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In the time I have spent consuming media that involves popular bad™ male characters and/or M/F ships where the male character is morally gray or outright evil or conflicted or basically anyone who isn't completely safe and defanged, I have often comes across this statement and its countless other variations.
"Stuff like this is made to brainwash young girls into thinking that they can 'fix' dangerous men. Such girls usually end up in abusive relationships and their parents are right to worry."
It is rather strange to come across such a gross generalization, operating on an assumption that girls are blank slates whom anyone can manipulate and who can't distinguish between real and make believe on top of it.
In my entire "career"(if you can call it that) of engaging with fiction , the girls and women that I have run into in fandoms happened to be some of the most intelligent, talented, cool, witty and insightful people I have ever met. I've devoured the fics they have written. I have delighted in the arts and edits they've made. Their perspectives and interpretations about the characters and their relationships are genuinely fascinating to read about regardless of whether I agree with it or not. They are the ones who are most often at the receiving end of the antis' ire for no valid reason but they just keep deriving joy and inspiration from their favourite characters and ships and keep sharing it with others through stories, art and thoughts. They are not just smart but incredibly resilient, sensitive and aware not just about the media they consume but about the world around them and its issues.
I look up to their brilliance. I marvel at their passion. I admire them. I adore them.
Long-fic update jumpscare.
Did you know that this is my oldest fanfic? I haven't dropped it yet, despite all the hiatuses it's had.
Scott discovers an intruder in his loft.
Rather than returning home last evening, Scott had spent the night camping against the cliff-face of Tracy Island’s second tallest mountain peak.
The plan, yesterday; had been to climb to the highest point of the mountain possible, then, jump. However, as it turns out from his lack of energy, he seriously underestimated the height of the mountain.
Thank god he brought his emergency hammock and sleeping bag, because he wasn't expecting to sleep out at the cliffs overnight. And, after an hour of searching for a ledge that could be considered safe enough to rest on top of, he found nothing. So, finding a place where he could be able to set up a hammock against the nooks of the vertical rocks came as a relief.
The hammock was secured with a multitude of IR certified equipment and carabineers, ensuring his safety as he prepared his sleeping bag for the night.
Then, morning arrived.
Waking up the next day came with promises: The sky was bright blue while the air felt humid yet manageable. The morning view was gorgeous; too bad he didn’t bring a camera to share the outlook later with his family. If only Virgil were here; he would’ve loved this view. Maybe he should invite him out here sometime later in the future for some quality brother time, then, they could watch the sunrise together by the peaks.
Hours later: Scott had reached the top.
Oh boy— peering down the edge where he could barely see the bottom due to the clouds beneath him— was he high up.
The villa glowedgolden with the morning sunshine beaming over it. He could see his bedroom door through the hexagonal glass roofing. Was that someone walking past the hallways? It’s hard to tell, all he could tell is that there’s just a moving dot strolling through the hallway. Maybe it was one of his brothers? Or Dad? No… It’s most likely Gordon; that fish the only one, in the fanily, possibly capable of waking up at this sort of hour in the morning.
The ocean view was much broader than the line of sight towards the house. It silently enveloped the whole island with its waves. From the front, they were soft, glimmering from afar with the sunlight reflecting them into his eyes. From the side, there were large waves, the kind that he would expect his aquatic brother to drag him out for. It would be nice to go surfing again with him some time. Even going on his own sounds like it could be so much fun.
Wait, does he have a surfboard? Note to self; talk to Dad about requesting a new surfboard.
From behind, there was his holiday loft hidden amongst the thick bushes. He could just about make the opening of the trees where the entrance allowed for skylight to shine down on. The third floor was visible too— after all, it is the only room that escaped the roof of the bushes made up of leaves— allowing for a skylight window to bring forth natural light into the rooms; that, of course, is why it was called a sunroom, after all.
Scott takes a deep breath. The beach is clear. He knew that already, but he can see it from here too. It’s wide, empty, and it’s a perfect spot to land over. As long as he times this right, he should be able to catch the wind and make it out far enough the reach the south side of the beach. The closer to the South he gets, the easier the walk home will be.
