Gotta Be Me

I write fan fiction for The 100 and Arcane, mostly featuring original characters as the protagonist. I will probably ship Clexa and Caitvi until I die, lol. I crosspost on AO3, Wattpad, & FF.

[sandyrook77]

Chapter 11 of When Fire Meets Fate is live! Read it here on AO3.

[sandyrook77]

Here's the final part of chapter one of Out of Time. Read part one here, and part two here.

Chapter 1 - False Foundations cont.

"Ten minutes, Dyl," Elias said sometime later.

Dylan lifted her head from the polarized light microscope and blinked, letting her eyes adjust.

"Already?"

"Yep."

Dylan removed the sample and returned it to the drawer with the khipu fragment. She then went back to where she thought she remembered sitting before.

"Three inches to your left, and you were hunched over a bit more," Elias corrected.

Dylan grunted and adjusted. "Better?"

"Yep. Fix your braid. It’s too loose now."

"Bossy," she snarked, redoing her hair.

"And now it’s too tight," he said, coming over and messing with it. "There. I’m allowed to be bossy. This is my field of expertise."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, spy boy."

"Someone’s grumpy."

"Someone hasn’t had coffee in several hours."

"You can get it in …sixteen minutes."

Dylan whined, thumping her head on the table. "You’re mean," she grumbled into the metal.

"You’ll survive."

"I’m telling Mom," she said, picking her head up to glare at Elias.

Elias chuckled, patting her on the back. "Elizabeth would agree."

"No–dammit, she would. Find anything?"

Elias crossed the room and sat in the same spot. "I did. But it can wait until we reset the loop."

Dylan huffed and started going over the images. "Fine, Buzzkill Lightyear."

Elias laughed. "Does Becca know you get childish when tired and uncaffeinated?"

"...Maybe," she muttered.

He laughed even louder. "And she’s still with you?"

Dylan threw a pencil at him, smiling. "She’s worse. I swear she has a whole other personality that shows up when she hasn’t had her tea yet."

Elias easily caught the pencil and set it down. "I can believe it. Alright, look busy. I’ll set up the next loop, and you can get your coffee."

"‘Bout time," she said, adjusting until she was in her previous position. "Wish we would’ve just jammed the cameras too."

"Better to give whoever’s surveilling the lab something than an absolute blackout, Dylan. Remember in Xinjiang when the intern tripped the power?"

She groaned. "Ugh. I remember and wish I didn’t. That officer had me feeling someone at my shoulder for weeks after we left."

"All because all the surveillance had been cut from the lab we were working out of." He reminded her, then, "Recording."

Dylan didn’t just sit there and stare at the printed images laid out on the table in front of her while waiting for Elias to call the all-clear. She spent the time examining them, but they didn’t make sense. The images showed the Andean cross, Amaru, the sacred serpent, and familiar geometric motifs. 

But what stood out were the vertical lines with gouges.

They were everywhere the strange symbols were carved.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d say the lines with gouges were translating the symbols.

"I wonder…" she muttered, resisting the urge to reach for the drive that held a portable version of her translation program.

"Time. We’re clear," Elias interrupted.

Dylan leaned back, stretching out her back, and rubbed her face. Shaking off the mystery of the carvings, she got up and moved to where Alvarez had set up a coffee station. Even after two hours, the aroma was heavenly to her caffeine-starved system. She poured herself a generous cup and savored the first sip, closing her eyes as the warmth slowly moved downward.

"Oh, that’s good," she mumbled.

"Better," Elias teased, joining her and making his own cup.

"Much," she said, opening her eyes. "What did you find?"

He jerked his head toward the workstation he’d taken over. "Come on. I’ll show you."

Dylan followed him over and watched as he brought up images on several monitors.

Elias pointed to the first screen. "GPR (ground penetrating radar) corroborates the finds in ‘05 and ‘11. Anomalies in the hundred-foot range beneath the site."

"Anomalies don’t tell us if it’s natural fissures or secret chambers."

"Right. And the Ministry of Culture is extremely strict on invasive studies."

Elias pointed to the next several screens.

"It looks like Alvarez went as non-invasive as he could. High-power, low-frequency GPR, Electrical Resistivity Tomography, and seismic refraction."

"And?"

Elias pulled up another image.

"And this is what came up. A switchback with an undetermined number of legs that starts in the courtyard of the Royal Palace."

Dylan moved closer to study the image.

"Why am I only seeing two legs?"

"If you notice, at the end of the second leg, there’s a curve that looks like it goes right back into the first. If it weren’t for the downward grade, it’d be a loop. Meaning…"

"There’s three or more legs literally stacked on one another." Dylan leaned back. "The first two legs hide the rest."

"Which is ingenious and takes a lot of precision."

"Something the Inca were known for. So, we have Supay, the god of death, Uhku Pacha (the underworld), and tunnels. A tunnel system that has an entrance in the cardinal direction of death and transition. And a legitimate khipu fragment with Sumerian syntax."

"The fragment’s real?"

Dylan gestured toward the microscopes, reluctantly replying, "Yes. At least, as far as I can tell, in the hour and fifty minutes I had to examine the sample. Fibers matched the Caral khipu. I was in the middle of checking the dye when you called time."

"Can you finish the dye analysis?"

Dylan rubbed her face and took another drink of her coffee, thinking.

She sighed. "Maybe. But I think I’m gonna examine the khipu itself. Check the knots and fiber to make sure they weren’t undone and then redone to look like Sumerian syntax."

Elias nodded, sipping his coffee. "Okay. I’ll take a look at the scrapings then. See if I can determine what made the carvings behind Soupy."

"Supay. Soupy, really," she said, already heading back to the khipu drawer. "It’s like you didn’t even go to college."

"Fork ‘em Devils!"

"I’m too tired to give an appropriate clapback. Just pretend I did, and it was demoralizing," she said, chuckling.

"You’re just jealous Harvard doesn’t have a rally cry," Elias clapped back, searching the drawers for scraping samples. "And the fact that you guys can’t participate in bowls."

"I’m not dignifying that with an answer. The samples are in the drawers by the microscopes, Pebbles. Third drawer from the top."

Elias finds what he was looking for. "I told you that nickname in confidence. Not for you to use at your whim."

Dylan adjusted the camera’s zoom on the khipu fragment. "Well, you shouldn’t have told me the story behind it if you didn’t want me to use it. That’s on you. I mean, who collects rocks while out on patrol? Callie does that, and she’s ten. What’s your excuse?"

"Geologist."

"Fair. But I’m still gonna call you that."

"Then, I get to call you Wilma."

"You do, and I’ll tell Peri you like her."

Elias gasped. "You wouldn’t?!"

Dylan grinned as she moved the camera slightly. "Try me. Becca’s assistant has had a crush on you since I brought you as a plus one to that dinner nine months ago."

"Why don’t you work and stop busting my balls, Adler. We only have so much time."

"I can do both."

"Focus."

"Spoilsport."

Elias chuckled, and that was the last sound as they focused on their tasks. 

