Ezra, “How but you ease up on the trigger and we talk this out like civilized folk.”  “Your time for talk ended five stands ago,” Your eyes flick towards the bleary girl in the bar-back mirror, “I don’t know what he promised you, kid, but he’ll fuck you over the second it makes sense. You’re what, fifteen stands? When he ditches you on some no-name moon what’re you gonna do?” The barrel digs deeper into the flesh at your neck. Ezra says your name, not darlin or kitten or sweetheart or any of the slew of names he gave you down on The Green, but the one you told him, the one he murmured against the sweaty column of your throat while you arched beneath him, quivered around him, felt like a blessing from his lips as he spilled fever hot inside you.  “I did you wrong,” says Ezra, “You weren’t the first and you certainly weren’t the last, and, if I’m being honest, I did not think on you overmuch—“ The little girl in the warped mirror shakes her head--  “Ez--“ You feel the gun held against your throat tremble.  “But these past stands have not been kind,” says Ezra, “To either of us, I imagine.” His eyes flick up towards your reflection and you know exactly what he sees, and how could he not? Paired auto-breathers clipped to your collarbones, metal and plastic welded to meat in an a scarred seal, ports that can be used for a filter-hookup with the right adapters.  “So what? That’s the Fringe, isn’t it? That’s what you told me then—“  “How, exactly, do you imagine this plays out?” says Ezra, “You kill me, she kills you. Both of us dead here on the deck-plating and what’s the point of it? Revenge? Satisfaction?” You dig the barrel of your thrower into the meat at the nape of his neck, even as his girl shoves her weapon tighter against the angle of your jaw.  “Or let’s say I kill you,” Ezra purrs, and you become aware of a buzzing, like a neglected data pad with incoming message against your inner thigh, but that doesn’t make sense, data pad’s in your left breast pocket and he grins in the mirror, flick your eyes down and damned if he doesn’t have a laser scalpel pressed into the meat of your leg, blood corona already spreading, “Think you can make the shot before I clip your femoral artery? You didn’t crawl out of Bakhroma’s well to bleed out in this dive, did you?”  “Damn you, Ezra. You owe me. You left me to die down there.”  “I did indeed, and if you ease off the trigger for a tick, I can offer your recompense.You think it’s an accident? You and me nested into the same ring? Show her, Cee.”  “Ez, I don’t think-“  “Show her. And I’ll get us some drinks. I think a toast may be in order.”

“You know what we need to do, when we meet up with the others, right?” You cling to him despite the sticky heat of the tent, air thick and heady with the smell of sex, his come smeared between your bellies as you lay half atop him, head on his chest, his arm curled around your shoulder.  “I stay on one,” you say, yawning, drifting as he traces aimless patterns up and down your arm, “You switch to two. Give them the talk. You fake a comms error and go for your channel box. You take the big one and I pick off the leader. The one with the red. Then we get,  we get out of here.” He squeezes you tight as sleep takes you, his heart slow and steady beneath your ear.

 Cee sighs, rolls her eyes, pulls her thrower off your throat.  “Fine,” she says, and reaches for a bag slung at her side. 

 Ezra hails his crew, and hiss of static on your ear when he switches to two, your thrower in hand, trained on the leader, brilliant red plast pauldron over his exosuit, waiting for the signal, for Ezra to go for his channel box, what is he waiting for? He looks animated, smiling through the fog of his helmet, this is wrong, you think, and he turns, thrower in hand and shoots and the world whites out for a tick, your leg collapses under you and when you lift your head there’s Ezra, tucking his thrower back into his holster, the press of his boot against your shoulder rolling you on your back from where you curled around yourself, broken nerves screeching around the path of cooked flesh just above your knee. You know what’s happened, but part of you can’t believe it—  “Help me!” You say, met by the hiss of an open channel, he grabs your trophy case and tosses it to his friend, the big man with the railer he was supposed to kill, leans in and reaches for you and for a moment you think this is all some mistake, something that can be made right and he wrenches your filter out of it’s clip, cuts the hose so it’s you and the dust laden atmosphere.  “Why?” You ask and know he won’t answer, makes a big pantomime of tapping his helmet and shaking his head. Your eyes scrim over with tears, the cooked nerves in your leg screaming a wordless anthem, “Please.” Ezra bows his head but still smiles, presses his gloved fingers to his helmet and  blows you a kiss , that’s the fringe, girl, even with comms cut you can make out the words, and then he turns away, walking off into the brush with his crew. 

