do-not-burn - Tumblr blog

[do-not-burn]

All Tomorrows: ABF (2)

[Check out Part 1] Volcanic eruptions were a disaster of the past and, as such, there were no measures in place to protect against them. The land and people that were not destroyed by the Yellowstone “overflow” were not yet in the clear and were, instead, met with a different fate.

As it happened, while the brilliant minds that stayed on Earth focused their energies on preventing the eruption and working to create a more efficient and equitable society, they had allowed all Terran residents to forget about and, eventually, lack awareness of systems of nuclear weapons and power sources in the Earth. Some speculate that they had not been completely forgotten but were uncovered and in the process of being analyzed shortly before the eruption. Others argue that they had been repurposed for functions unknown [whether or not they were unrecorded or simply unrecognized due to time is also debated]. None of those details matter though. Return, then, to the scene. The ash and lava had settled - humanity had experienced half of its first extinction-level event in millennia. Fortunately, for a society unused to gore and true misery, bodies didn’t litter the ground - for there were no bodies to litter the ground with. Mourning simply wasn’t enough - and there simply wasn’t enough time to mourn. The window between the eruption and the activation of the nuclear weapons has been estimated to be anywhere from one week to twelve hours. Had these devices been in peak condition, there would be no story left to tell of the Terra(n)purists. But time, as it tends to do, wore these “missiles” down and reduced their effectiveness to a third of their original. Why the potency dropped as such a significant rate is also yet to be determined (though there was an era in their history when they summed it up to “divine intervention”). Instead of obliterating all life on Earth - it only mutated them. Of course, there were a number of Humans killed by launch and explosion of these rockets for cities had been erected on the land that governments used to harbour these weapons away from the innocent and the dangerous. But, again, those who weren’t killed so violently had been subjected to undergo mutations. Due to the abundance and aggression of the various chemical compounds in the air, mutations happened relatively quickly. It was like a virus. It crept into their systems. Sometimes, it would kill them immediately. Sometimes, slowly. Sometimes, never - that was when the changes would begin. As records presently state, in the beginning, the mutations were too diverse and some Humans could not be differentiated from affected wildlife - as such, their evolution - if they had one - did not mimic the majority’s. However, there were four common denominators: (1) laughter, (2) the desire to (or attempting to) manipulate fire - despite injury, (3) shoulders, and (4) patchy exoskeletons created from reactions between melanin, keratin, and uranium nitrades. 

---

Totally forgot about this, oops. 

[do-not-burn]

And finally, at the old and tender ago of nineteen, she realized her dad is just another man.

Maybe her fear is well-founded.

The fear that their great many similarities - overlaps - means her life has already been lived and she will be this history's next go-around.

This is a chance to take a different path - having seen the end of one and another - but who's to say which is better. Not he who has taken the beaten path. Not he who turned away from the road less taken and has not seen its destination.

[do-not-burn]

Ngl I was fucked up when I wrote this. I imagined the rest of the post and published it before actually writing it.

Tumblr post about zoloft and marijuana. I

[do-not-burn]

Tumblr post about zoloft and marijuana. I

[do-not-burn]

[do-not-burn]

All Tomorrows: A Brief Fixation

Today I indulged myself by exploring the bottomless pit of my YouTube watchlist. Lo and behold, Alt Shift X’s 40 something minute video on All Tomorrows. I never began to watch it and I never heard much about “All Tomorrows” before this morning. Needless to say, it scratched the haso + worldbuilding + author + creature design + theorizing bits of my brains maybe a bit too well. So why are you here peeking into my blog? Because I’m gonna do it again. “It” being writing short space fics until I burnout or no longer receive praise.

--

All Tomorrows seems to pose that all humans left Earth for Mars. However, knowing human nature, that simply wouldn’t happen. There would surely be a group of people either unwilling to leave or unable to leave - perhaps because of personal philosophies, religion, health, or finances. Regardless the reason, there will be humans left on Earth and - to deter the ones leaving from regretting their decision and to encourage their descendants to stay on Mars, misinformation was spread. “Those who stayed on Earth were racist and xenophobic cowards. They were terrified of what people Mars might be the home of. They were afraid of leaving the familiar.” They were so dubbed the Anti-Martianists or Terrapurists. The so-called Terrapurists never learned of these names and, as such, continued to call themselves Humans. 