Time was ticking.

[sandyrook77]

This is part 2 of Chapter One from Out of Time. Thought I'd break the second half of the chapter since the other post was ~4k. Read part one here. Enjoy.

Chapter 1 - False Foundations cont.

"Are you ready to depart, Heir Prime?" the driver asked as Dylan and Elias approached the cart.

"Yes," she replied dismissively, adapting to the role she’d reluctantly resurrected.

Elias placed a hand on her arm, stopping her in place. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, "Heir Prime?"

"Not here," she whispered back. "Just act normal."

"Is there a problem, Heir Prime?" the driver asked, seeing them stopped.

"No," she said, voice bored.

Up close, the cart looked deceptively ordinary. A typical four-seater with a canopy and bed for luggage and equipment. It had a clean black exterior with the Helios Foundation logo on the hood. The seats were padded leather with seatbelts for rough terrain. Grab handles were welded to the canopy. There were even cup holders for passengers.

Luxury in the middle of nowhere.

An intentional first impression for any visitors to the site.

Dylan entered behind the front passenger, took a long drink of her Gatorade, and set the bottle in the cup holder.

Elias looked at it and her as he sat behind the driver. She shrugged, adjusting her satchel over her lap. He snorted softly and shook his head.

Before the cart started moving, Dylan and Elias grabbed the canopy handles and set their free hand in the space between the seats, looking casual and bored to anyone watching them.

The lurch of the cart as it rolled into motion made Dylan’s grip tighten and Elias softly swear.

Her eyes flicked briefly between the driver and his partner before murmuring lowly in German, "Easy, partner."

Elias replied in German, "Easy for you to say, your bag isn’t bouncing between your legs."

The partner snorted, turning his head just enough to let them see the smirk on his face.

He’d understood them.

Dylan’s jaw tightened. She had been hoping Cadogan had only brought people who spoke the local language, but the man’s reaction proved Cadogan knew her well enough to anticipate the switch to German.

Plan C, then.

Or was it D, now?

Casually, "Erinnerst du dich an die Türkei? Das war eine interessante Expedition. (Remember Turkey? That was an interesting expedition.)"

Elias snorted. "Du und ich definieren ‘interessant’ sehr unterschiedlich. (You and I define ‘interesting’ very differently)."

At the same time, he tapped on the back of her hand, Understood.

Dylan huffed indignantly but didn’t retort.

As they neared the camp, their conversation became a series of taps along the backs of their hands. Each pointing out what they saw.

Reinforced fencing.

Floodlights.

Cameras.

Overlapping patrols along the perimeter.

Years ago, during Elias’ first assignment working as Dylan’s assistant and bodyguard, a recovery operation in eastern Turkey had gone catastrophically sideways. Elias learned two things almost simultaneously.

The first was that Dylan had absolutely no instinct for personal safety once a mystery got into her head.

The second was that she noticed patterns faster than most people could speak.

The code had started three days later in a crowded train station in Istanbul.

Simple taps against the wrists and palms at first. Numbers. Directions. Warnings.

Over time, it evolved into compressed rhythmic patterns built around Dylan’s love of linguistic structure and Elias’ preference for efficiency. Entire observations reduced into modular beats and pauses they could exchange without moving their lips.

Useful in places where being overheard could get people killed.

Or worse.

The cart slowed as it neared the entrance to the camp. The sign over the gate read "Helios Research Station" in bold gold against black. Centered on the sign was the stylized gold rising sun of the Second Dawn.

If you didn’t know Second Dawn or William Cadogan, the sign looked like any well-funded research foundation.

The cart stopped beside a small guard shack standing beside the closed motorized sliding gate. On the other side stood another shack, and the guard inside was watching them.

The guard on their side stepped out of the shack, and the driver said, "Heir Prime and her assistant for Professor Roberto Alvarez."

Dylan’s jaw ticked at the title.

The gate guard straightened, immediately putting his fist over his heart, "Heir Prime."

Dylan tilted her head, smirking uneasily, and pulled out her Gatorade. She took a long drink, nodding towards the gate while looking directly at the gate guard behind her sunglasses.

His eyes widened, and he quickly retreated into the shack. There was a loud beep, and the gate lurched before rolling open.

Elias leaned in close and whispered, "Are you royalty?"

Dylan sputtered, choking on her drink, and took off her sunglasses to glare at him.

"Don’t," she hissed.

The second escort looked at her in concern. "Are you alright, Heir Prime?"

Dylan coughed and cleared her throat. Her voice came out slightly strained. "I’m fine. Wrong pipe," she replied, setting the drink back in the cup holder. "Let’s move. I’d like to be back in the States by midnight."

"Yes, Heir Prime," the driver said, driving the cart through the still opening gate.

Dylan put her sunglasses back on, resuming the air of indifference and boredom she'd adopted, and went back to inspecting the camp through dark lenses.

They rolled deeper into the camp, tires crunching softly over packed gravel.

Researchers in layered clothing against the June chill of the Andes crossed between modular labs, carrying tablets, sample cases, and rolled survey maps. Portable generators hummed behind neatly stacked supply crates stamped with customs labels and archaeological permits. Black utility trailers sat parked beside larger rigid-wall tents marked for communications, medical support, and environmental analysis.

A scene Dylan knew well after years of fieldwork around the world.

Professional.

Organized.

Exactly what a well-funded archaeological operation was supposed to look like.

But the longer she looked around, the more the cracks began to show.

Too many security personnel.

Too much infrastructure.

Pairs in tactical gear moved through the camp with the smooth, deliberate rhythm of trained professionals, rifles hanging low at their chests as they scanned rooftops, entrances, and sightlines rather than the people around them. Cameras tracked movement from nearly every corner. Reinforced fencing divided sections of the camp into controlled zones with coded keypads mounted beside the gates.

Elias’ fingers tapped once against the back of Dylan’s hand.

Compartmentalized.

Dylan subtly nodded.

The farther into the camp they drove, the more obvious it became that the "research station" had been designed for long-term occupation. Additional trailers sat unused near the back of camp, still wrapped in transport plastic. Crates marked for satellite communications and atmospheric scanning waited beside pallets of climbing gear and excavation equipment clearly intended for transport higher into the mountains.

Preparation for expansion.

Not a temporary dig.

Cadogan clearly believed that whatever he was searching for was somewhere in or around Machu Picchu.

Dylan’s eyes tracked a cluster of researchers gathered near one of the labs. Their body language caught her attention immediately.

No wild gesticulations.

No rising and falling cadence of voices.

Not the ease of collaborators arguing over finds.

Instead, they were clustered tightly, glancing over their shoulders often enough to notice with conversations dying before they could carry.

Every movement carried the same nervousness that people developed in a police state.

Across from her, Elias tapped again.

Controlled environment.

Yeah.

She’d noticed that too.

That kind of control meant Cadogan was monitoring the flow of information.

The cart passed a larger structure near the center of the camp. This one was marked with the Second Dawn sun and the words "Operations Center" above the double doors. But what truly set it apart were the two armed men standing motionless in front of the doors.