 “Carom-burned pearl,” you say, mouth taking over while your brain runs wild, this gem is trash, sure, but the size— “So what?” You drop your thrower back to your hip without even thinking on it. Impossible to tell the quality with the membrane half-burned into the surface, but still—  “Don’t play stupid.” says Cee, “You were on The Green. You know what you’re lookin at.”  “I know that I am looking at a botched pull,” you say, “I’m also looking at a little girl who thinks she’s found a friend way out here in the ass-end of the Great Arm. Did he give this to you, spring-sprite? Spin you a tale of buried treasure? He promise you an even split—“  “60/40. My way. 16th per point garnishment to clear his debt,” she says, “Ezra works for me.”  You laugh, a real one deep from your belly and the intake fans, your intake fans whir faster to make up for the perceived oxygen debt, vibrations through your bones that you can’t seem to get used to even after all these stands,   “Oh, honey, I was gonna kill him, but now I don’t think I will. Think I’ll let you reap the consequences here. Me and Ez? We’re done.”  “It’s the Queen’s Lair,” says Ezra, and you stop cold, half-way up off of your stool, seep back down like your legs have forgotten themselves. “I know. I know you’ll never believe me, but we were there.”  “You just happened on it right? Just happened to drop right down in the place that every fool and their brother went hunting for on that Kevva-forsaken rock.”  “Not me,” says Ezra, “Cee’s father.”  “So why isn’t it him making the pitch?”  “He didn’t make it,” says Cee. And you nod. Spacer’s phrase for a constellation  of mishaps. A blown hull. A dust infection. An altercation in some shit station bar over points or pussy or any number of things. An invitation to not ask. “It wasn’t even really him that found it—“  “Cee—“  “My father was contracted to harvest for Karoclan. Group of mercs found the Lair by accident. Probably digging a shit-pit. We landed bad. By the time we made it to the site it was just me and Ezra, and things got complicated.”  “Complicated.”  “We had to fight our way out. We barely made the sling.”  “You couldn’t do the job,” you say, “And you know I can.”  “That’s not-“  “She never learned the trick and I was trying to cut the blisters weak-handed,” says Ezra, “That’s why we need you.”  “You went back there. Even after all you took from me. You could’ve gone somewhere better with your cut but you didn’t. You got addicted to the rush.”  “I did,” says Ezra.  “Me and Ezra and now you are the only people that know the Queen’s Lair is even real,” says Cee, “We go there, we get a good pull and we can live off it for years. Now that the line’s dead the value’s just gonna go up. We get the pearls and trickle them into the market—“  “How’re we gonna get there with the line dead? No one makes the BG sling anymore. They just route everything around Ikhar and—“  “Got a hot-jumper willing to take us for a cut.” Says Ezra, “We ride the line till just after the Ikhar sling and then unclip and burn. Gets us in orbit in 6 stand months.”  “Risky,” you say, tapping you index and middle fingers against your right breather, vibration passing from metal into bone, a nervous habit born out of a rerouted urge to scratch at the healing skin.  “Yeah. But if we do it right, if we play it smart, none of us will have to drop down some Kevva-shunned well for a hand of points ever again. We can have the lives that sharp-toothed bitch moon took from us.”  “Like you didn’t have a part in it—“ Ezra reaches across the sticky bar and folds your hand in his—

 He grabs you under the arms, woah there girlie, this is bad ground, yanks you back, so focused on the pull that you didn’t feel the ground shifting beneath you, grab your gear and hold it to your chest even as you’re pulled back from the rapidly forming sink-hole in the loamy dirt, draw your thrower and whirl on the stranger, your gear scattered all around your feet. Don’t fuckin touch me.  Is that anyway to talk to someone who just saved your life? What’re you doing out here all alone anyway?   who says I’m alone?  You got crew? Raise ‘em on coms. Yeah that’s what I thought. Gonna get killed out here all alone.