So then there was only the poor, the sick, the scared (because it was a frightening prospect to leave a planet for one no human had set foot on in known history), the close-minded, the ignorant, the eager, the hungry, and those who had been overlooked by society. They could rebuild the world for themselves. Some geniuses had chosen to stay on Earth, that they might preserve and restore the planet before it could finish dying. To save you the tension and angst, yes. They were successful. But communications with the red planet were not - for reasons then unknown. Or so they said. It is argued that the “Overlooked” had interfered with comms, so they may enjoy the world that was made for them. That their utopia, their paradise would not be corrupted by those who had forgotten them and their ancestors (for this took a century - only a century - and as such the original pain still burned hot in the descendants). 

Unfortunately, as is a trend with Human successes, the good times did not last too long - though it did last longer than some periods - only about three centuries before what was once known as the Yellowstone volcano erupted. The aforementioned geniuses were well aware of the threat it posed and set forth to prevent it. Again, they were mostly successful, which is more than what could have been said of their distant human ancestors who would have seen fit to pray to and feed the volcano instead. The technology they conjured had slowed down the movement of the magma and the tectonic plates to a speed so slow that even their computers were unable to detect the virtually molecular levels of movement. The process to slow down and “stop” the pre-eruptive activity was a sensitive and chronologically costly matter and, once all came to a stand still, the treatment was concluded - because it would have been a waste to continue when they achieved their goal (effectively freezing the tectonic plates and magma in place). The eruption elicited a reaction not dissimilar to that of those in “Pompeii”. Volcanic eruptions were a disaster of the past and, as such, there were no measures in place to protect against them. The land and people that were not destroyed by the Yellowstone “overflow” were not yet in the clear and were, instead, met with a different fate. 

--

[ @edhelwen1 ] [ @faeriereader ] I feel like you might enjoy this

[do-not-burn]

Object Permanence

The soul would live for millions of years through billions of lives and would only be mature when the world dies

[do-not-burn]

Dimensions

Our world is three dimensional - on the basis that we’re not first dimensional because we’ve determined that not only do dimensions exist but that there are only two others that we know we are “greater than” because we’ve likened them to concepts in our three dimensional world. Dimensions seem to be directions of movement and yet the diagonal does not count as a fourth as it does not count as a third in the second dimension. Our concept of time in this dimension is linear. Should, in this dimension, time not be the basis of a fourth dimension, could time therefore be considered three dimensional or must time be of the fourth dimension because we cannot manipulate time in its perceived linearity and yet we can manipulate what we believe to be of the first dimension. Where are the first and second dimensions? Are they within the third, are they separate, or were they stages in our world or dimension’s development?

[do-not-burn]

I wanna lay super still on the ground to trick corvids into thinking I'm dead so I can catch them and whisk them away to my home where I will feed them and love them and befriend them

[do-not-burn]

Gotta write this down before I forget I had an Idea:

Lucifer's (the Morning Star, day bringer) twin isn't Jesus but another, lesser angel: Noctifer (the Evening Star, night bringer)

[do-not-burn]

Please make a post about the story of the RMS Carpathia, because it's something that's almost beyond belief and more people should know about it.

Carpathia received Titanic’s distress signal at 12:20am, April 15th, 1912. She was 58 miles away, a distance that absolutely could not be covered in less than four hours.

(Californian’s exact position at the time is…controversial. She was close enough to have helped. By all accounts she was close enough to see Titanic’s distress rockets. It’s uncertain to this day why her crew did not respond, or how many might not have been lost if she had been there. This is not the place for what-ifs. This is about what was done.)

Carpathia’s Captain Rostron had, yes, rolled out of bed instantly when woken by his radio operator, ordered his ship to Titanic’s aid and confirmed the signal before he was fully dressed. The man had never in his life responded to an emergency call. His goal tonight was to make sure nobody who heard that fact would ever believe it.

All of Carpathia’s lifeboats were swung out ready for deployment. Oil was set up to be poured off the side of the ship in case the sea turned choppy; oil would coat and calm the water near Carpathia if that happened, making it safer for lifeboats to draw up alongside her. He ordered lights to be rigged along the side of the ship so survivors could see it better, and had nets and ladders rigged along her sides ready to be dropped when they arrived, in order to let as many survivors as possible climb aboard at once.

I don’t know if his making provisions for there still being survivors in the water was optimism or not. I think he knew they were never going to get there in time for that. I think he did it anyway because, god, you have to hope.