Guards with one detail she’d only seen in the Second Dawn Grand Hall, outside the door leading to a basement secret.

A collar pin that glinted in the June sun.

XIII.

The insignia of Second Dawn’s most devoted and militant followers.

Dylan tapped a single chilling pattern on Elia’s hand, Fanatic.

Elias flipped his hand and gently squeezed Dylan’s. His signal that he had her back. To anyone watching, it looked like a romantic moment. But for her, it eased the tightness in her chest.

She gently removed her hand to grab the Gatorade bottle and took a sip. Dylan forced herself not to look back as they passed the building.

The Heir Prime would expect to see those guards standing watch outside anywhere Cadogan was present.

Not look to see if they were watching her.

Alvarez’s lab was just past Cadogan’s building, which made an uncomfortable kind of sense if the professor possessed the original excavation material.

Dylan could see him pacing tight circles outside the entrance, gesturing as he muttered to himself.

More than likely, he was working through an apology for getting caught up in the discovery and failing to do the due diligence he’d taught her himself.

The sound of the cart rolling to a stop startled Alvarez. He spun, nearly losing his balance.

Dylan was out of the cart before it fully stopped and went straight for him.

"Roberto, are you alright?" she asked, laughter evident in her voice.

"Sí. Sí. Just an old man lost in his head," Alvarez replied, holding her forearms. "It’s good to see you, hijita."

"You’re hardly old, Roberto." Dylan smiled, letting him pull her into a firm hug. "It’s good to see you, too."

She stepped back, keeping a grip on one of his arms. Looking toward Elias, she said, "You remember Elias. My assistant."

Alvarez beamed, stepping forward with his hand out. "Of course. Of course. It’s good to see you, young man. Oh, I have some exciting things to show you."

Elias shook his hand, smiling. "It’s good to see you, too, Professor. I look forward to finding out what you’ve discovered."

"Speaking of…" Dylan said, gesturing toward the lab. "Why don’t you show us why I canceled my vacation to Hamburg?"

For a second, Roberto looked confused, then his face lit up in realization.

"¡Oh! Disculpa, hijita. No me había dado cuenta de que ya estábamos en esa época del año. (Oh. I’m sorry, my dear girl. I didn’t realize it was that time of year already."

"Sí. Es la única época del año en la que todos pudimos ponernos de acuerdo para pedir vacaciones. El tío Mike se quedó picón porque no va a tener la oportunidad de recuperarse y ganarme los guantes firmados de Vettel. (Yeah. It's the only time of year we could all agree to get time off. Uncle Mike was disappointed he wouldn't get the chance to win back his signed Vettel gloves from me.)"

Roberto and Elias both laughed as he led them inside with the restless energy of a man who had spent too many days sleeping beside a discovery he still couldn’t explain.

The lab was far larger than Dylan expected.

She took off her sunglasses, tucking them into her shirt pocket, and scanned the room.

Climate-controlled storage racks lined one wall beside reinforced archival cases stamped with humidity warnings and handling instructions in three languages. Tables overflowed with survey photographs, excavation maps, stratigraphy reports, and sample trays. Multiple workstations hummed quietly beneath suspended task lights while a bank of monitors displayed scans of carved stone, topographical imaging, and partially reconstructed glyph groupings.

Top-of-the-line equipment.

Not university-owned either.

Private acquisition.

Cadogan money.

Dylan felt her jaw tighten slightly behind her composed expression.

"As you can see, Helios spared no expense on equipment," Roberto said, taking Dylan gently by the arm and guiding her forward. "This easily rivals Peabody’s labs."

Elias snorted. "No one beats the Sun Devils."

Dylan chuckled. "Right. Because you’re number one in innovation. We still got you on endowment and Nobel laureates."

"Whatever. Why don’t you put your pricey degree to work and translate scribbles while I do the real work, Adler."

Dylan resisted the urge to either stick out her tongue at him or flip him off or both, and focused on Alvarez. She had a job to do and wasn’t interested in dragging out her stay in a Second Dawn-based camp.

"It’s over here," Alvarez said, moving toward a workstation cluttered with printed images and handwritten notes. "We scanned the entire wall, hoping for context clues. It’s just the one stone with the anomalous glyphs."

As Alvarez launched into an increasingly animated explanation, Dylan let herself be guided deeper into the lab, asking questions at intervals while keeping half her attention on Elias.

He had gone quiet.

Not suspiciously quiet.

Operationally quiet.

While Alvarez focused entirely on Dylan, Elias drifted naturally through the room with the casual aimlessness of someone waiting for the academics to finish talking. He paused near one workstation long enough to connect a slim black device between the tower and monitor. Another disappeared beneath the edge of a table near the central camera mount. A third sat no larger than a USB drive and vanished behind a server stack beside the environmental controls.

Small adjustments.

Forgettable movements.

The kind people stopped noticing seconds after they happened.

Dylan recognized every device immediately.

Camera interference.

Signal disruption.

Counter-surveillance.

At another workstation, Elias rested one hand against the keyboard while pretending to examine a printout. His thumb moved once along the edge of his watch.

Programs quietly began stripping monitoring software, disabling keystroke logging, and rerouting background data collection protocols.

Cadogan might have built the lab.

That did not mean he was entitled to everything discovered inside it.

"And this," Alvarez said excitedly, spreading several photographs across the nearest table, "was taken after we cleared debris near the statue. You see the spacing here?"

Dylan stepped closer, forcing herself to focus on the images instead of Elias’ movements.

Groups of four.

Again.

Not random.

Structured.

Deliberate.

A pulse of excitement twisted sharply with dread in her chest.

Behind Alvarez, Elias reached for his Gatorade, took a drink, and tapped two fingers once against the side of the bottle.

Clear.

Good.

Dylan exhaled slowly through her nose before looking back toward Alvarez.

"Roberto," she said gently.

The older man blinked, still caught halfway inside his own explanation. "Hm?"

"You and I both know how I work when I’m translating." Her tone softened apologetically. "I need quiet. No interruptions. No hovering."

Understanding flickered across his face almost immediately.

"Oh. Yes. Of course." He stepped back quickly. "Of course. I’m sorry. I’m just–"

"Excited," Dylan finished with a faint smile. "I know."

Alvarez rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I may have had too much coffee."

"You?" Elias deadpanned from across the lab. "Impossible."

Alvarez barked out a laugh.

The tension eased slightly.

Deliberately.

Dylan stepped forward and squeezed the professor’s shoulder reassuringly.

"We’ll go through everything carefully," she promised. "But before you leave, is the original khipu fragment here? The one you sent me an image of."

Alvarez brightened and moved to the climate-controlled racks. Dylan followed, and her eyes widened when he pulled out a drawer.

There it was.

The fragment that had gotten her here.

"Beautiful, isn’t it?" Alvarez said, smiling at her. "We aged it to roughly the same timeframe as the Caral khipu."