 “I had every part in it,” says Ezra. “The breath of your lungs, Cee’s only living kin, and the arm from my own body. All victim to my greed and stupidity and short-sightedness. I used you and I duped you and robbed you and left you to die and Kevva rightly and thoroughly kicked my ass for it. If not for Cee I would have breathed my last in that forsaken jungle-“ You yank your hand away as if burned.  “You do not touch me,” you say, “We are not friends, we are not lovers. That part is over. Forever. We clear?”  “Clear,” says Ezra, that infuriating little half-smile crawling up his cheek, “That mean you’re in?”  “Maybe.”

 Didn’t realize how loud those fans were gonna be.  Maybe you’d like me to suffocate about it.     Does she ever turn that player off?  Do you ever turn your breathers off?  Not the same.  To her it is.

 What’s with you and her? You aren’t kin. You said you cost her only kin. In that pretty speech you gave me so I wouldn’t shoot you.  That is a complicated and lengthy tale.  We’ve got time.

 “Ezra? I don’t like this.” Cee eyes the blue gel pack in her hand.  “Once the bolts release Jada’s gonna burn hard,” says Ezra, “She’s got mods to deal with the pain and sickness, but we don’t. If we don’t dope down, we’re gonna be in a world of hurt.”  “People’ve died,” you say, and Ezra shoots you a dark look that you give right back, “They go into shock sometimes. Don’t wanna risk that right?”  “It’s not addictive, if that’s what you’re worried about,” says Ezra, “We’ve got a sixteenth to take it and have it work. You go past that and it’s your choice, Little Bird.” Cee’s eyes flick from your face to his, and you wonder how you’ve slipped into caring for this girl, this orphan of Ezra’s making, how you became someone she’d look to in a place of indecision.   “I’ve never hot-jumped myself, but I was crew with a man who was on a prison transport that did,” you say, hoping the grain of truth in the story will be enough to get Cee to chomp down on that gel pack when the time comes. You heard the story second hand on over drinks on Leylan bench, but Cee doesn’t need to know that. “They didn’t bother doping down the prisoners. Guess they didn’t want to spend the points. Aggie said him and most of the others exploded from both ends. It wasn’t nice. Hallucinated on top of that if I remember right. Hot jump fucks with people.”  “Heard some of those tales myself,” says Ezra. “Jada’s a professional. She’s so modded up she can’t handle a drop down a well anymore. She wants her cut we’ve got to be her hands. It’s not in her interest to lead us wrong.”  “We got a sixteenth?”  “Yeah, but how bout we get ourselves secure and do it all together?”   “Okay,” says Cee. The three of your wordlessly prep, following the instructions Jada gave you on boarding. Wear something soft. No jewelry, nothing rigid. These, Jada had flicked a finger against Cee’s music player, are a no-go. The crash beds have plenty of give but I’ve seen people come out the other side with holes in em from fancy buttons on their pants. These gonna be a problem?  Jada eyed your breathers and poked at one with a questing finger. How long’ve you had em? Bout five stands. Should be fine then. Bone’s had time to remodel and deal with the extra mass. You’ll be sore though. You remove the ring your mother gave you before you left the well, remove the studs from your ears, don the softest clothes you have. Cee wears an over sized shirt with Puzo in his space suit, long, coltish legs and bare feet sticking out. Her toenails are painted an alarming sparkly green, and your heart squeezes a little. She may have shoved a thrower into your neck but she is still very much a little girl.   “We ready?”  “This is gonna taste bad isn’t it?”  “Most likely,” says Ezra, “We bite down on a three count, yeah?” Cee scrunches her face, tucks the gel pack into her cheek and you and Ezra do the same.  “Ready? One, two, three-“  “Oh that is nasty-“ says Cee. You crunch down and swallow the drug in a convulsive gulp, bitter medicinal taste beneath something that is supposed to taste like bananas. Not that you’ve ever seen or eaten one.  “That is just—wrong.” You feel sleep sucking at your bones, and you can hear the sound of the hot-jumper’s engine’s spooling up, a bright spike of anxiety tries to lodge itself in your chest, familiar whir of your breathers kicking up as your heart rate rises and then the drugs take you down. 