Carpathia had three dining rooms, which were immediately converted into triage and first aid stations. Each had a doctor assigned to it. Hot soup, coffee, and tea were prepared in bulk in each dining room, and blankets and warm clothes were collected to be ready to hand out. By this time, many of the passengers were awake–prepping a ship for disaster relief isn’t quiet–and all of them stepped up to help, many donating their own clothes and blankets.

And then he did something I tend to refer to as diverting all power from life support.

Here’s the thing about steamships: They run on steam. Shocking, I know; but that steam powers everything on the ship, and right now, Carpathia needed power. So Rostron turned off hot water and central heating, which bled valuable steam power, to everywhere but the dining rooms–which, of course, were being used to make hot drinks and receive survivors. He woke up all the engineers, all the stokers and firemen, diverted all that steam back into the engines, and asked his ship to go as fast as she possibly could. And when she’d done that, he asked her to go faster.

I need you to understand that you simply can’t push a ship very far past its top speed. Pushing that much sheer tonnage through the water becomes harder with each extra knot past the speed it was designed for. Pushing a ship past its rated speed is not only reckless–it’s difficult to maneuver–but it puts an incredible amount of strain on the engines. Ships are not designed to exceed their top speed by even one knot. They can’t do it. It can’t be done.

Carpathia’s absolute do-or-die, the-engines-can’t-take-this-forever top speed was fourteen knots. Dodging icebergs, in the dark and the cold, surrounded by mist, she sustained a speed of almost seventeen and a half.

No one would have asked this of them. It wasn’t expected. They were almost sixty miles away, with icebergs in their path. They had a responsibility to respond; they did not have a responsibility to do the impossible and do it well. No one would have faulted them for taking more time to confirm the severity of the issue. No one would have blamed them for a slow and cautious approach. No one but themselves.

They damn near broke the laws of physics, galloping north headlong into the dark in the desperate hope that if they could shave an hour, half an hour, five minutes off their arrival time, maybe for one more person those five minutes would make the difference. I say: three people had died by the time they were lifted from the lifeboats. For all we know, in another hour it might have been more. I say they made all the difference in the world.

This ship and her crew received a message from a location they could not hope to reach in under four hours. Just barely over three hours later, they arrived at Titanic’s last known coordinates. Half an hour after that, at 4am, they would finally find the first of the lifeboats. it would take until 8:30 in the morning for the last survivor to be brought onboard. Passengers from Carpathia universally gave up their berths, staterooms, and clothing to the survivors, assisting the crew at every turn and sitting with the sobbing rescuees to offer whatever comfort they could.

In total, 705 people of Titanic’s original 2208 were brought onto Carpathia alive. No other ship would find survivors.

At 12:20am April 15th, 1912, there was a miracle on the North Atlantic. And it happened because a group of humans, some of them strangers, many of them only passengers on a small and unimpressive steam liner, looked at each other and decided: I cannot live with myself if I do anything less.

I think the least we can do is remember them for it.

[do-not-burn]

Halfway through an anxiety attack: "This isn't very 'easy-going stoner vibes' of me

[do-not-burn]

Humans in Space: Suggestive Sparring (5:ve)

Fighting can relieve or sexual tension between the right people. Humans are known to be especially sexual and aggressive - likely for a reason.

@faeriereader @nubigenouss

(AN: AO3 has a waiting list of 35524 people so, I’m gonna write both versions of the 5th part of this story here. One will be somewhat expected - while trying not to violate TOS and the other won’t be - that’s the plan at least. I hope you enjoy both. Thank you for your support so far.)

--

I had never been quite so excited to be defeated in combat - I had actually never been excited to be defeated in combat. It would be disgraceful. And that’s what made me want it more. In Human terms, that’s taboo. No Drakean language has a word for taboo - there’s just the things that are acceptable and the things that aren’t. It would be acceptable of me to suppress my feelings - of which I felt more than one, which I was beginning to suspect was not exclusively a Human trait, but, rather, it was especially Human to express multiple emotions simultaneously. It was not acceptable of me, though, to dedicate my brainpower to research in Human anatomy and, more specifically, the compatibility between Humans and Drakeans. There was nothing to be found on the matter - much to both my chagrin and delight. Yes, I didn’t know what would happen or if it could happen. Yes, I wanted to learn first-hand. Something I was able to uncover through more observation and conversation than textbook research was that Humans, unlike Drakeans, engage in coital affairs for more reasons than reproduction. Naturally, I was terrified at the idea of violating a cultural standard on my part, but I was sure she was violating a cultural standard on her part. (That is, until I was so graciously informed of “alien-fuckers”.)