"How long ago was that?" Elias asked, coming over to look at the khipu fragment.

"Well, the oldest undisputed is the Wari khipu. Around 600-770 CE. The Caral khipu is dated to 2500 BCE." Dylan explained. "Do the math."

Elias let out a long whistle and looked at Alvarez. "How’d you even come across this, Professor?"

"One of Helios’ representatives presented it to me," Roberto explained. "He said that a Foundation member found it during a closed auction, and wanted an expert to date and possibly translate it."

Dylan and Elias exchanged a look.

"When I realized it didn’t correspond with anything I knew, I sent it to you, Dylan, while agreeing to lead this dig."

"We’ll figure it out," Dylan reassured her mentor. "But Elias and I need to work alone for a bit first."

"Take all the time you need," Alvarez agreed, shutting the drawer and heading to the doors. "I’ll be nearby if you need anything."

"You already know I’ll forget time exists once I start working," Dylan said.

"Yes, yes." Alvarez waved dismissively toward the door. "I remember finding you asleep in Tozzer many times when you were working on your dissertation."

Elias laughed. "That sounds about right. She still does that."

Dylan pushed him. "Shut up. I’ve gotten better."

"Sure, Jan."

Still smiling faintly, Alvarez stepped outside.

The moment the door shut behind him, Dylan’s playful facade fell away as she locked it.

"Let’s get to work. I don’t want to be here any longer than I need to be."

Elias nodded and headed toward the station with the geological surveys. "Same. The surveillance is already deaf. The cameras will begin looping in five. And they’ll have no record of what we type or look up."

Dylan debated between the fragment and the images before choosing the images. She was going to spend most of her time working on them anyway.

Perfect for setting up the loop.

Dylan set her satchel on the station, pulling out her laptop and notebook. She set both of them up, then looked over at Elias.

"Do it."

A key clicked softly.

"Recording."

Ten minutes later.

"We’re golden. We’ll need to make another loop in… two hours."

"Perfect," Dylan replied, abandoning the images for the khipu fragment. "Time to get a closer look at this mystery string."

[sandyrook77]

Thought I'd share a bit of what I'm working on. Prequel to The 100. Original Character. Inspired by the Anomaly Stone, the Judge, and S7E8, "Anaconda."

Out of Time

Chapter 1 - False Foundations (year 2045)

The cabin was hushed in the way only private aircraft ever were. Silent except for the low thrum of the engines and the soft, lyrical notes of music. The quiet made the rest of the world feel distant. Surreal.

Dylan sat at the wide walnut table, leaning into her forearms as she read, a pen tapping lightly to the rhythm of the current song beneath her right hand. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a loose French braid, strands beginning to slip free as the hours wore on. 

Her laptop cast a soft glow across her tanned face, multiple windows open across the screen. Satellite imagery of Machu Picchu, archaeological site maps, translated Incan chronicles, and several dense papers debating the construction and astronomical alignment of the Sun Temple.

But she kept returning to one image. 

A khipu (knotted string record) fragment that didn’t follow standard decimal patterns. 

Dylan knew what it looked like. Which was precisely the problem.

A logosyllabic code that shared a syntax with Sumerian cuneiform.

A cross of cultures that shouldn’t exist.

Spread across the table was the evidence of her attempts to prove whether this was factual. Evidence of transoceanic diffusion, or the kind of academic suicide that would turn her from prodigy to cautionary tale overnight.

A thick but small leather-bound journal sat open near her elbow, its pages crowded with tight handwriting, quick sketches, and half-formed calculations. Arrows jumped between paragraphs. Margins held questions written so forcefully that the pen had nearly cut the paper.

SOLSTICE ALIGNMENT?

STONE NOT ALTAR – ANCHOR?

CELESTIAL ORIGIN/SKY-EARTH INTERFACE?

REPEATING INTERVALS? MEASURED PLACEMENT?

 Sorenson and Johannesson’s weighty tomes propped several papers open beside star charts she’d already marked up in her attempt to map the knots against Babylonian celestial records. 

And beneath it all sat Plato’s Timaeus and Critias, because if she was going to destroy her career chasing the impossible, she wasn’t leaving anything to chance. 

Dylan’s assistant and bodyguard, Elias, sat across from her at the table. Where she relied on the physical and the digital in equal measure, he worked through layers of data. Several tablets spread before him, each displaying a different magnetometry survey of the Sacred Valley conducted over the past twenty years.

He was built solid through the shoulders and chest, strength carried without excess. His dark hair was cut short and practical, his olive complexion tanned from long hours in the field beside her. A faint line of stubble shadowed his jaw, softening features that might otherwise have read sharper. At a glance, there was nothing remarkable about him.

Which was precisely the point.

His digital pen moved with quiet precision, occasionally circling spikes that didn’t align with the known magnetite concentrations in the Vilcabamba granite—as if he trusted anomalies more than the data meant to explain them.

They both stilled as Dylan’s laptop chimed, cutting the music off mid-note.

Dylan’s demeanor softened, a small smile forming as she saw who was calling.

Elias glanced up from his tablet, caught the change in her expression, and rose without a word. When she looked up at him, he answered with a knowing smirk before continuing toward the front of the cabin.

Dylan tapped the trackpad to accept the call.

A window opened, flickered, then resolved into the image of a brunette in glasses and a lab coat.

Becca Franko.

She looked like she hadn’t slept in over a day, which was almost funny, considering Dylan had been the one to wake her earlier so she could make it to the airport in time to see her off.

Becca’s hair was twisted into a loose bun, held together by a pen that had long since stopped doing its job. Strands had slipped free around her face. Behind her, monitors glowed in uneven light, outlining the shape of a lab.

Her eyes landed on Dylan, and just like that, the exhaustion faded.

Dylan smiled. "Vesta Mea (my Fire)."

Becca leaned in slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching.

"Well," she said, her voice carrying the faint echo of the lab, "that’s already better than what my simulations have been giving me."

Her gaze moved across the screen.

The edge of the laptop. The open journal. Loose pages.

Becca’s brow lifted knowingly. "Let me guess," she said. "You’ve been down the rabbit hole again."

Amber eyes darted toward the tomes taking up most of the table, heat creeping up her chest.

"In my defense," Dylan began.

Becca lifted a finger, silencing her. "That is exactly how it starts. And then suddenly it’s an ungodly number of hours later, and you’re three layers deep in something you absolutely shouldn’t be."

Dylan leaned back with a laugh and held up her hands in defeat. "Guilty."

Despite the teasing, curiosity flickered behind Becca’s eyes.

"So," Becca continued, settling back slightly, "is there any truth behind the stories about a hidden chamber deep within the Sun Temple?"

Dylan laughed again, shaking her head. "You did not just reference Harry Potter, Beks."

Becca grinned, clearly pleased with herself, before slipping into a mock-haughty expression. "It wouldn’t be the first time a secret entrance was hidden in an ancient bathroom, Dyl. Inspiration has to come from somewhere."

Dylan huffed a quiet laugh. "Only you, love. Only you."

