#(this is of course vague bitching and not directed at anyone who CAN'T have some of these things bc of medical issues)

[aniseandspearmint]

i'm looking up dessert recipes and i am so freaking tired of seeing so many 'lightened up' recipes.

i want heavy thanks.

real butter

real sugar

real fat

real everything

like, if i make a thing i'm usually stretching it a week, it's not like i'm eating the whole cobbler or crumble or whatever at once.

tho even if i was it's fine.

dessert isn't some dirty terrible thing that you're punishing yourself for eating.

[gas-stxtion-a]

Jack's head is starting to swim at Silco's words, and he feels his hands starting to tremble ever so slightly. He hates to argue about this, about anything, but this is important to him. Yes, he's almost died at the gas station more times than he can count, but he can't just leave it behind that easily, even though he wants to. But how does he make Silco understand that when even he doesn't know how to put this into words?

"But-" Jack cringes even as the word leaves his mouth, feeling very much like a petulant child. Silco's right, isn't he? He doesn't have to go back. Why does this matter so much to him, aside from a burning reluctance to leave behind the only job he's been able to keep since high school? His skin is itching something fierce, and in that moment he wants nothing more than to scratch and claw until he reaches bone, as if that would make the problem go away. He can feel his breathing starting to pick up, and he immediately forces it back. This isn't the fucking time for him to break down like a pathetic little bitch.

"I have to," he says, more to himself than anything. "O-Or at least I have to make sure it's still running, I-" He realizes he was about to say that he's afraid of being fired, and the thought makes him want to laugh.

Some part of Jack knows that, realistically, there wasn't much, if any, risk of him being fired when the owners were alive. They'd made it clear to him on more than one occasion that they wanted him to stay working there as long as he was capable of doing so (and perhaps even longer, as long as he was still breathing). Hell, the one time he was fired, they immediately retracted the decision and told him to come back to work that same day.

When Silco yanks Jack towards him, Jack stumbles, almost losing his footing but managing to correct himself just in time. The rough treatment barely even registers amid the rising buzz in his brain, the itch driving red-hot needles into his skin. All he wants is to make the feeling go away, but he knows that clawing at himself and making himself bleed right now would only upset Silco more, so he satisfies himself by biting down hard on his bottom lip.

"I do," he says, "I've always owed them. Fuck, who else was gonna hire a stupid, depressed eighteen-year-old who's gonna die any day now? Yeah, the-they were shitty, but they gave me a chance." Jack's mouth tastes like blood as he speaks. "And, shit, I mean, I already got their fucking daughter killed! If-" He can feel tears beading at the corners of his eyes, and he blinks them away before they can start to fall.

"If I just let their business die, too, then I really did fuck them over, huh? Christ, I ruined a whole fucking family." In the heat of the moment, Jack doesn't quite realize that this isn't something he's told Silco about before, aside from vaguely alluding to it a few times. Talking about her is always a struggle and a half for him, after all. (Not that he ever wants to keep secrets from the man he loves, of course, but telling anyone about Sabi- her feels like baring all the ugliest, worst parts of his soul.)

By now, Jack feels sick to his stomach, and he wants to sit down, but he doesn't want to let go. His cold, clammy hand resting on Silco's is still trembling, and he bites his lip again, harder this time, to try and make the feeling go away. It almost works.

"Jerry's worked alone like once, yeah," he admits, "a-and he was fine after, I think." Jack doesn't remember it very well, and that realization nearly sends him spiraling in a completely different direction. "But, fuck, I-I can't just leave him high and dry while barely giving him any notice. Maybe he wouldn't mind, but-" Jack has to stop himself from gripping Silco's hand a little too tightly. While he knows he's not strong enough to really do any damage, it's not something he wants to risk.

While Jack struggles to calm himself down, Silco seems to take a different approach, and Jack startles slightly when Silco lays his free hand on Jack's. The touch, while unexpected in a moment where he already wants desperately to peel his skin off, calms him slightly, reassuring him just a tad. Normally, being touched like that when he's on the verge of a meltdown would push him over the edge, but in this case, it feels grounding, almost. The itch is still there, but Jack forces himself not to focus on it. Instead, he focuses on Silco.

It takes a moment for Silco's words to fully register as Jack's shoulders droop and he hangs his head. He shakes his head slightly at the remark about how Jack could easily tear the gas station down if he wanted, but there's something aching in his eyes as he looks back up at Silco.

"I..." He swallows. "You're... you're right, yeah." He snorts, a broken little sound, and sighs. "Fuck, I used to really hate them for never taking any shifts themselves, but I-I can't really blame them, I guess. It really is a fucking shithole." Jack takes a breath, shaky and shallow. "Okay, yeah, I-I can hire some people, that's good, a-and I can make sure that they can keep the place together while not killing themselves or each other like the o-old owners were always worried about." He stops chewing on his bottom lip, relaxing ever so slightly despite the blood in his mouth. Silco's grip on his wrist loosens, but Jack makes no move to remove it.

