#I’m gonna start tweaking if they report me for this

[fermithesilly]

CRYINNNGG IT WAS AS SABOTAGE RUN

[pantpisser9000]

Combined together, Chapter 8: Pictures taken

It had been a calm day on the Octopod. They had already finished up the med-checks for the people in the area, so the rest of the day was just filled with… chilling, if anything. Kwazii and the Captain played ping-pong again, (and shockingly, Kwazii was actually able to beat him this time! Peso would’ve congratulated him, but he was still scared of him. Sure, when he was hurt it was a no-brainer, though at the moment? If he wasn’t in Peso’s care, he was still terrifying. (Peso was warming up to him, a bit, though,)) and Tweak was apparently working on a new device of sorts. Dashi was helping her. 

Shellington, the vegimals, and the Professor were cooking, (apparently the vegimals had dragged him out of his lab) and Peso had nothing to do. He had already finished his reports, so… Nothing. He was bored. He knew a person like Kwazii or maybe Shellington (though he for a different reason–research, of course) would take a GUP out and drive around. Peso was still terrified of even the thought of driving a GUP. 

He’d never even driven a car, so meomi forbid a submarine. Just the thought made a few feathers prick out of his ears and arms. Eventually, he walked out to the hq. The Captain had mentioned hot cocoa at one point, but they still didn’t have it. Apparently they’d be making a stop later for the vegimals to plant some cocoa plants and buy some powder from locals before they grew. 

Either way, he sat out there, looking at the calm water, some fish hybrids swimming by. They were elegant–practically mermaids–and it was enjoyable for a good while, before boredom poked its head in his business again. And, as if magic, Kwazii aprared. “Oy, Peso,” he said, and Peso whipped his head back. “Y-yes, Kwazii?” he asked, nervously. “I wanna go out on a ride, matey,” he said, pulling up a chair to sit laxly next to Peso.

Sweat beads cascaded down Peso’s forehead. “...I see.” he said, unsure of what that had to do with him. “You know you can’t-” Peso started, and Kwazii rolled his eyes, leaning back, “I know, I know, which is why,” he put his hands on the table, “I want ye to drive for me.” Kwazii said, flashing a toothy grin. 

“W-what?! But I’m a medic-” Peso started, but Kwazii shushed him, pointer finger to Peso’s lips. “Yeah, obviously, but.. Think about it. What if the person who be driving gets hurt? How’d you deal if ya couldn’t drive?” Kwazii questioned, shockingly in a way that made sense. He usually spoke with such pirate junk that it was hard to get what he was saying. “I.. suppose you have a point,” Peso admitted. The pirate cat grinned, dragging Peso down to the launch bay. “Tweak!” Kwazii called. She popped out from behind a wall. “Yeah?” she asked. “Me an’ Peso here are gonna go on a little driving lesson!” Kwazii said, and Peso shakily nodded. “What GUP?” she asked. “Uhh-” Kwazii thought, “The GUP B- wait, no, uh-” he thought for another moment. “W-which GUP would I likely be driving the most?” Peso asked. Tweak stepped out, “The GUP E. Wanna take that?” she asked, and Kwazii looked to Peso, then back to Tweak. “Aye, matey.” She popped a thumbs-up, and pressed a button. Peso heard some whirring, and he saw a giant door inside of the bay open, and the GUP E being whished out. 

It bobbed up at the surface, windshield retracting. Tweak motioned. “Thanks, matey!” Kwazii said, doing a flip as he jumped inside. Peso just made a little hop. Tweak looked at them expectantly. “Oh right– Tweak, open the Octohatch, matey!” Kwazii said, giving a thumbs up, and Tweak nodded, pulling the red lever. Kwazii closed the windowshield, and he looked at Peso. “O-oh, right,” Peso pulled on the steering wheel in the way that made it dip down, albeit very slowly. “Back up, and turn around,” Kwazii said, and Peso, (again very slowly) did so. Kwazii groaned. 

“Speed it up, matey!” he said, and he put his arms over Peso’s, guiding an embarrassed Peso’s arms around. The area around was pretty clear, fortunately. Well, except for a trench. It wasn’t a big one though–certainly not the Mariana. And, it was somewhat far away. Didn’t really stop Peso’s worries about it, though. Kwazii instructed next; “Come on, push more forward!” and Peso squeezed his eyes shut, and the GUP was going faster. 

Not as fast as it could, of course, and certainly not even close to as fast as the GUP B could go. “Faster!” Peso shook his head–he was sure he’d just about die if he went any faster. Though before he could properly protest, Kwazii pushed more on the wheel, and they were speeding ahead–directly towards a rock! “Pull to the left, matey!” Kwazii called, and Peso didn’t let himself freeze up, and he did it, jerking the steering wheel to the side, just narrowly avoiding the rock as they cruised past. Kwazii threw his arms up in the air, “Yeow! That was great, Peso!” he cheered. Peso just shook silently. The GUP had stilled, (Peso had let the wheel fall from his hands after that) and Kwazii put his hands on his hips. “I’d say that went well.” “I’m not so sure about that.” “Well, we didn’t crash.” “Please tell me that you’re not saying that not crashing is considered an accomplishment to you.” Kwazii shrugged. 