 Come to with a raging headache,  Ezra and Cee are already awake and at the controls.   “Here,” says Cee and tosses you a pack of stim-chews, “Just do one. It’ll kill the headache.” You crunch one, sickly fruit and bitter and you feel a little more alert, but not in a pleasant way, like remembering the last bits of a long and unpleasant dream, not sure exactly what happened, but there was blood and horror and pressure.  “Something happened—“  “That’s the drugs,” says Ezra, “Telemetry’s good. We’re right down the line. Five by. Took you a little longer to come out of it, that’s all.” You try to sit yourself up, and your pectoral muscles scream, your clavicles ache where the breathers are clipped to them. You must make some sound, because Ezra turns to look at you, those dark eyes locked on you and you want to slap that concerned face right off his skull—  “You okay?”  “Yeah. Gimme a minute. Jada said it would hurt.”   “Should’ve said something, Kitten, I would’ve gotten you a patch—“  “I’m not your kitten, and it’s not your business.”  “You’re right,” says Ezra, “it’s not my business. But we go hot in a sixteenth and I’ll need you sharp. You know what you need to do?”  “Do you?”  “How bout both of you shut up and focus on the drop,” says Cee, “You can fight it out once we’re clipped back in and bench-bound.”  “Fair enough, Little Bird,” says Ezra, “You take the conn, Cee. Your controls.”  “My controls,” echoes Cee.   “Where’s the pain?”   “Clavicles. Achy around the breathers. I don’t think anything’s fractured-“  “Here,” says Ezra. He hands you two pain patches. “Peel these and I’ll stick em.”   “Fine.” You open one patch and then the other, stick them to your fingertips and hold up your hand for Ezra to take them. Scoop your hair out of the way and Ezra smooths the gel-patch on to the join of your neck and shoulder.  “There you go. Let’s get the other side.” His hand lingers, brief and warm and before you can tell him not to touch you he withdraws. “That should keep you creamy until we’re dirt-side. Don’t be shy about takin what you need from the kit. Need you steady downworld, we clear?”  “Clear.”