"I-I just need to make sure the people there can take care of it," he continues, more to himself than anything, "s-so everything will be okay." Jack's eyes fall closed for a moment before he opens them again. God, he feels pathetic right now, but he really feels like he needs to sit down. First, though, he needs to make sure... "If I... don't go in, I can stay with you today, right?" He hates how unsure his voice sounds. "I-I won't get in the way of anything important, I promise-" Jack forces himself to stop talking before he can start babbling again.

Silco had been expecting and dreading Jack’s response, all that stuff about his obligation to the previous owners.  Of course, he values loyalty, but even Silco killed to get out of a terrible, exploitative job.  Even he can admit that the concept of loyalty is not strictly black and white, although he considers it to be significantly less gray than most other things.  He expects Jack to be loyal to him, but they’re good together, and the gas station has never brought him anything other than pain.  Well, maybe his friends, but how many limbs does the man have to lose before he realizes that the cons far outweigh the pros?

“You don’t have to,” Silco insists, shaking his head.  “If you don’t want to, don’t go in.”  Jack is technically the place’s boss now, which means there is no risk of him being fired if he refuses to show up.  Hell, there probably wasn’t even a risk of that when the owners were alive.  They would have done everything in their power to keep Jack there—wouldn’t have fired him, wouldn’t have let him quit—and it’s awful that they have the same hold on him, even from the grave.  You shouldn’t remain loyal to someone who only wants to exploit you.

“And to hell with the old owners,” he snaps, pulling Jack towards him.  He does not mean to get a little rough, and he is not fully conscious of just how forceful he is being.  “What did they ever do for you?  All you ever did when they were alive was complain about how little they care about the gas station, about you, about anything—and now, all of a sudden, you owe them?”  There is a flash in Silco’s disparate eyes, one that says if the previous owners were still alive, they would not be for long.

Jack is right in that none of that is particularly reassuring for Silco.  He knows the other man rambles when he gets anxious, and the word vomit is just proof that he is not confident in anything, he is saying.  Besides, what will a shotgun do against demons who can rip fully grown men into ribbons in a matter of seconds?  And all of that about Jerry, too—Silco likes Jerry, but what if he actually runs off to the woods to smoke like Jack says he might?

“Hasn’t Jerry worked by himself plenty of times, too?  I don’t see why you need to be there with him.”  Maybe it’s selfish and unfair to expect Jack’s friends to stay in harm’s way, but Silco doesn’t care as long as Jack is safe.  “You can call him and tell him you won’t be in.  I’m sure he would understand.”  The good thing about Jerry is that nothing seems to bother him, so he won’t think Jack a bad person if he wants to take the day off.

Then, Silco gets an idea about how he might leverage Jack’s desire to follow the previous owners’ example to his benefit.  “You’re right,” he says, laying his free hand over Jack’s cold fingers.  “They did trust it to you, and that means you can do whatever you want with it.  You can hire as many employees as you want—after all, they didn’t pick up any shifts themselves.”  That was something they discussed once when they talked about Jack quitting.  Silco said the owners could pick up shifts themselves, but Jack insisted they wouldn’t.  Now he is here, still acting like an employee, even though he is so much more than that.  “You could conduct the interviews yourself and only hire the ones you think are capable, and then you wouldn’t have to worry about things falling apart in your absence.  That’s what I do, too—employ competent people I can trust to complete the tasks I need them to do.”

Now, Silco is rambling, not wanting to give Jack the opportunity to cut in with more arguments and excuses.  “And it’s yours now, you own it.  You could tear the whole damn thing to the ground if you want.”  He tightens his grip on Jack’s fingers, loosens the grip on his wrist.  “We could have a demo crew out there tomorrow, Jack.”  Honestly, that’s what he wants to do more than anything, and if he respected Jack less, he would tear the station down without consulting him.

“You don’t owe anyone anything, and you’ve more than earned the right to do whatever you want with the place.  The old owners are dead, and you never really liked them much.”  For as blunt and callous as that is, it’s no less true.  “Who cares what they would want for it?”

[verus-veritas]

Antonio

A very well-written story by “Collan” on Male Transformation Blogspot. He really knows how to draw you in. /Verus

"Give those back!" shouted a whiny, boyish voice. "You can't do this! It isn't fair! You have no right!"