He peers over the edge. It’s steep. All it takes is one little slip up, and he’ll find himself falling for a long time before eventually hitting the bottom of the ravine between the two mountains.
For some weird reason, that thought only sparked his need to jump off the mountain even more.
He unzips his wing-suit from his blue neoprene sleeves. They’ve been hidden under there since when he had first donned them yesterday,prior to beginning his hike. It’s one of the cobalt blue prototypes that Scott had helped Brains’ test out years ago the engineer originally disposed of it upon feeling dissatisfied by the results.
Under normal circumstances, wearing such a thing should be considered a cause for concern.
Except, this is Tracy Tech.
The breeze is coldly still up here. But by the shorelines, he can see the world stifle.
He braces. He leans. He leaps. He falls. He flies.
Home. Just a few steps now.
The flight had been everything he had hoped for: Cool, and adrenaline inducing. By the time that it had ended, he had burnt out every bit of adrenaline that he had left in his system. The rest of the walk back home had thus been nothing but a slow yet enjoyable pace through the nature trails under the canopy of trees and bush past the beach. He hadn’t felt this at peace in months.
Stepping up onto the stone porch, Scott unclasped an aluminium key from a thumb-sized black carabiner that was hooked to the leather chain discretely wrapped around his neck. He grasped his thumb and fingers firmly over the key and pushed it through the lock of the front door.
The loft firstly greeted him with the kitchen’s warm Autumn smell of wood smoke and apples. A scent specifically curated for him within his custom candles. Albeit it still being Summer, Scott never deterred from his favourite scents.
Despite the warm smell, he could still feel his fingers freezing within the temperature of the loft. While cold temperatures are to be expected in a house specially designed to be void of electricity in mind, Dad had given him a list of procedures to restore warmth for poorer days.
Recalling everything that he had been told, Scott begins his mental checklist: Close the blinds, turn on the geothermic floors, get the fireplace running. That’s not too hard.
It would be most convenient if started with the geothermic flooring. There’s a dial by the fireplace that activates the floor’s heating. Oh the joys of living in the late 2060s, with technology as advanced as geothermic flooring that requires absolutely no electricity to manipulate… Except for the secret steam engine that is stationed very deep underground of course… Water can’t exactly flow without momentum, after all.
Now for the fireplace that rests between the lounge room and the wall of the open-space walkway. Luckily, due to the flax basket full of firewood inside the pantry, Scott doesn’t need to travel too far for access to fuel. It costed only a short moment and a little bit of grunt work to carry the basket out and heave it to the front of the fireplace.
Scott kneels slowly, beginning his setup with some fire-starter and kindling before working his way up to the larger log pieces. Then, with the gas lighter gifted to him by the kitchen drawers, he reaches into the fireplace and lights it up. It starts as a small glow within the darkness of the logs, however, upon a few hefty blows from his lungs, the fire grows, until it takes up the space of the kiln.
Lastly, the blinds. They’re situated at the highest floor of the house, the sunroom. If he can recall correctly, it’s a hand crank that rolls the blinds down from the top of the sunroom to the bottom of the ground floor; inefficiently yet effectively covering up the entire main window of the grand loft. Scott beams, as this would be his first time actually getting to use the crank. Excitedly, he navigates his way around the kitchen counter and makes for the ladder that leads to his bedroom.
Every step he takes up the ladder is far more eager than the other. Yet, unfortunately, without the railings to heave himself all the way to the top on his feet, he is forced to crawl the final steps until he safely makes it to the floor. At the top, his bed greets him with neatly pressed navy blue blankets and the whelming smell of fresh linen. The room was just as fresh as he left it. He grins among pulling himself upright by the grasp of the nearest furniture corner and onto his feet.
Behind him is the rectangular hole in the floor that sits above the living room, where he had stripped the railings away to widen the feeling of spaciousness. To it’s side, opposite of the main window view, is a walkway that not only leads to the side-balcony, but the next set of ladders that’ll take him to the sunroom. He twirls on his heels, ready to face the walkway…
When he jolts.