 This feels nothing like a normal drop, not the warning alarm and dull thump of bolts retracting. Going hot means a hand of solid fuel boosters will push you screaming towards the Green Moon, igniting as soon as the clips let go, push you away from the hot-jumper without slowing, vibration shaking the dropper in a sick two part resonance that hurts your ears and churns your stomach—  “Oi! chute status” Lock your eyes on the jittering screens.  “Bolts are go. Drogues are go. We’re go.” You flip up the toggle guards and hold your fingers above the switches. The thrusters fire and the dropper rocks, flipping itself so the engines face down, watch the numbers on your screen go green and listen for the callouts—  “Heat shield sep!—“  “Tracking?”  “We’re clear! Go for drogue deploy on your mark—“ The switches vibrate beneath your fingers, you feel the vibrations in your skull, in your bones, strange resonance in your ears that churns your stomach, crush your eyes shut so you don’t have to see the way the screens jitter in and out of focus.   “That’s atmo—“ says Cee.  “Blow the drogues in 3..2…1…mark—“ You flip the toggles and lurch forward hard into your harness, and then back into your crash-couch as the landing burn starts. “Where we at—?”  “Transonic,” you say, numbers blearing green on the scope, “we’re green.”  Hook a bag from where its stickied to your seat and wretch into it, smell of fake chocolate half-digested Bitz-Bars and jump drugs. Grav and spin enough to fuck your inner ears, and the engines burn hard,   “Landing gear deploy—“ calls Cee. There’s a hard thump and you’re down and stable but your roiled stomach and pounding skull and tight neck betray you and you dry heave while the others gear up.  “Gimme a minute,” you say, pressing your eyes closed, trying to get some sort of control over yourself, “Haven’t done much well-work since— since—,” heave helplessly over the bag but nothing comes up, there’s nothing too come up. Ezra rests his hand your arm.   “Hey. Look at me—“ You try to lift your head, and the world starts spinning again, too much time station-side, too much time in the gentle, predictable spin of bench-rings, your body’s forgotten the suck of the world on your bones, on your blood on your lungs  “Can’t,” you crush your eyes shut, welcome dark nulling out some of your screaming nerves.   “Okay,” says Ezra in the roiling dark, “Okay, Baby, I need you to breathe real deep through your nose for me.”  “Not your baby—“  “I know,” he says, “Deep breath. Through your nose. One, two, three--“  You breathe in, left over bitz bar chunks making their presence known, irritation followed by something numbing and cool and slightly spicy, you stomach calms but sweat breaks out all over your body--  “Is this even gonna work?” Cee glares, hands on hips, mostly suited.  “Finish kitting up and start scouting the perimeter,” says Ezra, “Stay on two unless I tell you different. We’ll be out shortly.” Cee narrows her eyes, but does what she’s told, seals her helmet and clips her filter and steps through the hatch, brief breeze of equalizing pressure, scrubbers kicking up to deal with the dust as do the fans clipped into you. When the seals cycle Ezra hands you a styrette.   “This’ll kill the nausea. Also you won’t be able to shit for a half-hand or so. It’s intramuscular”  “I’ve given myself hot-shots before,” you slide your pants down and jab the styrette into the meat of your thigh. Ezra’s eyes flick away.  “Cee’s funny about chemical help,” says Ezra, “Her father was an addict you see. He’d dope down and then stim awake and it scares her so-“

 “Let’s just suit up and do the job,” you say, baring your back to Ezra so you can don the compression garments that go under your suit. The suit’s a custom-job to accommodate your breathers, filter clipped into a hose split and spliced three ways, clean air for your breathers to pass on to your dust-scarred lungs, and another than clips in to your helmet. Settle your mic-rig over your ear.  “Channel two how read?”  “Channel two clear,” says Cee.  “Two clear,” says Ezra, odd doubling of his voice through your rig and through your helmet. And then the channel goes dead. Hollow thump of Ezra’s fishbowl pressed against yours.   “Can we do a suit check right quick?” His voice muffled by his helmet and yours, “I think i’ve got it, but I’d like—“  “Turn around.”  “Cee usually—“   “I’ve got it.” He turns his back to you and you lift the loose fabric off the back seal, two twist catches with hook and loop for the outer seal. You tighten the right side catch and smooth everything else into place.  “Thank you,” he says, “You need checks?”  “No, I’m green.”  “They’re still here—“ Cee’s voice loud and overdriven through your rig and Ezra bolts for the hatch. You shove yourself into the nacreous light, Bakhroma hanging above, it’s curve spanning the sky like a diseased rainbow, pulsing through thick clouds and the endless fall of dust.   “They’re dead, Birdie! Look! They’re just bones in suits. They can’t hurt us, okay?” You turn your back on them. Cee’s breath loud and ragged on two.  “Okay,” says Cee, “M’okay—I just”  “What the Kevva be-cursed fuck?” A plast box rises out of the tall grass, curled around in flowering vines inside and out, a skeleton inside seated on a small bench, glints of gold and bones stained a livid, unnatural pink.  “He got back in the box,” says Cee, “Why would he do that? He let us go and then he got back in the box.”  “Karoclan,” says Ezra, “An oblation I suppose.” Your neck prickles.   “Those folk are fuckin crazy,” You press the back of your hand to your helm and push away, palm out, a gesture to dispel bad luck, can’t rightly remember where you picked it up.  “Look,” says Cee,” standing in a bare, cracked circle of dirt, “This is where we boosted from. Must’ve baked out the soil.”  “Hey. Let’s get the pull. We can get all nostalgic once we boost.” Ezra gives you a dark look, but Cee, bounds past and into the trench.   “Ezra,” she says, her voice flat, even over coms. You and Ezra catch up to where she’s frozen, stone still, “He’s still here. Why is he still here? Why are they still here? It’s been almost a stand.” You push past Ezra and examine the sprawled and sagging suit, nudge the boxy helm with you boot, rotted breather hoses crumbling, dust floating up.  “Are you gonna get your shit together or not?” Cee flinches. Glares at you through her fishbowl. Ezra scowls.  “I hardly think—“  “I’m here to harvest,” you say, “And I will harvest, but I am not doing it alone unless you alter the split.”  “You’re out of line, Kitten,” says Ezra, “You seem to have forgotten who’s hired you on for this venture—“  “It’s okay,” says Cee, “I’m okay. Third time pays for all, right?”  “Third time pays for all,” says Ezra, “Clear.”  “So lets dig,” says Cee, “Fuck these guys, right?”  “Fuck ‘em.” you say, “We’re gonna get rich while these fellas feed the bugs for the next stand and change.”