The early morning sun felt warm and soothing on my bare torso as I stood by the side of the path near the old wooden picnic tables at the far edge of the park. My right arm was raised in the air, holding a small device and a pair of glasses in my hand, well out of reach of the much smaller boy who had shouted at me. We were both seniors in high school, but he looked years younger than I did, and even though I was already naturally tall, he was so short that I towered over him by almost a foot.

"Give what back, Georgie? These?" I asked nonchalantly with a false expression of concern on my face. I reached up with my left hand to pluck the glasses from my right and examined them briefly with a look of mild pity. "Shame you're so terribly blind without these. I suppose it would be too cruel to leave you here without them. Here you go." I said, and with an expert flick of the wrist tossed them far over his head to land in the still-wet grass behind him.

I took a moment to marvel at the dexterity in my left hand as I watched Georgie track the arc of his glasses to see where they landed. His short, pudgy body scuttled across the grass to retrieve them, and he dried them off with the hem of his overlarge t-shirt before putting them back on and then turning to glare at me in fury.

"You fucking bastard! You ‘know’ what I mean! That's ‘my’ body! Give it back, or I'll..."

"Or you'll what?" I interrupted, with a tone of quiet condescension in my newly low baritone. "What will you do, Georgie?"

"Stop calling me that! ‘I'm’ Antonio, you little faggot!" The anger on his face looked oddly out of place on his rounded features. The expression just didn't work on him.

"Little faggot?" I asked him dangerously as I felt a surge of anger rush through me. In the immediacy of the moment, I hadn't really allowed myself yet to settle into his mind, and the emotion caught me off guard. Damn, but this boy had anger issues, and testosterone to spare to fuel it. It almost overwhelmed me for a moment, but I managed to rein it in.

Still keeping the device out of his reach, I moved towards him with a little bit of a strut and an evil grin playing about my lips. I loved the way this body language felt so natural already. God, I wished I could see myself from the outside right now. I was probably sexy as fuck. Oh well, I had plenty of time for that later. I needed to stay focused on playing out this inevitable little drama and get it over with.

"You might want to calm down a little, Georgie. You're starting to make a scene. You sound a little crazy there. ‘I'm’ Antonio and ‘you're’ Georgie. ‘I'm’ the tall, sexy Italian stud and ‘you're’ the fat little nerd. Just look at yourself-" I said with a note of disgust. "How could anyone confuse ‘that’ with ‘this’?"

I deliberately teased him and pretended to give him the opening I knew he'd be looking for, lowering my arm and using the hand that held the device to gesture first to him, then to me. Right on cue, he made an attempt to try and grab for the device, but my reflexes were far too fast for him, and I whipped it instantly out of reach again. I knew he could never match me physically, since of course I knew his body's capabilities, or the lack thereof really, far too well. It was truly a miracle I'd managed to pull this off at all, but the reward was definitely all the pain and suffering that had led up to it. I realized I was starting to drift mentally again and brought myself back to the moment.

"Ah, ah, ah." I said and wagged my finger at him as if scolding a small child. "No grabbing for things that aren't yours or you'll have to go in time out!"

He shook his head as if to clear it and pressed his palms to his temples in frustration. "God, this is some kind of nightmare! It has to be!"

The opening was too good to pass up and I took it. "Yes, Georgie, it ‘is’ a nightmare, and I'm guessing it's just going to get worse for you."

"How? How can it get worse?" he almost whimpered, as unbidden and unwanted tears started to fill his eyes. God, I was so glad I had left that uncontrollable urge to cry behind! It was time to take the gloves off, push all his buttons, and make him start to see the agony that I had endured at his hands.

"Because," I replied, lowering my voice further so there was no chance of accidentally being overheard, "I can see that what is starting to happen to me is starting to happen to you too."

"But what do you mean? None of this makes any sense!" he cried, sitting back down at the picnic table and burying his face in his arms.

"It will soon. Very soon now," I said. "You'll know it all shortly, so it's time to drop the pretense."

That caught his attention. He lifted his tear-stained face to look at me, and I almost laughed as he realized his crying had smudged his glasses again, and he had to take them off, clean them, then put them back on again to see me clearly.

"What I mean is this. Thanks to this little device here," and I brandished it briefly as I continued, "I jumped my consciousness into you, and because we were both touching it when I pushed the button, you've retained your own consciousness and are aware of the switch. And let me tell you, setting this up and pulling it off was a total bitch. Letting you torment me every Saturday morning for weeks so that when the time came, you wouldn't think it was strange that I was sitting here waiting for you. Practicing maneuvering myself so that I could click this little button while we were both touching the device at the same time. With your size, strength, and speed against mine it could have gone wrong at any moment, but it didn't, thank god."

He was looking at me incredulously, his mouth hanging open, but no words came out of his mouth.