As he’s suddenly met with the dark silhouette of a man through the window, outside on his balcony, casually sitting on the railing.
“What the hell!?” He screams, adrenaline gushing down his spine like wildfire. His eyes stay firmly locked on the uninvited human figure staring back at him from the other side of the glass. The figure, tilting their head, abruptly jumps from the railing and onto the balcony floor, Scott quickly steps backwards, the underside of his knees nearly hitting the edge of the bed, if not for him to stop in time— attempting to reach for the dressing table, where a weapon potentially lays— when he suddenly catches notice of the stranger’s shape.
Wait. He squints.
That’s no stranger…
“Alan?” He calls out.
The figure, his visual details only being darkly masked by the brightness of the sunset beyond him, waves energetically from the window. It’s an action so familiar that Scott almost trembles from the ripples of relief washing over him.
Then, a realisation hits him.
“WHAT THE HELL, ALAN!?” He shrieks.
Chapter 17: “Wow, this place is nice!” Dismissing the look of shock on his older brother’s face, Alan beams as he marches in.
Trying to spark some creativity so I'm digging deep back into livejournal days. Send me an ask with five words and a character or series, and I'll see if I can write a drabble with them.
I reserve the right to ignore any ask I deem inappropriate.
I write Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons, New Captain Scarlet, Thunderbirds Are Go, Gen 1 Transformers, Kamen Rider Kuuga, and Star Wars. If I'm familiar enough with other series, I'm willing to try if you dm me first.
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“Ariel sold her voice for legs just because of a guy“
Meanwhile Ariel with legs;
Ariel already loved the human world long before meeting Eric (you don’t get a collection like hers overnight) and when she finally got a chance to explore it, she took it.
Ursula made it more about Eric than Ariel ever did.
and i mean hell this has been talked about before in more depth than i can, but when people complain about how the ending was changed (the original fairytale does not give ariel a happy ending, she dies trying to protect the prince), i think about the fact that this was written by a gay man in the 1980s
and i think it’s entirely valid (and gives her an extremely strong connection to the queer community) to change the story so she doesn’t die because of who she loves
Triton made escape a necessity. Once someone goes to the point of destroying your possessions in a violent rampage, there is no staying and sticking it out, there’s no safety. (And Ariel, even in Ursula’s lair, gave Triton more thought than he deserved at the time.) Nowhere in the ocean she could go and be safe. Everyone’s always ‘why don’t they just leave :|’ in abusive situations until the leaving is not something they find 100% worthy of approval.
Ursula made it about Eric. She didn’t have to. Ariel had to get out from under Triton’s thumb, it could have been literally anything. Ursula took advantage of a desperate victim for her own agenda. Realistic predatory behavior toward a vulnerable person.
And also
There’s always the ‘Eric didn’t want her until she was silent and meek’ criticism - FIRST OF ALL he started out looking for a woman who wasn’t silent, and second of all what part of the carriage driving bit (or any of her other actions on land) is meek, exactly?
People above have noted the queer subtext. Now, on the subject of Ariel being willing to leave her family, aside from the baseline ‘this is an abusive environment and she was not safe there’ angle I already mentioned, consider: Ariel’s father made it clear he would stop at nothing to crush and tear down who she was and replace it with what he wanted her to be. Now - what demographic might that resonate with? And given Ashman’s involvement, do you think that was a coincidence?
there has been scholarly discussion about the idea that the og little mermaid story, where she dies at the end, was written as a queer allegory.
so taking that into account… there is something very touching about taking this story from hans christian andersen from beyond the grave and being like “things are different now. they get to be happy. she gets to live.”
also in re: “Eric didn’t want her until she was silent and meek” the meek part’s been discussed but can we please talk about how when he first met her he thought she wasn’t the girl with the voice that he was trying to find and was disappointed, but that he slowly fell for her anyway? He’d explicitly wanted Ariel WITH her voice, but came to love her without it.