Human-Erin was on duty on the bridge while I had a free day. I spent it resting. Well, I wanted to. Human-Marcus was not fond of that. He was keen on discussing my scarring wound - insistent on probing into my relationship with Human-Erin. I would be lying had I said I did not give it much thought. And I proved to be a liar. It was neither something he needed to nor something I needed to admit. I preferred to keep my desire for Human-Erin’s warmth a private matter. Her big, brown eyes were all I saw when I closed my grey own. As per his persistent nature, Human-Marcus was relentless with his queries - even offering to regale me with accounts of his own encounters with Human-Erin. Offers that I refused. Offers he made good on despite said refusals. He told me one story of him and Human-Erin under “the bleachers”. My stomach disagreed with the story and I left our shared quarters. I felt ill on hearing him recount his “adventure” of Human-Erin and I went so far as to wonder why he would tell me that in the first place. Perhaps it was commonplace in Human culture to discuss “partners” one once had with friends who may now have the same “partner” so as to prepare them on how to treat the “partner”. However, it didn’t feel very friendly. It felt almost territorial. And considering what I knew of Human-Marcus and his property, I was likely right to feel that way. I was not right, though, to remain feeling bothered when I met with Human-Erin in the gym.

It was nothing of my concern. But wasn’t it? Why did Human-Marcus find it fitting to explain to me his past with Human-Erin? And why didn’t the tightness in my lungs go away? I had to ask her. I had, after all, asked her a question that was bearing on my mind and it had gotten me a rematch.

She stripped to her “bra” and “running shorts” again and bowed to me. She didn’t do this before and I didn’t know why she was doing it now, but I reciprocated. I had entered the gym in nothing but my uniform pants. They were sitting lower on my waist than usual, virtually settled at my hips. I was comfortable and that’s all I needed.

“Human-Erin. Before we begin, I have had a question for you all day.”

“Yes?”

“You and Human-Marcus... you had a ‘relationship’. Is that correct?” Her posture shifted, her eyes focused on the ground and she began to side-step in a circle, hands opening and closing. I followed suit, keeping my eyes on her and my hands open, tail steady and low to the ground.

“A long time ago. What about it?”

“He was telling me about your ‘escapades’ from ‘high school’-”

“Why?”

“He wanted to discuss the mark you left on me.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told him I had no interest in talking about it but he was in an especially talkative mood.”

She stopped moving and finally looked up at me. The tightness was mildly alleviated.

“I’m suddenly not in the mood to spar. Not with you, anyway.”

My ears drooped. “Why?”

“I don’t know what he said about me and I don’t want to know. As long as he told you anything about who I was in high school, I do not feel comfortable ‘sparring’ with you.”

“But-”

“But nothing.” She walked past me, her garments under her arm and a distant look on her face. I had been so patient that day. My arm stuck out and intercepted her, keeping her from the exit/entrance to the gym. “What’s the big idea?”

“I didn’t hear anything.” She looked me up and down.

“I don’t care.”

“Please. Just for one Terran minute. I promised I wouldn’t take it easy on you. Letting you leave would be just that.”

“I hate to make people liars,” she muttered. “Listen here: if I win, I leave. If you win, we can uh... keep going, if you so wish.”

“Thank you.”

“The minute begins at the first approach.” 

Human-Erin threw her clothes across the room whilst stepping backwards. When she stopped, she took no stance and made no approach. She simply circled - so I did as well. She was visibly irritated and I was well aware that Human attacks are less measured and, thus, more dangerous when they are irritated. I had considered striking just as she jumped forward, one foot leading her through the air with her arms close to her chest. To dodge this flying kick, I squatted, forcing her to go over my head and land on the mat behind me. I spun around on the heel of my left foot. I really didn’t want to win because I’d have to be on top. But I didn’t want her to leave either. There was a feeling I felt with her specifically that I desperately wanted to explore.

She landed on both feet and a hand, staring right at me. There was an unpleasant smile on her face - it was supposed to be unpleasant, but it felt like I was going to lose and it lessened that tightness in my lungs. Unfortunately for me, I had to focus on winning. I mirrored her before pouncing, knocking her onto her back. Her arms were easy to take control of where her legs would not stop moving. She kicked my abdomen until I felt forced to try and clutch the points of impact with one arm. It was then that she rolled from underneath me and pushed me onto my back as I teetered on one arm. She stood up. 