"I could have just taken you over from a distance," I went on, "and you would have turned into Georgie with no memory of ever having been Antonio. But I couldn't have that. You ‘had’ to know. You ‘have’ to know! To fully ‘know’ the suffering I've endured for years because of you! And you will!" My temper had risen again, stronger this time, and I was startled by the sudden violent urge I had to lash out and hit. Something, anything, him! This ‘thing’ in front of me that had made my life a misery for so long!

"But it's not possible!" he protested.

His statement surprised a bark of laughter out of me and broke through the growing anger. I shook my head in amazement. "How can you say that when you're sitting there in that pathetic body? Really ‘look’ at yourself, well, your ‘new’ self." I chuckled, but then grew serious. I began to direct him verbally, knowing from his crying moments before that his new emotions were beginning to take hold of him and an urge, a hunger, to obey me, to be dominated by me, his fantasy man, was lurking just under the surface.

"Look at your small, plump hands," I told him. "Look at your pale, pale skin. Feel the limp, thin hair on your head. Feel the paunch at your belly. Look... Feel... Touch... Touch your bicep and flex it. Not much there to flex, is there? Now how can you say this isn't possible?" My voice had fallen into an almost mesmeric cadence that I wasn't aware I was capable of. A vaguely erotic thrill rose in me at the thought of the control I was wielding, as I watched my nemesis examine my former body, following every direction I gave him almost without thought.

When I finished, he hugged his arms to his body tightly and started to tremble as if it were the dead of winter instead of a beautiful late spring day. I suddenly realized what was coming and jumped back in time, noticing in passing how much farther back I had jumped than I had expected to and how easy it had been. He turned towards me and vomited, heaving violently into the grass where I had just been standing. I waited while he emptied the contents of his stomach out onto the ground in front of him.

"What's happening to me? I feel like I'm losing all control of myself. Why are you doing this?" he asked hoarsely while he continued to cough and spit to clear his mouth as his sickness subsided.

I started walking towards the next table over, and I knew he would follow. It was as much to get away from the puddle of puke in the grass as to give him the opportunity to rinse his mouth out at the nearby water fountain. I wanted him paying attention to me, not the foul taste in his mouth.

I pointed him to the fountain, then continued. "What's happening to you is that you're in my body just as I'm in yours. I didn't expect you to blow chunks like that, but I guess if I had gone from this to that with no warning, I'd be pretty repulsed too. Plus I'm sure the pile of greasy sausages I ate for breakfast didn't help. I do love the taste, but they always do a number on my stomach. Well, ‘your’ stomach now. A little welcome gift from me to you." I snickered, and he glared again as he finished rinsing his mouth out at the fountain.

"You're also starting to feel my mind, just like I'm starting to feel yours. The emotions are beginning to make themselves known, and the memories will start filtering in after that. As the integration accelerates, you'll start living on my autopilot essentially. You'll still be aware of having been Antonio, but your speech patterns, your body language, your emotional reactions, your wants and loves and hates and fears will all be Georgie. ‘You’ will be Georgie. You ‘are’ Georgie. That's what's happening to you. And ‘I’... ‘I’ will be Antonio.”

Source: “Caption This!” 14/06/2014

[ncturn-e]

❛❛ ¡cherry bomb! ❜❜

❛ el mañana ❜

✰ ‘verse

⤷ sɓuᴉɥꓕ ɹǝɓuɐɹʇS

♡ pairing

⤷ dr. alexei / laura garcía (oc)

☹ warnings

⤷ none

word count

⤷ 1,845

tags

⤷ @justice-for-dr-alexei

a/n: this is the shitty start to hopefully something lovely for a man who never received the love he deserved. lemme know if you would like to be tagged on updates to this story :)

╔═.✵.══════════╗

╚══════════.✵.═╝

If there was one thing to be anticipated upon opening the bunker doors and lumbering inside, Laura knew the mean end of a shotgun was not the first on her list. Her first reaction was an ungodly squawk as she stumbled onto her backside, the guitar case clattering off her back and the bag of paints spilling onto the ground.

“Son of a bitch, Murray!” was her second, her anger rightly placed as she struggled to get to her feet while simultaneously gathering her strewn paraphernalia. Her hair was in massive disarray, and her tanned hands were splotched and smudged with still-drying paint.

“‘Knock before you walk’,” Murray seethed as he withdrew the shotgun, tugging on his beard in a sort of annoyed manner. “You know you're supposed to buzz the warning before sashaying in unannounced - you know that!”