The bit about Howard Ashman being queer is finally giving me some glimmer of understanding of why the teenaged girl mermaid is named “Ariel.” Because, although the Disney movie single-handedly changed popular perception thereafter, Ariel is a boy’s name. Howard Ashman absolutely knew that.
(Ariel in Shakespeare’s The Tempest also has male pronouns, in case anyone was struggling to remember.)
Beings Suffering From Extreme Sleep Deprivation Should Not Attempt Turning To The Dark Side
There he was. Anakin Skywalker, the prize jewel of the Sith... even if he did not know it yet. Sitting in the office of his friend, the Supreme Chancellor.
All the pieces were now in place, and the only thing left to do was to reveal his identity to Skywalker and let him break down. The satisfaction that permeated the form of Sheev Palpatine was so great that he nearly forgot that his parents had named him Sheev.
But not for long. Distaste prickled up his spine. Still, they were entering the glorious morning of a Sith Empire that would never see night. Or, rather more accurately, the night would be neverending. And the metaphors would be better - he would hire (and by hire, he meant enslave) the greatest poets to compose endless lamentations for the suffering he was about to unleash.
Skywalker sat in the chair, looking listless. The nightmares Palpatine had sent had done their job well - it seemed like he had hardly slept. His thoughts were sluggish, his resistance gone, and his terror absolute. Terror for his "secret" wife, who he feared would die in childbirth.
And while the "visions" were far from genuine, oh, Palpatine intended to make sure that Padmé Amidala would.
With the death of his wife, Palpatine's control over Anakin Skywalker would be perfect. And, in ten or twenty years, thirty even, the boy would become his new vessel. After all, the plans of the Sith were measured in the millenia, and Sheev Palpatine had no intention of planting trees in whose shade younger generations might sit. No. He intended to sit there himself, chasing off the whippersnappers so they might get sunburnt. (He really needed to consult a poet.)
But the creation of his Empire was a far more immediate goal, and a very worthy stepping stone indeed. And since all it would take was a push, he had better get to administering said push.
"Dear boy, I don't think I've ever seen you look quite this... disturbed," he intoned, perfectly miming the tones of a concerned grandfather. "Not - and I am terribly sorry to bring this up, but I can't help but be concerned - not even... not even when your mother died."
There. Skywalker was an easy instrument to play. A veil of concern, a dash of "you can tell me anything." A hint of his past trauma, which so neatly (almost as if by design) connected to his current fear. Even calling attention to Skywalker's sorry state served to remind him that the structures he could depend on were now shaky and unsure, ravaged by war.
Palpatine briefly entertained himself by wondering what the boy might think of the sheer amount of planning that had been put into his fall.
"Mom?" Skywalker asked, voice groggy and wide eyes betraying his shock.
And said nothing more, just gaped at Palpatine, as if he were about to pull Shmi Skywalker out from under his robes. Idiot boy.
"I'm terribly sorry for shocking you, Anakin," Palpatine said, suffusing the room with his phony concern. "I know it must be horrible to think about, especially in these... present circumstances."
Well, he'd thrown subtlety out the viewport, but that would certainly get the job done.
Skywalker did not respond. He was blearily gazing into middle distance. And Palpatine was running out of time - Skywalker needed to fall now, before Kenobi could return from Utapau and somehow pull him back from the brink, again.
So, subtlety? Subtlety would die the same death it always died in Skywalker's presence: a sudden one.
"Actually, I've called you here on an important matter," he said, injecting some urgency into his tone - no longer a grandfather, but a concerned statesman. "I now have every reason to believe that Senator Amidala and the Delegation of Two Thousand are planning a coup."
"Huh?" Skywalker said, attempting to sit up. "Padmé's planning..."
And then his train of thought appeared to slip away again, and he resumed his vacant staring.
"Yes." Palpatine gritted out. "Padmé Amidala, your wife, is planning a coup."
"Oh. Yeah, she's good at politics," Anakin mumbled, offering Palpatine a tired smile. "I'm sure she'll do a good job."
"A coup against me." When nothing more than a "hmm" was forthcoming, Palpatine continued. "And it appears she has allied with the Jedi Council."