“That was only about ten seconds. Get up and fight me.”

I laid still.

“Get. Up.”

I maintained my unresponsiveness.

She set one foot on either side of me and squatted, lowering herself until she stood on her knees.

“Oh... You wanted me to force you to the ground. Is that right?”

She was totally correct, but I wanted to do some provocation of my own.

“Answer me, will ya.” Her hands walked up my chest until they fell past my shoulders, creating walls on either side of my head. Her face was parallel to mine and I didn’t believe myself to have seen someone so beautiful in frustration.

“Fine. Let’s play the quiet game. You better not scream now.” Her head dropped from my line of sight in a moment. In the next, my wound’s healing process was interrupted. The scale-bed was torn again and the raw flesh underneath was exposed. Pain and an inexplicable pleasure ripped through my body. A scream rolled from my throat and nearly burst past my teeth. Then she was kissing me again. As I bled onto the mat. I knew I was bleeding because I could taste it on her tongue.

I wasn’t able to find a reason in my mind that wasn’t heavily tied to suppressed primal urges. I don’t think she minded.

My arms encircled her waist tightly, pulling her closer to me before rolling over, releasing her once she was on her back. I caged her with my limbs and she didn’t struggle once. I didn’t say a word. I knew what the quiet game was. I held her down by her shoulders, my claws out and threatening to pierce the skin. She leaned into it, biting her lip as the skin gave away. Silence. Her hands found my neck and used it to bring my face to hers. 

“I think you wanna take this a different direction.”

“You lost.”

I initiated the kiss first, letting her hands roam my torso and lower. She learned, that day, where to find my heartbeat as she lowered my pants, her warm hands brushing my thighs and finding *me*. Her lips eventually left my mouth and wandered down to my neck. Similarly, my hand wandered down and made quick disposal of her shorts, feeling her *her* on the back of my hand. It was warmer than the rest of her and I wanted it so bad. Gripping the back of her thighs, I lifted her legs up and pushed myself only so far away from her head. I worked my head between her thighs and was face-level with her *her*. It was brown on the outside and pink on the inside, like her tongue. It was glistening in something wet. I flicked my tongue out and tasted *her*. It felt like the inside of her mouth, but warmer and sweeter. My tongue pushed into its opening, going as deep as it could, desperate to taste her core. The deeper my tongue went, the harder she breathed and the more the wet flooded my taste buds. My *me* was uncomfortably stiff. My grip was tightening on her thighs, even as my tongue left the inside of *her* for a pink button. I was as gentle as I could in sucking on it, curious to see if she would appreciate it. She eagerly whispered praises to me, her fingers tugging on my mane. Her back arched as she pushed her *her* closer to my face, offering it to me. [AN: I am so bad at this.]

“Pty... Pty, stop.” I obeyed immediately, despite my intense urge to see what would happen if I didn’t. Her *her* was pulsing slightly, the wet almost promising to drip.

“Did you not enjoy it?”

“No, god no. I want you to put it in.”

“What?”

She huffed and brought herself to her knees, gesturing for me to do the same - and I did. Her hands planted themselves on my chest once again before she shoved me away, forcing me onto my back. My belly - as well as my *me* - was fully exposed. Human-Erin crawled towards me until her *her* was aligned with my *me*.

“May I?” I nodded quickly, seeing her intentions.

She didn’t lower herself very much before I could feel her wet on the tip of me. Her star-crafted hands were on my shoulders, granting her balance as she proceeded to take me in with pain written on her face.

“This is hurting you?”

“Yeah, but I want it.”

About half of my *me* was surrounded by her pink warmth when it struck something inside of her, causing her to yelp in some sort of pain and joy. I was terrified to move, should I injure her, but I was content with lying still and watching her pleasure herself with me. I eventually worked up the courage to take hold of her hips while I watched her breasts bounce. Her head been thrown back, a string of lovely and muffled moans leaving her as she repeatedly found that spot in herself with me. A sudden surge of need overcame me alongside a shock of rapture down my *me* and I squeezed her hips, holding her still so I could drive myself upward, finding that spot with ease and then pushing into it, perhaps the rest of me would fit. 