“And I also know I'm the only other person besides you who knows how to get inside,” the Latina mumbled. The man slid to block her back before she could walk inside, and she produced a loud, tired huff. “It's been a long day, Murph. I just need a place to crash for the night. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“If you would've buzzed before bursting in,” Murray stated, clearly tense as the short Latina tried to bob around him. “You'd know that I was a bit busy at the moment -”

“- busy fucking around with the Girl Scout at the door when there are more important things to -”

Laura cut off the unfamiliar voice, “Another human being! Murph, I thought I was your only connection to the world above, you minx!” She seized the opportunity to dart past the eccentric and his shotgun just as he opened his mouth to object. The girl skipped through the armoured doors and into the main room, halting in her steps to visually greet three brand new individuals with a weary-but-still-pleasant disposition. There was a short, bleary-eyed, and oddly expressive woman, an angry moustached wall of a guy who resembled a father at the end of his wit, and a very unsettled, dishevelled man curled up in one of the loveseats. Naturally, Laura was not at all surprised by the oddities of the company - after all, she was friends with Murray Bauman of all people - and she set down the case of her guitar with a smile.

“Of all places a nice girl would be, I would never have guessed the home of a paranoid hermit,” the first man grumbled, placing his face in his hands and rubbing at the weariness lining his expression. The woman beside him sent her elbow into his arm lightly, shooting Laura an apologetic look, though she didn't appear to disagree with his assessment.

While the first stocky slab of a man ran a thumb over his moustache with an utterly exasperated noise, the woman next to him quickly got to her feet, moving to attempt an awkward introduction as she began to consolidate a clutter of wrappers and fast-good carnage together on the coffee table. The third man, likely younger than the other two, was staring at the newcomer through his glasses, wearing an aura of newly introduced confusion.

As Murray came bumbling back into the room, he seized Laura by the shoulders and attempted to steer her back towards the front door. She wriggled free with a wince, and, after casting another quick look at the trio around the table, quipped, “You never have company. Either you're doing something illegal, or convening to stop something illegal illegally.”

“How about Russian translations and a wild goose chase?” Murray muttered, massaging his forehead before nodding in the vague direction of the younger man. “This is Dr. Alexei, our very own foreign menace, graced by the company of Officer Jim Hopper and Joyce Byers.” He added in a tired tone, “Ne bespokoysya Ona bezvredna,” waving his hand. The young man, Alexei, loosened his shoulders slightly, still eyeing the little Latina with both wariness and interest.

“Okay. So, Jim -”

“Hopper,” the first man grunted.

“Oh - okay, Hopper. Joyce. Alexei.” Laura recited each name. “Neat. Anyone want something to drink?”

“You're not - Laura, I swear to Christ - can you at least stay in the other room?” Murray spoke exasperatedly, trying and failing to guide her out of the area.

Laura feigned offence. “You haven't even offered your guests a drink besides that crap Burger King calls edible?” she scoffed as Murray threw his hands into the air. She looked at the doctor, saying with playful sympathy, “I'll bet he didn't even get you water.”

“Apparently a strawberry Slurpee was worse than water,” Hopper growled before Joyce yanked at his arm as if to say ‘shut up, you big oaf.’

“He said strawberry was fine now!” the woman protested, but he waved her off. They then descended into what was most definitely a lover’s quarrel before Murray made a loud and obnoxious shhing noise through his teeth.

“Shut. Up.”

The others complied, except Laura, of course.

“So, what is going on here?” she queried, picking at a spot of dry paint on her knuckles. She moved to hoist her guitar case over to leave against the nearest wall, still observing the others.

There was a beat of silence, puckered by an annoyed whine from Murray before Joyce began to speak up. “Are you from Hawkins?”

Laura shook her head. “No. I'm just two towns over. Read what happened last year, though - that's some crazy stuff -” She cut herself off. “Byers. Byers - you're the woman who found her son two years ago! Er, what was his name -”

“Will.” Joyce showed a soft smile. Murray seemed to have given up on trying to reign in the conversation and had gone rooting through the kitchen, presumably for alcohol.

“Yeah! I'm glad you found him,” Laura went on with a shrug before perching herself on the armrest of one of the empty seats. When she caught the man called Alexei watching her with friendly intent, she shot him a grin before turning back to Joyce. “How's he doing these days?”

“Good - well, better!” Joyce answered, the smile remaining on her features before she was interrupted by an unintelligible grumble from Hopper. “Oh, what is it now? Do you need a Slurpee now? You big - baby - man.”

“Just saying,” the policeman said slowly, tone wavering with restrained irritation. “Not solving the Russian situation with small talk.”

“Russians? So they've finally broken through our defences?” Laura sounded only half facetiously.

Hopper gestured halfheartedly to Alexei. “Ask Smirnoff over here. He's the one with a big-ass base under the goddamn mall.”

Laura creased her brows, turning back to Alexei and repeating, “Base?”

“He can't understand you,” Joyce piped up, just as Murray came strolling in with a glass of what was probably whiskey.