 The kips that came before you exposed the leading edge of the deposit, oxidized crusts shimmering in Bakhroma’s murky light.   “They didn’t prime any of this?”  “They didn’t know to do so,” says Ezra. “That one over there—“ Ezra jerks his head towards a blood colored suit with faux gold adornments glimmering through a twisted clutch of creeper-vines, “Got himself acid burned for his troubles.”  “Dry breach.”  “Something like.” 

 This is no hurried dig, this is no quick pull and boost, Jada has her heart set on atmo-skimming around the outer moons before hooking back up. Trying to break some record. Ezra hovers at first, flitting around the perimeter you’ve established, light poles stabbed into the boggy ground, and then gets drawn in to the excitement of the pull, peering over your shoulders as you and Cee work. Cee is a quick study, follows your instructions to the letter, and between her hands and yours? The size and clarity is like nothing you’ve seen.  “This makes what we got last time around look like pea gravel,” you say.   “We’re going to have a weight issue,” says Ezra.  “Do we stop?” asks Cee.  “Absolutely not,” says Ezra, “We keep pulling and take the highest grade with us. And then we chem-burn what ever we leave behind.”  “That’s crazy!” says Cee.  “Think on it,” says Ezra, “We burn it behind us and no one else can get ahold of these gems ever again. Not at the size and quality we’re pulling.” You split the fibrous outer husk and Cee squeezes in the diffuser without being asked, and you feel yourself smile.  “The scarcity sets the price,” you say, “We’re the only folk who know about this deposit. No one will ever know we scorched it.”  “But all these pearls—“   “No one knows about them,” says Ezra, “Only us and Jada and she can’t ever drop down here herself. And some hot jumper hits a bench blatting about buried treasure on a world they can’t touch? Only ads to the mystique and rarity, and the points in our accounts.”  “Enough to get me into the Academy? You’re laughing,” she frowns at you, “why’re you laughing?”  “Because this is fuck you money,” you say, “We play this right you can probably buy yourself a station-ring or five somewhere in Central. This is do whatever we want forever kind of money if we keep our heads.”  “She’s right,” says Ezra, “We play the long game and there’ll be precious little we can’t do.”  “Still want to go to the Academy” says Cee, peeling the outer husk away just like you showed her and backing off so you can cut the carom blisters, but there is a tub full of the biggest pearls you’ve ever laid eyes on hardening in the fazer.  “And so you shall,” says Ezra.  “You do this one.”  “You sure?”  “You’ve been watching me excise blisters all cycle. Give it a go.” Cee turns the pinkish mass one way and then another, jaw clenched in fraught concentration, trying to grip without touching the blister, the trick is to slide the blade under and cut it free from beneath, go in at the wrong angle and the cillia react, defensive mechanism.   “What’re you gonna study at the academy?” You ask, and her face loosens up some, her hands do the work they’ve been trained in, pulls the inner husk tight and slides the blade under the blister.  “I’m thinking a botany/anthropology double major,” she says, flicks the blister into the weeds like she’s done it a million times before.  “Huh,” you say.  “Interesting combination, Birdie,” says Ezra. “What ties the two together?” Cee slices another blister and flicks it away, brief curl of steam where it sizzles in the grass.  “What doesn’t?” says Cee, “Why do people bring certain plants from one world to the next? You remember the orchard we saw on Verres? Someone planted those trees there. Don’t you wanna know who and why?”  “Guess so,” says Ezra, “It was a bit creepy seeing all those trees in lines. Verres being classed unihabited and all.”  “I’ve seen stuff like that too. Folks’ve been screwing around in The Great Arm for a long time-“  “Hey! Fazer!” Cee barks and you squeeze the fluid into the cut, watch the husk curl and shrink away.   “There she is,” says Ezra and the three of you look at Cee’s prize, held aloft in the murky daylight, Bakhroma’s ruddy arc taking up most of the sky.  “Not the best one we’ve pulled—“  “This one’s mine,” says Cee, snatches the squeeze and coats the pearl before tucking it into her suit pocket, slow smile creeping up her face, “This is my fuck you pearl. We make it out of here and I’ll use it as a paperweight if I get into the Academy.”