"No, no, this is great! She's finally hanging out with my work friends! Now she'll know what it feels like!" Skywalker shook his head. "Like, it's only fair, right? I've sat through a ton of formal dinners and stuff. And Bail is okay, I guess, and Mon, and Fang Zhar is kinda funny, but... they're so boring. Treaty this, agreement that, 'what do you think, Master Jedi?'"
Skywalker started pacing. "Yeah, but who's laughing now, Padmé? I hope she tries to take them out for lunch. Then she'll get to see twelve Jedi Masters meditating to discern which restaurant the Force is pulling them towards."
He turned to Palpatine, as if to explain. "And that takes hours. You wanted lunch? Sorry, it's dinnertime and also tomorrow, and the spot they picked, which, by the way, is always the one Yoda wants,-" and, to the Sith Lord's horror, he launched into an imitation, "'mmm, great darkness I sense within the Jundland Buffet, perhaps to Stewcruiser, we should instead go', but when we finally decide to go to Stewcruiser, it's closed on Taungsday, and the whole thing starts all over again!"
And at that, Skywalker sat down with a huff.
"Indeed," Palpatine said, no longer able to keep the coldness out of his voice. "The inefficiencies of the Jedi are... vexing."
"Tell me about it," Skywalker mumbled, rubbing at his eyes.
"But rather more pressingly, they are planning a coup." Palpatine said, rather icily.
"Yeah, right," the boy said, looking a bit shamefaced. "Sorry."
"It is no matter," Palpatine replied, still eyeing the Jedi. Skywalker made no move. "What do you think about the coup?"
"Oh, yeah, uh. Like I said, I'm sure she'll do a great job. Sorry, I don't really... pay attention to politics."
Palpatine opened his mouth. And then closed it again. "A coup is a bad thing, Anakin."
"Uh-huh," Skywalker said, clearly paying no attention, and that was just about the limit of Palpatine's patience. He hadn't set the entire galaxy ablaze to be uh-huhed by the boy.
It was time to go for the throat.
"Anakin, I'm going to kill your wife." He said, enunciating every word as clearly as he could. He needed to provoke the boy into fear and anger, which would feed his guilt and shame, which would lead him to the Dark Si-
"Oh, okay. Good luck."
"What?!" He hissed. "I just threatened to kill your wife!"
"Yeah, but..." Skywalker scratched at the back of his neck. "I mean, she's been in like, twenty battles. She can handle herself."
"She is eight months pregnant!"
Skywalker actually shrugged. "The med droid said she can keep doing her usual activities for as long as she feels able. And no offence, but you're kind of... old."
"Old? I am the Lord of the Sith, young fool! I possess powers your feeble mind can't even comprehend!"
Something had gone blank in Skywalker's eyes, but Palpatine was far too angry to notice. "I orchestrated this entire war! All of this is my doing! I planned for your mother to die, I corrupted the Tuskens myself, I was behind Kenobi faking his death, beh-"
And that's about as far as he got, because a sky blue blade had just passed between the spot his head occupied and the spot that was occupied by his body, and had kindly suggested to the two that it was time to part ways.
"Chancellor, Sith Lords are a specialty at the Jundland Buffet," Anakin muttered, turning off his saber. He tried to hook it back on his belt, but apparently somebody had taken his usual hook, and the handle fell to the ground. Sighing, he called it up with the Force and shoved it into his boot for safekeeping, when a thought struck him. "No, that's not right. How did Obi-Wan say it..."
And then he commed Obi-Wan, because that seemed like the thing to do. After a long wait, a small, blue Obi-Wan appeared, looking harried. Before Anakin could compliment him on his new size and color, Obi-Wan was already talking way too fast, something about killing Grievous.
"Hey, Obi-Wan, uh. I killed the Sith, but I-"
"What?" Obi-Wan's voice had a lot of static in it. He should really get that checked out. "Sorry, Anakin, did you say you killed the Sith Lord?"
"Yeah, anyways, back when we were fighting Dooku, you said something about Sith Lords and a specialty, and, uh, is it a specialty dish somewhere? And can we go there next time the Council has lunch? I'm getting really sick of Stewcruiser."