“Doesn't know a lick of English,” Murray confirmed tiredly before falling back into the seat adjacent to the Latina. “I'm the nearest local translator, apparently,” he added with a gallon of absolutely sarcastic glee before tossing the whiskey down his throat. He winced before smiling way too widely.

Laura outed a small ‘ooooh’ as tucked a curl of hair behind her ear, looking at the scientist apologetically. Jamming a thumb into her chest, she made a clear introduction by saying, “Laura.” The Soviet repeated it slowly, thick and hesitant from his tongue. The grin that lit up her features sent a blossom of red spiralling into the young man’s face.

“Alrighty then. Since everyone knows my name now, why don't you all get me caught up on what the hell is happening?”

She humorously took the gurgling sounds of malcontent from Murray’s glass as an affirmative.

»»»

When all was said and done, it was an understatement to say Laura was baffled, if not utterly blown away by the massive import of information that had just been funnelled into her brain, all in a little less than an hour. However, visibly to Murray’s amusement, the presumed couple - who made it a point to announce that they were, in fact, not involved - went off into another minor argument before Murray had cordoned them off into another room.

Laura had taken it upon herself to sit on the floor beside the coffee table and sort out grocery baggie of paints, attempting to clean her hands off in the midst. “Russians have invaded America, and they chose to do so in the ass-end of nowhere. That was clever on their part, I will admit,” the woman mused over the muffled shouts coming from the other room. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, watching Murray come out of the kitchen and situate himself next to the Russian scientist on the sofa across from Laura. ”And he really doesn't understand English?” she requested confirmation, gently nodding her head at Alexei.

”Not a word.”

”Ah,” she murmured, drumming her paint-stained fingers along her leg. She sounded disappointed.

Alexei appeared to notice this, sitting up a smidge as he looked between Murray and Laura, eventually mumbling something to the other man with raised brows. Murray shook his head and replied, pausing in the middle before finishing with the babbling syllables, “Yedinstvennyye drugiye yazyki kotoryye ona znayet eto ispanskaya i umnaya zadnitsa.”

When Laura looked at him expectantly, Murray rolled his eyes and translated, “I told him you only speak English, Spanish, and Smartass.”

The Latina held up a very special finger. Murray chortled tiredly, muttering, “Yeah, you too, Lottie.”

After a reprieve, looked up again and asked slowly, “Do you, ah - do you think I could talk to him? Through you, I mean -”

Before she could even finish, Murray was out of his chair and fleeing to the kitchen for what was presumably more alcohol. “No, no, no, no, don't get me started. No. You already never shut your mouth as it is.”

Laura raised her hands in defence. “Jesus, Murph … I just want to talk to the guy. And I think you owe me for putting your thing in my face.” A pause, then through a sly grin, “Me pregunto cómo reaminará la Mamá cuando escucha cómo trataste a tus invitados.”

Murray gripped his glass with white knuckles and resignation, staring down the young woman - plus Alexei, who had no idea what was going on - before leaving the room, only to return with an armful of paper and a few dull pencils. “Comprise. Knock yourself out with a round of Pictionary first. I'll ‘repay’ you by being a translator tomorrow. Deal?”

Laura clicked her tongue and scrambled over to fetch the supplies, responding with a coy, “Es un acuerdo,” before watching Murray dramatically excuse himself. Looking over to the confused Russian, she smiled, scooting closer to his seat as his eyes followed her movements curiously. He opened his mouth to ask a question but shut it after remembering only one person in the bunker understood him. His brows furrowed, and he sat back with a faint little huff until Laura edged up next to him. He appeared a bit confused by her smile. Nevertheless, she raised a pencil and said anyways, “Let's play some Pictionary, comrade.”

[askthenewhopespeak]

An intresting talk coming from shared intrests AKA the one where Sora still can't keep a secret

Sora: *She enters the room* Oh, knife training! Cool!

Karma: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh *this continues*

Sora: *She take kingdom key out* May I join?

Karma: You’re like… 12.

Sora: I’ll be 13 in March! And I know how to use that knife.

Karma: Prove it then.