It didn’t, but she rewarded my efforts with a short scream that she interrupted by kissing me. The pink constricted around me, making me throb once. The spot didn’t give, but her eyes locked onto mine as she did. The constrictions continued as did her moaning. Her legs betrayed her and she dropped farther onto me, creating a bump in her belly for but a moment before the rest of her collapsed with a sigh. I popped out of her, visibly on edge. Her body had never felt so hot - I was so excited to wear my new burns. 

--

[AN: I don’t think I like this, but I literally can’t go any further without risking violating TOS, I think. And I wanna get in bed before midnight. I will def be editing this one in the morning, but I did say tomorrow and this is technically tomorrow. Thank you and sorry.]

[do-not-burn]

Crikey, it’s a 2 AM scene

Oh boy, I haven’t written one of *those* in years. I know what’s expected in part 5, I just don’t know if I have the strength to do it. Of course I’m gonna do it, I just gotta be careful not to violate TOS while also delivering on what I’ve been building up. It should be done by tomorrow though, since what is Sunday for if not completing everything you’ve been avoiding throughout the week

[do-not-burn]

Are we just gonna act like Goncharov's soundtrack didn't go as hard as it did? Like it was so ahead of its time to largely have music by POC that was properly credited.

The music definitely complemented the plot and I appreciate that they were able to have Etta James and Sinatra collaborate on Katya and Sofia's shared theme song.

[do-not-burn]

I keep seeing plot analyses and character analyses of everyone in Goncharov. What about Ice-Pick Joe's cat Mrs. Claws and how she is very obviously a symbol of Ice-Pick Joe's humanity despite everything he lost in his childhood? Like she's the last of his family.

Yeah sure he killed people, but it was always for a reason. He made sure to explain everytime. Except for that one break-in scene but that was self-explanatory. Plus Mrs. Claws has definitely killed people too and you don't hear anyone say anything about that.

[do-not-burn]

Humans in Space: Suggestive Sparring (4) - Reactions

Fighting can relieve or create sexual tension between the right people. Humans are known to be especially sexual and aggressive - likely for a reason.

--

“Fuck.”

I lifted my head away from Human-Erin’s ear so I might see her face. She wore an expression I had never seen before. She looked distressed and uncomfortable, but also perplexed and frustrated - all in equal measures. I was rather confused at how many textbook emotions a Human can show at once - the manual said the maximum was two and, honestly, that was one too many for my taste. Some Humans describe emotion with four or five others as if to say emotions create other emotions. Like colours or chemicals - which made sense when I remembered emotions are nothing but chemical reactions. That didn’t stand to explain why Human-Erin reacted the way she did, but I decided it was best to remove myself from her “personal bubble” because whatever set off this reaction in her was triggered by me. Yet, when I pushed off the door, she grabbed the collar of my shirt and pulled me to her face-level. Now she just looked frustrated.

“There’s no way you don’t know what you’re doing,” she whispered, looking me straight in my eyes. “You said yourself I’m not a threat.”

“What has that got to do with anything?” I lost context so suddenly. She turned the interrogation around on me in a second, her face just as dark as when I was against the door.

“You said I’m not a threat, yet here you are, cornering me because of a non-fatal wound. I’ve seen you walk away from scraps with your tail in your hands - so what does it matter that I bit you? Did I bruise your ego?” She changed the subject and directed it away from herself. Backtracking to “save face”. Humans like to “save face” - it’s just a Human phrase that means to maintain or recover pride. I knew well what it means to bruise one’s ego. It’s a common phrase throughout the galaxy - we just let the Humans think they created it.

“I will admit I was stunned, but my ego remains unharmed.”

“So, why do you care that I bit you? You bruised my abdomen and I didn’t hunt you down.”

Why did I care? The better question was: Why did I like it despite how much it hurt? Or was it because it hurt? And if I liked it because it hurt, why? Culturally, my people are known to have sadomasochistic tendencies. Should we sustain a lasting non-debilitating injury or scar, then we wear it with honour. It’s customary to compliment and even ask about those injuries and scars - no matter how small. But that didn’t explain why it felt good.

“Most warriors don’t bite in combat after their juvenile years. You’re not a juvenile, so it was unexpected.”

Her eyes narrowed at me and her eyebrows furrowed.