"Anakin. When was the last time you slept?"
"Oh, uh, two weeks ago or something."
There was a heavy, staticy sigh from the other end of the comlink. "Alright, Anakin. Turn the comlink around and show me the Sith, and then I'll guide you through cleaning up the pieces of the duelling droid you dismantled this time, and - oh Force, is that the Chancellor?!"
"Uh-huh," Anakin nodded, forgetting that he wasn't in view of the receiver.
"Don't uh-huh me, Anakin! Did you kill the Supreme Chancellor?"
"Yeah, he was the Sith?" There weren't any more words coming through the comlink, so Anakin figured it was safe to continue. "He said that he orchestrated the whole war and he was the Sith. Also, for some reason, he moved out here to the desert, and that's weird, because I don't think it's gonna agree with his complexion."
There was more silence from the comlink. Anakin remembered to turn it so he was again visible to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan appeared to be frozen.
"Are you... disappointed?" Anakin asked, after a while.
"No more than the usual amount," Obi-Wan sighed. "Go take a nap."
"Oh, good," Anakin smiled. And then frowned. "Wait, what do you mean, 'the usual amount?'"
Palpatine: Vader. What are you doing? The engineers are concerned.
Darth Vader: I am embracing my passions, thus increasing my power in the Dark Side.
Palpatine: I see. And why does embracing your passion mean leashing two hyperdrives to a Star Destroyer?
Vader: Big Podracer.
Palpatine: Yes. I understand that it looks a bit like a large podracer, but—
Vader: No, that is the name.
Palpatine: Pardon?
Vader: The name of my ultimate weapon. Big Podracer.
Palpatine: ... That is plainly terrible.
Vader: Thank you, Master.
Palpatine: It wasn't a compliment! That is the worst name I've ever heard!
Vader: This coming from the man who named his giant superweapon the Death Star?
Palpatine: Look, you insolent whelp—
Vader: I saw the other ideas, too. Murder Moon? The Round Reaper? Killer Sphere was kind of clever, I guess...
Palpatine: Those— those were put forth by a committee!
Vader: Sure.
Palpatine: They were! Now I want you to stop this ridiculous, this, whatever this is and go keep order in my Empire!
Vader: No.
Palpatine: What did you just say to me?
Vader: No. I was promised unlimited access to my passions, and this is the only passion I have left. Therefore I will stay and work on this.
Palpatine: Vader, those promises were a lie.
Vader: I know.
Palpatine: ... so—
Vader: I'm still going to move forward with project Big Podracer.
Palpatine: The name gets stupider every time you say it. And you'll do as I say, or I'll electrocute you to death.
Vader: And who's going to keep order in your Empire then?
Palpatine: Oh, you—who's going to keep order in my Empire after you turn that thing on and fly directly into the nearest star, or simply get torn apart by the forces of relativity?
Vader: The forces of relativity?
Palpatine: I'm not a space engineer!
Vader: Clearly not.
Palpatine: (incoherent growl) Vader, why must you test me so? What has brought this on?
Vader: Well, how old is the Empire?
Palpatine: As you well know, the Empire is thirteen years old.
Vader: And I turned to the Dark Side at around the same time, did I not?
Palpatine: Yes.
Vader: And in so doing the weak Jedi Anakin Skywalker ceased to exist and Darth Vader was born.
Palpatine: I see where you're going with this. Please do not.
Vader: Making me thirteen years old. A teenager. From a certain point of view.
Palpatine: Vader, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.
Vader: Of course you wouldn't understand. You never understand how I feel.
Palpatine: Vader, are you sulking?
Palpatine: Vader, stop ignoring me.
Palpatine: You know what? Fine. Work on your stupid project and come back when you're ready to be an adult again.