Sora: *She attacks the training doll, stabbing it in the heart* I can’t throw, though. But I can stab things. Karma: Hm. How are you at dodging? Sora: I have no Idea. I always get the feeling dad goes easy on me, and he is one of the two people I can train with. The other…. Travels most year, so I can’t train with them usually. Karma: Who’s your dad? Sora: *freaking out a bit.* He is, um… Not here or very known. You won’t know him. *thinking: three lies in one sentence. Wow.* Karma: *they lean in close to the child’s face* You’re lying. Sora: W-why would I lie? *Karma staring at her for close scares her even more* Karma: I don’t know why. I just know you are. The direction you were looking. They way your hands are placed. Your time of voice. Sora: S-so what? Yes, I lied. I had my own reasons. *She tries to put a mask of confidence. It doesn’t work so well* Karma: *They pout* You’ve only just met me and you’ve already decided you can’t trust me. Why? I’m cool. I’m fun. I even let you attack my dummy. Sora: That’s not it! *She trusts Karma, but after what happened with Monaca… * I promised not to tell, and I already Broke it, so I try to not break it again until I know the consequences of the first time. Karma: *they dramatically collapse to the floor* And I thought we could have been friends. Sora: I-I want to be your friend. If that’s okay. I don’t have many friends besides kids I consider cousins. Karma: But friend’s don’t keep secreeeeeeeets. Sora: I-I promised Mitsi and Shuuichi and Kaede, though. And besides… You won’t believe me anyway. Karma: You said you’ve already told someone though. Go big or go home. And who can’t say that. I may believe you if you can prove it. Sora: I can’t prove it. That’s the entire freaking issue! *Out of frustration, she starts using Kingdom Key to stab the doll multiple times in different locations.* Karma: You can say fucking you know. Sora: Old habit. I used to have to pay for a kind of a curse jar if I said Fucking. Or did stupid things that ended up hurting me. This was a big jar. Karma: *they sigh* Kid where are your parents? This school isn’t exactly safe. A few people nearly died a few days ago. Sora: Not anywhere I can reach. *She sighs.* I wish I could, but mom and dad aren’t here and I need to live with it. Karma: What’s your name? Your real name. Sora: My name is Sora. That all that matters. Karma: Why are you hiding your last name? Sora: Because it’s part of the lie. I can’t tell you who my dad is, and I can’t tell you his last name. You can call me Sora Momento, if you wish. That’s the name I go by here, Karma. Karma: …how do you know my name? Sora: I know many things, Karma Graves. *She picks up her knife.* But not enough, apparently. Karma: *They instinctively reach for their gun, only to remember it has no bullets* Shit. Sora: Haa? What’s the problem? Is your name a secret and I didn’t know? Karma: No. It’s just that I haven’t met most people here yet. And no one would mention me to some kid. And even then you would know that name belonged to me. (All my knives are in the dummy. I have to have something…) *they pull out a dart* Who are you with? Sora: Mostly with myself. Chaotic Natural for the win! I’m not aligned with Maverick Storm or despair, if that’s what you ask. Karma: ALRIGHT HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW MAVERICK?! Sora: History always was my best subject. *She puts one finger on her lips in shhh symbol* Have you figured it out yet? I’ll tell you everything if you can figure my last name. Karma: History…? You don’t mean… I mean… That would explain how you know all this stuff… *the look at Sora* What I’m getting is that you’re hinting at being a time traveler. Which it seems you may have somewhat proven. I have no idea how I’m supposed to guess your last name though. Sora: Can’t make it too easy, can I? You know both of my parents, and I have dad’s last name. That’s all the hints you’ll get. Karma: *they lean in close to the child, taking in every feature. After a few minutes, they figure it out* Hijirihara. Sora: Yes. That’s my name. I’ll answer any question you have. *She stops* Please don’t ask much. I don’t want to destroy the future by accident. Karma: What I was the world like when you left? *they’re skeptical* Sora: You travelled a lot, coming back to the school few times a year. Sending us kids postcards and such- I have… had a pretty big collection in my room. You are the only person besides my dad I can train with. I like you a lot. Karma: I… What? I travelled? The world is fine? You didn’t come here to stop anything? Sora: No. We just played with a thing we shouldn’t and found ourselves here. Trust me, if I had a choice, I’d be in 2034 right now. Karma: I don’t understand… The world is okay? I’m just traveling? Sora: The world is pretty much fine, yeah. It is defiantly not worse than how it was in 2015, but most pepole agree it’s even a bit better. And as for you? *She pulls her shoulders* I have no idea. Karma: How much do you know about the tragedy that Junko Enoshima caused? Sora: I thought I knew everything. Facts, names, what people I care about did… But apparently I don’t. Karma: *they sigh and pull out a couple of chairs* Alright, therapy session time. Sit down kid. Sora: Okay. *She sits down* I feel like I got to warn you I’m snarky and not that nice? Karma: And I’m childish and sadistic. Sorry if you didn’t know that. Sora: No one ever said it like that, but I kind of guessed? I mean bi-Monaca explained to me once why she didn’t like you. Karma: *they smile darkly* Monaca eh? Heheh. What did that bitch tell you? Sora: Don’t call her that! She told me that you chased her, planning to hurt her until she died in pain. I refused to ask more. Karma: Jeez kid calm down! It’s almost like you’re defending her… Sora: I really wonder why? Maybe because she used to be my third favorite person in the world. Karma: Why on earth would you like her…? Sora: Because she is my big sister! *She tries to calm herself, more or less suceeding.