Becca relaxed, her smile softening. "That’s right. You prefer Riordan’s creative take on mythological gods and demigods over Rowling’s magic."

"To each her own," Dylan conceded. "What you’re working on would be considered magic to many of the people I’ve studied."

"And your current project wouldn’t?" Becca countered.

Dylan sobered slightly, her amber gaze drifting back to the image of the impossible knot string.

"Magic?" she said slowly, testing the word before giving a small shake of her head. "No. Impossible? Yes. The timeline doesn’t match. Even with the different theories out there. The Kelp Highway. The Austronesian expansion. Hell, I’ve even looked into the Solutrean hypothesis."

Dylan rubbed her face.

"The khipu fragment Alvarez sent me doesn’t follow standard decimal patterns, Beks. What it does follow is syntax that predates it by over two thousand years."

She let out a quiet breath, eyes still fixed on the screen.

"That is statistically impossible. It's like finding a fifteenth-century tapestry woven with C++ code."

"Unless…" Becca trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

Dylan straightened in her seat. "Exactly. If this is real and not some hoax, then we’re looking at transoceanic travel that predates the Polynesians."

Becca folded her arms, studying her through the screen. "And that," she said slowly, "is exactly why Professor Alvarez convinced you to fly halfway across the planet."

Dylan relaxed, huffing. "He didn’t convince me."

Becca lifted one eyebrow. "You woke me up at two in the morning three weeks ago," she said. "You were pacing, you had six research windows open, and you kept saying, ‘but what if it’s real.’"

Dylan opened her mouth to protest.

Becca held up a finger. "And then you said, and I quote, ‘if Alvarez is even half right, this could rewrite a lot of assumptions about early transoceanic travel.’"

Dylan smiled despite herself. "...I stand by that."

Before either could say more, a shadow fell across the edge of the table.

"Miss Adler?"

"Dylan, Corvin," she automatically corrected, looking up at him.

Corvin stood beside her chair, posture relaxed but professional, a fond smile emerging as he acquiesced. "...Dylan. We’ve begun our final descent. About fifteen minutes until landing."

Dylan nodded. "Thank you, Corvin."

He inclined his head politely and moved down the aisle.

Becca watched the exchange, then leaned forward slightly. "So," she said, her voice softening a little, "you’re almost there."

"Almost."

The plane dipped through a layer of cloud, drawing Dylan’s gaze.

Mountains rose beneath them. Steep, green, wrapped in drifting mist. The closer they got, the more the terrain sharpened. Ridges. Valleys. Stone cutting through vegetation.

Dylan angled her laptop so that the camera and Becca could catch the view.

"God," Becca murmured. "It’s beautiful. I forgot there were still places in the world that looked like that."

Dylan rested her elbow on the table, her amber gaze flitting over the view. "The less industrialized the region, the less the impact. Kinda makes you wanna disappear into the mountains, huh?"

Becca snorted. "I’d get bored in a week. I have gotten bored a week into camping with you and Liz. Live in the mountains? No, thank you."

Dylan rolled her eyes, shifting the laptop until she was face-to-face with Becca again.

"You know I’d let you build a solar and wind farm to run a lab, Beks. I’m not cruel."

Becca narrowed her eyes. "Do I get my luxury baths?"

Dylan laughed. "Of course. Trust me. I’ve already planned a date with your tub on the island when I get back. Our mountain escape will have all the bells and whistles your island does."

She paused, then added, "Including the bath."

"Bells and whistles? Dylan…"

Dylan shrugged. "It’s a smart mansion. And a lab, Beks. The only reason our apartment isn’t decked out with everything is because Mom said it would ruin the historic character."

Becca snorted. "Tragic. Can we get back to why you flew to Machu Picchu over a string theory, Dylan?"

Dylan huffed. "I can’t fly to Machu Picchu, Becca."

"You know what I mean."

Dylan sighed and nodded. "Yeah. I do. We’re landing on the Sacred Valley floor. Not far from Machu Picchu. Alvarez has been operating out of a research station there."

She paused, searching her memory for what her mentor’s email had explained.

"The company sponsoring the excavation managed to buy the land. Built an airstrip and a camp large enough to move equipment in without hauling everything through the mountains."

Becca nodded slowly. "Makes sense. What company?"

Dylan shrugged lightly. "Some research consortium that wanted Alvarez specifically. I ran a standard background check, and it came back clean. When I dug deeper, using my contacts, I found shell companies behind some of the grants and contracts, but no parent company or name I recognized."

Becca frowned. "That’s not normal, Dylan. "

Dylan sighed, rubbing her face. "I know. I did tell Mom, and she said she’d look into it. She hasn’t gotten back to me yet."

"And you still flew out."

"I couldn’t not, Becca. Alvarez is like the dad I wish I could’ve had. If he’s gotten himself into something dangerous, I wanna be there to pull him out. Before anything happens."

Becca’s gaze turned understanding. "I get that, sweetheart. I do. But let’s look at the facts. He sent you an image of something that shouldn’t exist. This consortium has shell companies funding grants and contracts. The site is in a destabilizing region. And you’re you. You’ve carved a name for yourself as one of the leading linguistic anthropologists in the world, and you’re heir to the North American branch of the Adler Group."

Dylan winced, glancing over toward Elias before focusing back on Becca.

"When you put it like that…"

Becca’s gaze flicked to Dylan’s journal, her hazel eyes hardening.

"They don’t just want your opinion, Dyl. They want your program."

Dylan nodded once. "Yeah. The software never leaves my possession, and neither do the source files. If they want it used, I have to be there."

Becca leaned back slowly. "Which means whoever funded this specifically wanted you."

Dylan didn’t answer immediately.

That silence was answer enough.

"Most people go to Machu Picchu for vacation photos," Becca muttered.

Dylan smiled faintly. "I’ve never been very good at being ‘most people.’"

Becca’s expression softened. "No," she said quietly. "You really haven’t."

Her tone shifted slightly more serious.

"Just promise me something."

Dylan raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"If you find something strange," Becca said, "you call me before you touch it."

Dylan laughed. "Beks."

"I’m serious."

Dylan leaned closer to the camera. "If I find anything weird, suspicious, or off, you’ll be the first person I tell. After Elias."

Becca nodded, satisfied. "You’ll listen to him."

"I’ll–"

"You will listen to him, Dylan Wilma Adler. Elias has a sixth sense for when something’s wrong."

She winced at the use of her full name. "Alright. Alright. If Elias says duck, I’ll duck. Okay?"

Becca nodded. "Better."

She paused, her demeanor softening to concern. "You know I love you, right?"

Dylan softened. "I know," she said quietly. "Fide mea spondeo: simul ac sciam, omnia scies (By my faith, I pledge: as soon as I know, you shall know everything.)."

She offered a small smile. "The moment my meeting’s over, I’ll call."

"Text. I have my own meeting in twenty," Becca countered.

Dylan nodded, her hand moving to end the call. "Text, it is. Te amo, Vesta mea."