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A wail of sirens dragged him out of his slumber, heart leaping to his throat at the sudden commotion and alarm, Mark was already moving, yanking on his gear, hopping put of his room, trying to pull his boots on as the corridors were plunged into a scarlet light
"This is not a drill-" Stoyans voice carried static, fear just creeping into her tone
Oh applesauce-
He broke into a full run, towards the command center
He skidded in, nearly taking out Boucher who yelped
"Stoyan-"
"Three hours into darkside rotation, the station...I..I don't know its out of my contro-"
"It's alright lass, it's alright, breath" He leant over her shoulder as a deep rumble left the damage station like a wounded mechanical beast
Fingers dancing over the keys as he checked for damage
Low-level were no go, core overheating and pratically taking itself apart, artificial gravity won't last either, falling out of orbit with the moons, with what ever is happening
All not good
And no way to call for aid with being behind the damn moon
"Sir?"
Stoyans little voice pulled him out of thought
He looked at her, the fear in her eyes, the tremble in her lip
"Pull everyone back" his voice steady, giving the order
"I don't want them caught down there"
Stoyan eyes widened, before nodding tapping keys
Circulating the message base wide
"this is not a drill, everyone return to command center for uncoupling, repeat return to center command"
Anderson was moving already, ready to run down to help evacuation
Boucher stopped him, eyes wide in realisation of what was happening
"sir?"
"Stay, prepare for uncoupling" he pressed his fingers to his ear peice turning away "Mikhailich-"
"Here" His voice coming over his ear peice, steady
"get Linder, I'm heading for Simmons"
"Da, sir-"
"You hears Stoyan, pull back to center command"
"Da."
He running towards engineering
———
"ELAINER-"
"I CAN FIX HER-"
He heard Simmons as suddenly a whine ripped through the station
His boots lost connection to the floor mid run and he floated up, colliding with some debris, but managed to stay on target landing beside Simmons, who clung desperately to the wall, one hand with a wrench, a pleading look in her eyes looking more close to tears to try and fix the issue
"Anderson-- I..I can-"
"No. Simmons it's overloading it'll kill you."
He kept his voice even for her sake, her eyes side as he watched her throat shift
"We need to evacuate Simmon"
A single nod, and she released her grip
He pushed off with his boot carrying her back to command
———
Space he's used to, getting through a station in zero gravity was easy, managed to do it in the stations early stages of creation
He's trained for this
He launched himself forward, gaze drifting back for Simmons who just managed to keep up with her commanding officer
"Anderson!"
He ducked the grapple hook that sunk above his head as Mikhailich hooked in, pulling himself along with Linder latched onto his shoulder
"Gravity out, thought to grab diz sir"
A second grapple was given to the commanding officer who took It with a silent nod
"Get in there Mikhailich"
Strapping it to his forarm as they floated into central command
He gave one look to the red lit corridors
His pride and joy, the spark for space travel, cumbling around him
He pulled himself into the command center, slamming his heel into the button to seal the doors, spinning around to his crew, doing a mental head Count of everyone here:
- himself
- Mikhailich
- Linder
- Simmons
- Boucher
- Stoyan
Everyone here
"Stoyan."
The emergency key was turned and button hit, the command center hissed, as the doors sealed and disconnected from the main hub, rocket thrusters giving them the distance from the main station
Which was spitting debris, small implosion her main collum as she fell apart
Mark felt sick, this couldn't have happend, none of this
"Stoyan- we need clear of the moon to radio an SOS" He ordered, feeling command move trying to jet out of the dark side of the moon
He swallowed wiping a hand down his face
"Boss- something up on scan-"
His gaze snapped towards the dark blur towards them
A sharp lurch and the world went black
———
The alarm chirped, and Mark grumbled, his green eyes flickering patting the alarm off, he stuffed his head into the pillow with a sigh,
Before rolling over to grab his phone smiling at the message from his dad, he waited a second brow furrowed
His ma would have knocked on his door by now to make sure he was up
Like she would usually when his alarm goes off
He clambered out of bed
"Ma?"
Nothing
He raised an eyebrow, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he pulled his slippers on, heading downstairs hearing muffled sobs
He raised an eyebrow
"Ma?"
He stepped into the kitchen
Stopping at his ma tears falling down her face, and two men
He recongnised from Anderson tech, when he would visit with his dad, Kurt and Joseph...both ground contro...