“Bullshit.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re not telling me the truth.” Well, I wasn’t lying. It is true that most Drakean-peoples don’t bite outside of their juvenile years. Some Drakean-peoples from planets on the outside of my home star system were said to bite during mating rituals, but Humans are not close to Drakean so there was no way she knew or meant that. My people had phased out that implement ages ago, but it occurred to me that there was a chance that it triggered a primal chemical response in me. So there was, indeed, a simple explanation. Still, it proved awkward to confess.

“Fine. The truth is that, long ago, it was used to be common for my people to bite each other before... before mating. I was just confused at you biting me because that’s not a Human custom in the manual.”

She paused again, eyes flicking between mine and the mark she left.

“What exactly did the bite mean in your culture?”

“Intentions.”

“I see. And you think that I-”

“Well, I didn’t. Originally. You didn’t bite me the right way.” Her eyebrow went up. She favoured her right eyebrow, it seemed.

“I didn’t... bite you... the... right way?” 

“You took off a scale. Traditionally, you’d have to... um, you’d have to open your mouth wide and gently pierce the scales with your teeth, leaving an oblong ring from the front to the back of the shoulder. It’s a delicate process. You couldn’t perform it. Your mouth is too small, your teeth are the wrong shape and size.”

“Careful, I just might try it.”

“You’d fracture your jaw.”

“I doubt it.”

I huffed.

“Look at the size of my mouth.” I opened my mouth, not terribly wide, but it was more open than I’d ever need it to be to speak. Her hand fell from my shirt as I straightened myself up, only to lower myself again. “May I?” She nodded, even though I didn’t think she was listening.

My teeth tentatively grazed her skin and I opened my jaw just a bit more on feeling her tense. I lowered my mouth around the spot where her neck and shoulder met, closing it just enough to feel her skin tighten under my teeth through her shirt. She squeaked. I released her, immediately standing up at my full height with my mouth closed and my heart pounding. 

She stared up at me with wide eyes. There were two emotions in her eyes, but I only recognised fear. 

“I’m sorry. That was neither necessary nor appropriate.” I bowed my head in shame, truly unsure what came over me. “If you would like, I will tell you the rest of the truth as an apology.”

She said nothing. Her breath was shaky, but she nodded again, encouraging me to continue.

“Alright. The rest of the truth is this. It’s simple really. It’s actually immature, I think. It... actually doesn’t matter.” This time, it was my turn to look away, my hand over my heart.

“Look at me for a second.” I turned my sight on her, with the aid of her hand, holding it for more than a second - Humans were not very literal in their style of speaking. Her hand found my shirt collar once again, wrinkling it in her grip. She pulled me close and quick, forcing me to kneel. We were nearly face-to-face. Her heat radiated out to me, drawing me closer to her than I needed to be. I didn’t mind.

“Listen,” she spoke low and slow, “We’re both adults. It’s silly to dance around the obvious. Especially when you’ve reduced me to a blushing mess in my own damn doorway. So, save us the agony and tell. Me.” I could deduce what blushing was on my own - and, if I could, I would have been blushing too.

“You’re right. I don’t know why. It was... I just-”

“Cut the shit.”

“I liked it. A lot. And I really don’t know why. It felt good when you bit me and when you burned me. And... And I want to spar with you again because I liked how you looked at me when you were on top.” My heart was beating so fast and I didn’t want to stop talking. As if I would solve my dilemma by explaining it in excruciatingly embarrassing detail. “You’re so warm and I’ve only felt your touch a few times, but I-”

She silenced me. Perhaps I was getting too loud though I was certain my volume had not exceeded that of a whisper. Regardless the reason, something I said moved her to make me stop talking. Human-Erin pressed her lips to my mouth and held my head still with her hands. Her hands are small and it felt odd that so much heat could come from them.

Oh.

She was kissing me. I only realised it when she stopped. After a delay, those sparring feelings overcame me fully and my body responded before I could. My tail wrapped around her waist again, my fingers found her chin to bring her lips back to my mouth as gently as I could in my hurry to better appreciate how soft they are. I felt a tug on my shirt in her direction before I felt her burn the closing wound. I hissed... but she kept touching it, her hand covering as much of the side and back of my neck as she could, getting ever closer. My heart was pounding, but she couldn't feel it in my neck like I could hers. I wanted to wrap myself around her, to absorb her warmth. But she pushed away, leaving me breathless though her heat lingered.

"You said you wanted to spar again? Even though I kicked your ass last time?"

"Please." Desperately. "I won't take it easy on you." I want you to force me to the ground again.