"Et ego te amo, domus mea (And I love you, my home)."

Becca’s image vanished, replaced by the khipu fragment as Dylan ended the call.

She leaned back and exhaled softly, a flicker of unease settling in as she kicked herself for not digging deeper into who was funding the dig.

________________________________________________________________

The plane dipped through the last layer of cloud, the Sacred Valley opening beneath them in a sweep of green and stone. The Urubamba River cut a silver path through the valley floor, flanked by terraces and patches of cultivated land that clung stubbornly to the mountainsides.

Dylan closed her laptop, sliding Foster’s book and her journal shut, and turned her attention to the view outside her window.

The plane banked, giving her the first clear view of the runway and the research camp.

She frowned.

"That’s clean," Elias said, leaning over her shoulder to look out the window.

Dylan’s gaze tracked the strip again.

"Too clean," she said quietly.

She glanced up at him, something tightening in her chest.

"I think the professor kept me in the dark, Elias."

Elias looked down at her. "You trust him, right?"

Dylan’s gaze turned back to the window.

"I did."

She looked at him as he sat across from her.

"Professor Alvarez always treated me well, Elias. Gave me credit when I earned it. Backed me when others questioned my age and experience."

Dylan paused, gathering her thoughts.

"He sounded genuinely excited when we spoke. No hesitation. No pressure."

She exhaled softly.

"But I’m starting to regret not digging deeper into who’s funding this."

Elias studied her for a long moment, then began powering down his tablets and packing them into his bag.

"So, how do you want to play this?" he asked, not looking at her.

Dylan sighed, following his lead and putting her things away.

"I’ll do the meeting. You and Corvin stay with the plane. Offload the gear. We’ll play the rest by ear."

Elias nodded. "Understood."

He cleared his throat, lips twitching as he tried to suppress a grin.

"Wilma?"

Dylan’s amber gaze snapped to him.

"Don’t you dare, Pebbles. It’s a family name."

Elias chuckled. "Uh-huh. Sure, Jan. And Becca’s middle name is Fred, right?"

Dylan relaxed and rolled her eyes, chuckling. "It’s not. And Wilma is a family name. Ever since the end of World War II."

He leaned back in his seat with a knowing nod. "Ah. History. Noted."

The plane shuddered as the wheels hit the strip.

The impact rattled through the cabin, followed by the roar of reverse thrust as the engines surged. Dust swept past the windows in thick, rolling waves, briefly swallowing the edges of the runway.

The plane turned slowly, dust still billowing across the glass and obscuring their view of the camp beyond.

By the time it cleared, Dylan’s view was once again the green expanse of the valley.

The engines wound down.

And then— quiet.

No voices. No movement rushing to meet them.

Just the low whine of cooling metal and the soft tick of the fuselage settling.

A click sounded from the overhead speakers.

"You’re cleared to disembark, Ms. Adler," the pilot said.

Dylan stared out her window a moment longer, taking in the beauty of the valley, knowing that barely eight feet away on the other side of the cabin was something far more than a research camp.

"You good, Dylan?" Elias asked. 

She nodded, her gaze lingering on the lush valley a moment longer before finally turning to him.

"Yeah. I’m good. Just… preparing."

Dylan lifted the edge of the table, grabbing her satchel as she stood. She caught Corvin’s eyes as he stood by the hatch and nodded. Corvin returned the nod and turned the handle. A soft click followed as the door released.

Cool, dry mountain air flowed into the cabin as the stairs descended from the plane, a welcome change from the filtered stillness they had been sitting in for hours.

"That smells better than JFK," Elias mused as he stood from his seat.

Dylan snorted. "Everything smells better than JFK, Elias. Even the fish market back home."

"Speaking of… I noticed neither you nor Becca has an accent. Not even a blended one. It’s weird."

She stopped halfway down the cabin, turned, and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Seriously? You choose to note my lack of accent now. I’m educated, multilingual, and spend months in other countries. Neutral sticks."

"Fair. But what’s Becca’s excuse?"

"She’s educated, spends time with me, and practically lives in a lab talking to computers."

Dylan gave him a look.

"What do you think?"

"That you both need lives," he deadpanned.

She snorted. "Fair."

Dylan turned back and moved toward the exit where Corvin was politely waiting, his neutral expression doing an excellent job of hiding the fact that he had heard every word.

She pulled her sunglasses out of her shirt pocket, putting them on as she started down the stairs, only to stop halfway when she finally got a good look at the camp.

"Fucking hell," Elias muttered behind her. "This is Xinjiang all over again."

Across the runway sat a mix of converted conex boxes and military-grade rigid-wall tents behind a perimeter fence. Pairs in dark tactical gear with rifles slung walked the perimeter. Armored transports and Humvees in matte black with a logo on the doors. Searchlights along the fence. People moving with purpose.

But what had stopped Dylan cold was the sign over the gate between the camp and runway. The gold geometric pattern of a rising sun. An image she had spent the last four years slowly distancing herself from. And the last image she wanted her mentor anywhere near.

"It’s worse," Dylan said lowly as she watched the gate open and a golf cart roll out carrying two people in tactical gear with solemn faces. "It’s Second Dawn. This is Cadogan’s fucking dig."

"Shit."

"Change of plans. Do not offload anything. Get this plane refueled and ready to go. We’re not staying." Her jaw tightened. "I am not getting dragged into Cadogan’s cult crap."

"It will be done, Ms. Adler," Corvin replied, his steps retreating into the plane.

Dylan slowly walked down the remaining stairs, Elias at her heel, their eyes never leaving the approaching cart.

"I’m starting to regret packing the Glock," Elias muttered into her ear.

"Standard Second Dawn intimidation." Dylan huffed. "Mixing contractors with his Disciples makes them look disciplined."

"Still. I’d feel better if it were on me."

Dylan snorted despite the tension in the air.

She waited just off the stairs for the cart to arrive. Outwardly, Dylan looked calm and collected. Inwardly, she was trying to figure out what her father was really after.

The cart stopped several feet away, and the driver stepped out. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with blonde hair buzzed in a military cut and features hardened by experience.

"Dr. Adler, welcome to the Helios Research Station. You made good time," the young man said. "Professor Alvarez and the site director are waiting for you." 

Dylan’s jaw flexed, her amber eyes hardening behind her sunglasses. "Send my apologies to the professor. I’m declining William Cadogan’s offer. I’m returning to the States."

The man reached for his belt, and Dylan felt Elias tense behind her. She subtly reached back to still him as she saw the man reach for the radio at his hip.

"Founder Cadogan believed that you may have a reaction upon seeing the camp. He wishes to reassure you personally," the young man said, holding the radio out.

"Dyl," Elias hissed in her ear.

She turned her head slightly to look at him and whispered low enough for only him to hear, "I got this, Elias. Hand me your earpiece, please."

"This is a mistake," he growled low as he dug his earpiece out of his pocket and handed it over.

"Yes," Dylan agreed, taking the radio from the man and heading toward the tail of the plane.