No
"Where's dad..." He croaked out
"Marky..."
"Mam...where is dad." His voice more desperate then before, heart leaping into his throat as he backed away
No, this can't be happening, all some joke right? It can't-
"He-hes alright?" Mark gasped "he-he sent me a message- he...he's oka-"
"Mark..." his ma moved quickly pulling him into a tight hug
He latched on gasping screwing his eyes shut as he hid his head in her shoulder
"H-he can't be dead-"
"He-"
A sob wrecked throigh his chest
"Everything will be okay marky...it'll be okay"
———
"-...rk-" He blinked hard, head spinning
"...-ma-..." He winced moving his hand weakly, feeling a hand clasp his own, guiding him out of the dark realm of sleep, feeling slowly coming back to him, his brown flickering to meet a even blurrier world
"Hey...slowly...easy..."
"W..."
"Don't.. don't worry about that right now Mark..." He said quietly
He blinked hard trying to clear his vision, laying on what feels like a cot
Gravity?
Where they back on Earth?
His gaze flickered around an enviroment he didn't quite recognise
"Theo-"
He tried to sit up, but nausea swung wide, nearly making him throw what content was in his stomach, making him grab the doctors shoulder
"You've been out...for a few hours..."
"Concussion...amongst other things..."
He blinked hand coming up to the bandages around his head
"What..."
"Mark...dont freak out"
"Are we on Earth?"
"No."
His blurry gaze flickered towards a lump in the opposite cot, who was sat up, tired but focused look on Dimitris face
"Report-" Mark croaked, trying swinging his legs around to get up, with Theos protest
A deep inhale
"You were out for nearly 48 hours."
He gripped Theos shoulder
"That true?"
"Yes sir..."
"Anything else?"
"The impact...rattled us all bad...my arms broke...Viggo gone quiet, Elaina is blaming herself and Rebbaca..."
"What about Bec-..." He staggered up world spinning sharp
The world went black
———
He blinked seeing a pink blurr, swallowing a thick taste of bile that bit at the back of his throat
"Bec..."
"I'm here Mark..." She quietly said "scared Theo though..."
He grunted
"Shouldn't push yourself...your fragile..."
"Head wound..."
"Unresponsive...lot of blood...I was lucky..Dimitri grabbed anyone who was close to him...Theo landed on you.."
"Like...getting hit by an ambulance on a road..."
A slight chuckle
He swallowed
"Where are we Becca?
She swallowed, feeling her trace a scar on his palm, her fingers trembling
She was scared, trying to sooth her emotions, he knew this
His hand closed around hers his thumb stroking her knuckles
Trying to spark some creativity so I'm digging deep back into livejournal days. Send me an ask with five words and a character or series, and I'll see if I can write a drabble with them.
I reserve the right to ignore any ask I deem inappropriate.
I write Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons, New Captain Scarlet, Thunderbirds Are Go, Gen 1 Transformers, Kamen Rider Kuuga, and Star Wars. If I'm familiar enough with other series, I'm willing to try if you dm me first.
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One thing we got from New Captain Scarlet that we didn't get from the classic series is, of course, the Stallion Raid Bike. This biker didn't know he would in 2005, but 20 years on he enormously appreciates both the bike and the episode Grey Skulls.
Then I got to wondering: without using AI, what would such a bike have looked like in the 1967 series? Actual 1960s bikes were out. Not chunky enough and too curvy. I like that OCS' vision of the future starts to lean away from 50s and 60s curves into the panels and angles that would dominate in the 80s.
Then I remembered Zillers Russia's (this is in no way a promotion) custom BMW R9T that they rechristened the Ninet 801 and how much - appropriately - it reminded me of the Spiders from the Joe 90 episode The Professional.
And it turns out they did a range of colours:
And that BMW roundel is begging to be hotswapped for a Spectrum one, right?
How about you? Anything you think would be even more appropriate?
discoholicmusic
andulkaphoto
origamiaround
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romaincrisis
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theartofmadeline
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