 “When you get into the Academy,” says Ezra, and Cee rolls her eyes, and you feel yourself smile a little. You like Cee.   “You should do one, Ezra,” says Cee, “You peel it down and I’ll hold it for you.”  “I don’t think—“  “Give it a go,” you say,  “Get yourself a fuck you pearl.”

 Ezra eyes the exposed deposit, an irregular honeycomb of aurelac pores, dirt darkened to mud, sprayed water from the onboard tanks to rinse away the caustic slime.   “In for a penny in for a pound,” he says, just loud enough for the mic rig to pick up and shoves his arm inside. His breath comes ragged over two.  “Ezra?”  “I’ve got it, birdie. It’s a big one,” he says, and Cee slices through the dirt flecked umbilicus. Ezra cradles his prize like a kitten then sets it on the tray. Cee gives it a good rinse like she’s been trained to, pinches the outer husk and rolls it between her gloved fingers, loosening it up from the inner husk so Ezra can cut.   “It’s thick,” says Cee, “You got wiggle room. We got time. It’s not like before.” Ezra’s breath steadies and he cuts, splitting the fibrous husk, slow, careful movements, beads of sweat popping out on his brow.  Cee peels the husk away, like taking off a sock and you douse everything with the diffuser. Ezra primes the blade, waits for it hit the right setting and then freezes, sharp edge glinting in the ugly light as his hand shakes. Cee wraps her hand around his wrist.   “You’ve got this.”  “Okie. Yeah. Let’s give her a go. Third time pays for all, right?”  “Third time pays for all.”

 One half-stand later…

 Pain is the first thing, deep, sprained ache in your chest, thirst is second, thirst and taste in your mouth and nose like burnt rubber, third is a warm hand holding yours. Squeeze your fingers around a warm palm, around a plastic handle with a button on top that you press and then there’s no more ache, no more thirst, no more light shining blood ugly through your closed lids.

 Later. You come back to yourself. The pain is less and the thirst is more. Slit your eyes and cram them shut, dark blob leaning over you haloed in screaming light, the hand holding yours lets go.  oh, shit, let me douse the lights.  And the bloodshine through your eyelids stops. Blink the tears out, and Ezra’s face resolves out of the dark his face pinched with worry.  “Oh Kevva, I’m dead.” His eyes go big and then he brays laughter.   “Fraid not, Kitten. Might not feel like it right now but the head nurse assured me that you’re healing well.”  You close your eyes, and press the button that will kill the pain.   “Why’re you here?”  “Cee was worried. She keeps tabs on both of us. She couldn’t make it herself, she’s up to her eyeballs in her new school, she tested in and—“ Sleep is calling, the ache in your chest dying to a low hum.  Why’re you really here? not sure if you say it or think it, and the drugs call you down before you can figure it out.