* And she is the bestest big sister in the world. Karma: …you just recently figured things out about Monaca that were hidden from you. Am I correct? Sora: Pretty much, yes. *She stares to the floor* She started saying she did all this horrible things…Why didn’t anyone tell me? Karma: *they snicker* Fuck if I know, kid. Your parents probably wanted to give her another chance at having a good life. But second chances always have a shitty price. I got my second chance. It’s not much better than what I had before. Sora: Your second chance? Do you mean this school? Why isn’t it better? Karma: I don’t exactly mean this school per-say. I’m talking about my entire life after being rescued… Sora: Rescued? From where? *thinking: All the more things no one bothered telling me. Yay.* Karma: *they’re quiet for a few moments* I haven’t told anyone this. But you seem chill with being disturbed so why don’t I tell you some shit. Not everything of course. Let’s start with the fact that I’m a natural born killer. I even killed before I was born. For the longest time, I thought I was intersex. Turns out, I actually absorbed my own twin in the womb. Not sure which of us was the girl and which of us was the boy. Then, my mom died giving birth to me. I’m not quite sure what my dad’s deal was. But he kept me locked in a small basement. I had newspaper to do my business on. No windows. Only a small lantern. I got fed once everyday. Not very nutritional food mind you. I only had a television with one channel. A channel that would show 90’s cartoons and sitcoms. I was abused. My dad would let people down into the basement sometimes, do do what they wanted with me. If that’s too vague for you I’m surprised. I’m talking about having sex with me against my will. I was hurt mentally and psychically. *they lift up their hair to reveal scars and burn marks, as well as a missing eyeball* Sometimes my dad would bring home a kitten. I’d grow so attached to them. And then at night, my dad would sneak in and take them away, only to feed them to me later. I don’t want to scar you too much so I’m leaving the basement shit at that. After I was rescued, I was forced into the life of an agent. I kill, I torture, I abuse, I steal, I destroy, I torment, etcetera. I’m still trapped in a life I don’t want. Sora: *She gasps, holding her tears, before hugging the older teen.* No one will ever tell you to kill anymore. I can assure you that. This is just not them. Karma: *They’re taken aback by the hug. They awkwardly pat Sora on the head* Sora: That feels nice. It feels like mom’s hugs. She always pats me on the head. Karma: *after a few moments* Hey… Kid. I’m fine with killing alright…? It’s my job now. *They then mutter to themselves* It’s also kinda entertaining. Sora: But no you have the choice. Isn’t that what really matters? Karma: …sure. *they pull away* …are you stuck here? Sora: We know the device to bring us back is *somewhere* in this time period, because my friends took it with them, but it didn’t show up where they did. We hope it’s still in the school. Karma: What does it look like? Sora: Like a box you could enter a date too. It’s really simple. Karma: …do you want my honest opinion? Sora: If you’d like sharing it, yes. Karma: I think you have no chance of getting home unless you tell your parents who you really are. I’m sure there’s some nurses here who could do a DNA test to prove it. They’d be much more willing to help you. They’d keep an eye out for the box too. I mean you’ve already told me, so what’s the harm in telling others? Sora: Mitsi and Shuuichi are worried because they read too many time travel books where everything went wrong. I’m just… really bad at keeping secrets, I guess. I don’t think I want to tell them. What if they decide they don’t like things about me and change things about how I was raised, or decide to never have me? Karma: Hold up hold up hold up hold up. There’s more of you?! Sora: I thought you understood it when I said my friends lost the time machine. We are four. Karma: That must have gone over my head… Who are their parents? Sora: Kaede and Shuuichi are Naegi’s. Mitsi *She corrects herself* Mitsuru is Nakamura. Karma: The princi- headmaster. And I’m not sure I’ve met the other yet. Think I’ve heard of him though. Sora: That makes sense. He cured a lot of diseases. I think it was at least 100 by 2019. Karma: Really? Huh. Listen, about the other thing you said. I’m sure your parents would love you. I mean, even I think you’re really cool. Sora: *She blushes a bit. It’s not everyday someone you adore tells you he thinks you’re cool.* I know my parents love me. But they aren’t my parents yet, and I’m afraid that they’ll decide not to teach me to use the knife, for example. Karma: Well I’m afraid I can’t make you change your mind. But know that if you and your friends need anything, I’m here for all of you. I’ll do my best to help you out. Sora: *She hugs Karma again* Thank you very much. *She smiled* Can you help me train with my knife a bit more, please? Karma: Of course!