She plugged the earpiece into the radio, adjusted the volume, and pressed record on the earpiece’s connector before asking in a low voice, "Is this channel secure?" 

A familiar voice spoke in Dylan’s ear. "Is that any way to greet your father?"

"We’re not coordinating schedules to meet up, Cadogan. You tricked me."

"It was necessary."

‘No shit,’ she thought even as she said, "You wasted your time. I’m declining. I’m not risking all my hard work on furthering Second Dawn ideologies. Especially when the evidence is statistically impossible."

The sigh that came through was layered with disappointment and weary patience, as if Dylan were still a child, being unreasonably stubborn.

"Professor Alvarez uncovered additional evidence supporting the fragment’s legitimacy," Cadogan said. "Including traces of a language absent from all known historical records."

Dylan ground her jaw as her body twitched, wanting to see the evidence for herself. But she held still. She knew what Cadogan was doing. Appealing to her academic curiosity to manipulate her. She was determined not to give in. Not to him.

"Dylan," Cadogan continued. "Examine what’s been discovered so far. As long as you need. If you still wish to leave afterward, no one will stop you. We’ll find another translator."

Her grip on the radio tightened until her knuckles went white. Damn him, but Cadogan was good at this. He knew exactly what language to use to make her hesitate.

Dylan glanced over toward Elias. He had positioned himself to keep both her and the security escort in view while blocking access to the plane. The look on his face told her everything she needed to know. Acquiescing to Cadogan on any front would be a mistake.

"Let me talk to Professor Alvarez. Alone," she finally said.

"Very well. Wait one," Cadogan replied.

After a minute, the warm voice of Roberto Alvarez came over the channel. "Dylan. ¡Hijita! Qué bueno que llegaste. ¿Qué tal el vuelo? (My dear! You made it! How was your flight?)"

"Todo bien, Roberto. Pero concéntrate un minuto, por favor. Tengo que hacerte unas preguntas. (It was good, Roberto. I need you to focus for a minute, please. I have some questions.)"

"Sí, sí. Ask. Whatever you need, Dylan."

Dylan took a steadying breath, looked at the ground, and quietly asked, "Did you know? Did you know who was actually funding this?"

Roberto exhaled heavily. "Dylan…" 

Dylan ground her jaw. "The truth, Roberto. Did. You. Know?"

"Not initially. The Helios Foundation has funded dozens of legitimate research projects, and respected colleagues vouched for it. Finances. Security. Access. All above board. There was no evidence that your father was involved. None."

"When?"

"A few days after you agreed to come down."

Dylan’s voice cracked. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

"There’s no one else who can help me figure out what the hell we found in the Royal Tomb. The khipu fragment is impossible enough, but what we found is …something I still can’t explain."

"Roberto…"

"Dylan, think of what this could mean! Not only would this prove transoceanic diffusion once and for all, but it would predate the Polynesians. The Polynesians, Dylan!"

"One problem, professor. The syntax predates the Inca by two thousand years."

"What?!" Roberto exclaimed. "I… I think I need to sit down. Are you sure?"

"Unless I coded the algorithm wrong… yes. I’m sure."

"Dios mío. That’s…"

"Exactly. Add that nugget of information to Cadogan being involved, and now you’re saying there’s something beneath the Royal Tomb that shouldn’t be there. Did you do a tool-mark analysis or chemical testing?"

"Of course," he replied indignantly.

"And…"

"Inconclusive."

"Shit."

"Dylan, just take a look for yourself. There’s no harm in verifying it yourself."

Dylan ground her jaw and looked around. At the beautiful valley around her and Machu Picchu peeking up through the clouds. At the militaristic layout of the research station. At Elias prepared for whatever Dylan decided.

"Roberto. Professor. You don’t know what you’re asking me to do. No harm and Cadogan are not two words that mix well. Because if I verify and still say no… He’s not going to stop until he finds whatever he’s after."

"This could be the find of the century, Dylan."

Dylan sighed and shook her head. "Even if it is, the world will never know it, professor."

Roberto made a noise that sounded both incredulous and disbelieving.

"That’s ridiculous, Dylan. If we’re right, this will skyrocket our careers. Interviews. Magazine covers. Book deals. Tours. Money. This would make us, Mr. Cadogan, Helios Foundation household names."

Dylan sighed deeply, closed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Right," she whispered. "I forgot. You only know Cadogan as a venture capitalist and a philanthropist. And the man I was reluctantly made to visit by Family Court."

She took a breath, straightened, and opened her eyes.

"Roberto. Helios is a front. This is a Second Dawn-backed site."

"The church?" The confusion in his voice was genuine.

"Not a church, Roberto. A doomsday cult."

Roberto said nothing for several long seconds.

Then, softly:

"Oh."

"Yeah," Dylan sighed. "So unless you have something truly extraordinary, I’m going to have to pass."

"A wall behind a statue of Supay with symbols that don’t correspond with the Inca, Killke, Nazca, or Caral. They’re spaced in groups of four, which, as you know, is foundational to Incan structure."

"Groups of four? Are you sure?"

"Yes. I’ve been staring at the images for two weeks, Dylan. The grouping is there. Just not the meaning."

At that moment, Dylan wanted to punch something and scream. This was exactly the type of mystery she couldn’t say no to. And under any other circumstance, she wouldn’t have hesitated. Because Roberto was right. If there were more proof hidden inside the Royal Tomb, they would rewrite history as they knew it. It would raise their status in the academic world. Make them go viral.

But Cadogan and the Second Dawn were involved. And that changed everything.

Dylan dropped into a crouch and ran a hand through the loose strands of her braid.

Her voice dropped low. "I’m going to want to stay if I see what you found, aren’t I?"

"Yes. If it’s not you, it’s going to be someone else. Someone far less qualified to make sense of this. Someone with less experience dealing with …all of this."

"Someone Cadogan can control."

"That I cannot attest to, but you can, so…"

Dylan slowly stood and stretched out her neck, trying to ease the tension building there.

"I’ll take a look, but I make no promises. Anything I figure out is mine. I won’t disclose anything I am not comfortable with. If Cadogan wants my expertise, he does this my way."

Roberto hesitated. "I don’t know if he’ll agree to that, Dylan."

"Then I get on my plane and fly home right now. Preferably with you on it."

"Let me tell Mr. Cadogan."

"I’ll be here."

Dylan walked back to Elias and pulled him further away from the security escort.

Muting the mic on the radio, "There’s something there, Elias. Something Alvarez can’t interpret. I’ve agreed to look."

"That isn’t a smart move, Dylan."

"I know."

"What about the professor?"

"He didn’t know about Cadogan until after I agreed to come down. He believed Helios was a legitimate foundation. The genuine confusion in his voice tells me he knows nothing about Second Dawn beyond its public facade."

"And you believe him?"

"…yes."

"Then if you’re going in, I’m coming with you."

"I need someone to guard the plane."

"Corvin and the staff can handle it. They’ve been trained."