 thirsty.  “Can you sit? I’ve got you.” His arm curls warm around your back and tilts you up, plastic straw pressed against your lip and you drink deep, frigid water against your raw throat.  “Slow sips,” says Ezra, “Don’t want to shock your stomach.” One arm holds you up, a hand offers you a cool drink. You blink your eyes open, confusion  and cool water against your dry  tongue wake you some, close your lips around the straw and drink deep before Ezra snatches it back, plastic bottle gripped in an intricately articulated prosthetic hand, burnished metal plating like the scales on a snake's belly, telltales and indicators winking, etched over with decorative grooves, circles and curves. Looks a bit like a nav map.   “Slow,” he says. You narrow your eyes at him and swish the water around your mouth, trying to wash the dryness, the foul taste away before swallowing.   “You didn’t go for a regrow?” Your voice sounds lower than usual, ratchety. Ezra shakes his head.  “Too much nerve damage for that,” he says, “Scarring and time passed.” You reach for the bottle and he puts it in your hand  “Slow,”  you say before he can, “I know. Ezra, why are you here? You got your new arm, I got my breathers out and Cee’s got her schooling. We got the agreement set. Third time pays for all, so why are you here?”   “Cause I did you dirtier than that cache of pearls could ever pay for,” says Ezra, “And you shouldn’t be all on your own right now.”   You want to say something back, but you’re so tired, even the act of speaking has made you tired right down to your bones, chest and throat screaming in protest, and your eyes scrim over with tears. One escapes and Ezra strokes it aside with the pad of his thumb.    “I pushed the call button, Kitten, they’ll be here soon.”  “Not your fuckin Kitten,” you say as Ezra folds your hand warm in his, “Not your friend.”  “I know.”  i know.     

#year of kisses #year of themes 2023 #yeah yeah it's 2024 #what am i supposed to do time travel about it? #ezra x f!reader with cee #prospect 2018 #prospect fanfic

[ssaalexblake]

I actually don’t remember what that alien in the power of the doctor whom appeared as a child was called, but I object to the insinuation that it had no plot relevance to be there. 

There’s a reason it appeared to 13 as a small girl, one needing saving after having been taken, experimented on, used to augment the power of somebody else’s evil empire against their will. 

13 symbolically saved the timeless child. Saved herself. 

A little girl is found by a scientist, one who loves to explore the universe and left their people to see it all. Once upon a time the person who found the child was a monster. They weren’t the hero. They didn’t see this child as a person, a miracle, somebody who could do amazing things. They just saw a potential benefit to Them. They hurt and harmed this child and did horrific things to them and dumped them when their usefulness had been expended. Nobody saved this child, nobody even got to remember they existed. Eventually they save themselves.

The cycle repeats.

A little girl is found by a scientist, one who loves to explore the universe and left their people to see it all. Once upon a time, a long time ago, the child this happened to had nobody to save them. Not this time. The first child saves them, the first child looks upon this one and sees not an opportunity but an incredible and beautiful Lifeform who deserves to be free and happy. She tries to protect them, puts herself in danger to save them. They won’t leave a child behind. They cannot stand a child crying. 

“One of the greatest mysteries of the universe” the first child says of the second, with no urge to defile it. Not want to harness it. Nothing but awe. The urge to set her free. 

The first child says “I’m sorry for what was done to you. I’m sorry that you were taken and have been harnessed” because she Knows what it’s like to have it happen to you. She knows what it is to look at the person who did it and see them defend their actions as if they did nothing wrong. The first child had no part in harming the second, this was somebody else, but she apologises to them anyway, knowing they need it. 

13 saves the child she was, the one whom never had anybody to care, by saving This child. 

The Doctor breaks the cycle of abuse. 

There’s a reason that a random generator isn’t used to power the master’s plan. This is full cycle.  

This is the doctor being the hero person they were denied.  

#dw shit #sorry but like... thematically that alien appearing as a small girl is SO important to the themes of the cycle of abuse #the master has shouldered tecteun's mantle and has propped up the cycle #the doctor breaks it #dw meta #full honesty i genuinely thought the kid WAS the timeless child when they appeared on screen #i thought the idea of time lord cyberment travelling through time wasn't massively farfetched #turns out it wasn't #but i connected them for a reason