Dylan’s jaw tightened as she stared at Elias, and he stood his ground, staring right back at her.

"Fine," she ground out. "Inform Corvin, and bring me ibuprofen before I murder someone."

Elias’ lips twitched. "Electrolytes and meds coming right up. Don’t leave without me."

Elias headed for the stairs, gripping her shoulder firmly in passing. 

Dylan exhaled deeply, slipping into a role she hated. One Cadogan forced on her when he founded Second Dawn. 

Founder’s Heir Prime.

Roberto’s voice sounded in her ear. "Dylan?"

Dylan unmuted the mic. "Yes, professor?"

"He agreed to your terms," Roberto said, sounding a little dumbfounded.

Dylan softly snorted. "Of course, he would. My assistant and I will meet you outside the lab shortly, Professor. Get everything ready for me. And I expect a fresh pot of Peru’s best coffee."

"You …sound different, Dylan."

Dylan looked straight at the security escort and raised her voice enough to be heard clearly.

"That’s because you’re speaking to the Founder’s Heir Prime, Professor Alvarez. Not your protege. Ready the lab."

"It’ll be ready."

"Good. Adler, out."

She turned off the radio, stopped the recording, disconnected her earpiece, and tossed the radio at the driver.

"You’ll be taking me and my assistant to Professor Alvarez’s lab. No detours."

"Yes, Heir Prime," the young man quickly replied, sharing a look with his partner.

Elias came out of the plane a minute later. He handed Dylan a Gatorade and a tiny packet. He studied the escort for a long moment, noticing the change in their stances.

He turned and dropped his voice so only Dylan could hear.

"Why do they look like they’re about to shit themselves?"

Dylan opened the packet, popped the pills, and took a long sip of the Gatorade. Capping her drink, she replied with a smirk, "They just realized I’m not just any anthropologist. Is Corvin and the staff set?"

"Yeah. He’s already spoken with Ms. Adler. She’s aware of the situation."

"Good. Let’s see what Supay was hiding for centuries."

[vmplvr1977]

Chapter 15 is posted! Read it here.

[vmplvr1977]

Chapter 13 is posted!! Read it here.

[galaxyblake]

The 100 text posts no one asked for 2/???

[arcanegifs]

#act 3 cait will never beat the prince!caitlyn allegations

[sandyrook77]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by 🔻Wolfman🔻 (@up_1n_smok3)

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

despite what canon says, if a fanfic writer’s in love with a blorbo, they can never die

[asassydork]

Forever Lincoln

[riacte]

Unconventional format / mixed media / meta / epistolary fic ideas:

Script format but the characters slowly break fourth wall until they grow self aware and scream to leave but the script confines them.

Mock up notes of an author's fic outline only for a "fan favourite" / "author's darling" character to gain sentience and influence the story. The character changes the outline to suit their own agenda, and their changes are marked with a different colour whereas black text means it's the author's will. Maybe another character using another colour gains sentience. The different colours fight for dominance. Mom says it's my turn with the keyboard hey what the fuck man excuse me I'm literally trying to save my family can you guys let go and let me write your character arcs in peace OH FUCK OFF

Recipe fic. The story is told via those unnecessarily long backstories on a recipe blog in which you learn about someone's grandma or a breakup or literally anything. Bonus points if the actual recipe deals with worldbuilding (what ingredients are available? What utensils are used? How to serve this meal? Woohoo Dungeon Meshi) or in-cheek recipes (eg. "Recipe for making up with your estranged mother - Step 1: Mix patience, nostalgia, and filial piety and let it marinate for ten years. Step 2: Throw that shit into the trash because you're better than that")

Travel fic. A character is lost and trying to find their way somewhere. GPS directions, googling "x place to x place", tickets and dates, train station maps, leaflets. It gets weirder and weirder. You never get closer to your destination. You're walking around in circles. It's always 10 meters away. Where are you going and where have you been?

Receipts. Try to infer what a character is doing judging from the weird things they buy together. Also yipppee inflation tracker. On the other side, maybe it can be about a cashier/ shop owner getting to know their customers and what they order.

Written from the pov of an non-native English speaker, all the English words are italicized whereas their native tongue are the only words not italicized. Inspired by Kupu rere kē by Alice Te Punga Somerville. This is because I got salty about people from Ao3 Reddit saying they won't read a fic in all italics.

Murder mystery / "Among Us" style impersonation fic strictly using the chatfic format. Characters and readers will have to figure out which character has been killed and replaced from the way they text and use emojis. This is also because I got salty about Ao3 Reddit being a wee bit pretentious about emoji usage in fics. Maybe emojis can be important plot devices! Some people prefer to sign off messages with a heart emoji of their signature colour, so won't it be weird if they use another coloured heart? How about someone using lapslock suddenly using proper capitalisation and full stops? Can you tell if someone's phone has been stolen? What if someone's mother is pretending to text like their child? Why is someone suddenly only using UwU speak? Is it a bit, or have they been replaced?

Innocuous second person POV until the last line where it's suddenly revealed to be first person POV all along and the "I" has been stalking and narrating "you".

Other fun bits / Easter eggs / secrets to hide:

Decoding within the text itself. Maybe we get given instructions to find a word in x chapter on page y on the nth line. And when we as readers collect all the words, they form a sentence that spells out an important fact which the characters are oblivious to. Or maybe the in-universe characters find a book with the same title as the irl fic with a bookmark in it, and if you go to where the bookmark is stuck irl, you'll find the murderer plainly stated. The rest of the fic is about the readers having hard confirmation of who the murderer is while characters don't know.

A phrase is subtly repeated throughout the text of the fic and is spelled out with the letter that begins a sentence. It gives off the effect that the narrator is screaming and crying into the void (to the readers in the fourth wall) while trying to avoid detection. Bonus points if the same word is repeated for pages and pages to the point the lack of sentence variation feels weird and clunky.

Morse code!! I love morse code! Using onomatopoeia to convey the dots and dashes! The sound of rain pattering on the tin rooftop— drop, drop, drop. A low whistle of a train rumbling in the distance. He slowly sharpens his knife, creating a shiiing sound. A lengthy, high pitched squeal from his kettle. A dog barks. A sharp knock. His heart thumps. Dot dot dot, dash dash dash, dot dot dot. SOS. Maybe a character's death scene spells out the name of their mysterious murderer. Maybe a character is reminiscing their deceased loved one and the scene spells out what the deceased person would've wanted to tell them— "LIVE ON" or "I LOVE YOU" or something.

[sandyrook77]

Chapter 10 of When Fire Meets Fate is live! Read it here on AO3!

[nature-travel-photography]

The Milky Way in Arrecife de las Sirenas - Author: igneisnightscapes

[franz-bauch-foto]

Morning light

[explosionshark]

fandom is really cool actually sometimes you meet people that just fuckin rule and it's because you both want the same two fictional women to kiss on the mouth

[ur-daily-inspiration]

The moon dressed as Saturn.

[vmplvr1977]

Chapter Twelve is posted. Read it here.