Peso sighed. As he looked out the window, the water looked a little darker than before, and the GUP was shaking a tad. “I didn’t know it got dark so quickly in this area,” Peso remarked, and Kwazii looked confused. “Whuh?” and he glanced out the window, lifting his eyepatch, (and Peso learned that there actually wasn’t an injury under there. Odd.) and he muttered, “Shiver me whiskers.” “What is it?” Peso asked. 

“We be in the midst of a storm.” Kwazii said, and he looked at Peso with a sort of worry. Peso guessed that since he had been (presumably, given the way he acted–it’d be insane if he wasn’t) a pirate for a long time, and probably knew the currents well enough or something. Not that Peso couldn’t tell–the GUP E was wobbling so much now both of them were having difficulty keeping their balance, and Peso saw fish hybrids being swept away in the strong currents at lightning speed. 

“W-what do we do?” because even though as much as he was (still–even if he was warming up to him) scared of Kwazii, he had a feeling he’d have a better idea of knowing what to do. “Aha–uhhhhh… oh!” he dashed over to the screen as Peso sat down at the back of the GUP, unsure of what to do, “Kwazii t’ Captain Barnacl- oh, it be no use.” Kwazii muttered, and just as he said that, the GUP lost any sort of stability it once had, and was now being carried away in a current, Kwazii grabbing onto the panel for dear life while Peso pressed himself against the back wall of the GUP E (technically the back wall of half of it, not the back-back wall as that’s where water could filter into, but you get the point).

The water around them churned, and it was a little tiny bit horrifying to Peso, and if it was to Kwazii, he wasn’t showing it. Peso sealed up his helmet, and Kwazii glanced back at him, mimicking it and the bubble-like helmet covered his head within an instant. Kwazii grabbed onto the wheel, and he tried to turn (presumably back to the Octopod) but he winced when his shoulder ached and he as flung back against the wall–there was nothing they could do, as they saw the GUP plummet to the ground, just near the trench. 

Fortunately, they weren’t dangling over the edge, just nestled in the sand near it, but it was still horrifying to the penguin hybrid. “Kwa-” he started, though the cat was gone. “KWAZII?!” he yelled and then he heard a scraping noise coming from behind, and he peered through the tiny window on the door of the GUP E, and “flappity flippers” he exclaimed, Kwazii was trudging along in the sand. Peso could practically hear the plink, plink, plink of the sand hitting his helmet, and he panicked–what was he doing? 

Peso gulped, and the GUP E slid back, closer to the edge. Was Kwazii just abandoning him for dead? And just when Peso thought he was nice! But, no, that.. It really didn’t seem like him, honestly. Though, maybe Peso’s original idea was right–he was just a thieving pirate who was out to get him or abandon everyone or steal or something. Or maybe he was just irrational because he was scared. Who knows. 

He heard the GUP E’s metal scraping against the seafloor, and he panicked, he tried the radio again–static. The GUP was settled (kinda) in the sand, or at the very least it wasn’t as wobbly as before, so he could stand up, but he tripped and his hand pressed against the big orange button–the Octo-alert. Of course, it couldn’t connect to the Octopod, so it just rang in his ears while the sound played in the GUP E. And, he felt the GUP slowly move in the other direction, and he, confused given how the currents were definitely going in the other direction before, (and he didn’t think currents like that changed on the fly–especially not in the midst of the storm like at the moment) and he looked through the window, and…

It was Kwazii! He had tied kelp or seaweed or something around the GUP, and was trying to pull it. Peso felt bad for doubting him. He was clearly struggling, though. Peso gulped. He wasn’t strong, but maybe he could help, somehow. His helmet was still up. He attached his medical bag to the hem of his pants, and he jumped into the harsh water. His boots planted into the sand, and the currents were pushing him hard, and he was so scared that he was going to be swept away right into the trench. 

He practically crawled over, and he stood up, wobbling, and he grabbed onto the kelp, and Kwazii flashed him a sharp grin, and Peso returned with a utterly terrified but confident one. They pulled, and pulled, and Peso knew they weren’t too far away from the Octopod, but it felt like it was taking hours. The sand pelting against their bodies, the current trying to sweep them off their feet–it was a lot to deal with. 

They trudged through the ruckus, and they made it far, (or at least Peso hoped they made it far) but Peso’s arms were getting tired, and he was certain that Kwazii was the same. Suddenly, he heard a snippet of Kwazii’s voice through the murky water, “m–atey-” he heard, “th–re be —- trac—g on th’ GUP-” was all that Peso could make out. He presumed Kwazii was saying that there was tracking on the GUP E, though he wondered why that was relevant at all. “W—-an le—ave it h—-ere” 

Leave the GUP? Peso thought.  If he agreed, he was sure the rest of the crew would be able to find it, right? Given the priorly mentioned GUP tracking and all. Just as he was saying “yes”, something came into view–a hull of a ship emerging from the stirred up sand and swirling waves, and Peso practically jumped for joy. “Captain Barnacles!” he cheered, and Kwazii whipped his head around, and he pumped his fist in the air. The GUP C lowered, its back facing towards Peso and Kwazii. Kwazii swam over, grabbing the tow line and swimming back to the GUP E and Peso, and they attached it to its rudders. They both hopped back inside the GUP E after giving a thumbs-up to the Captain, and it scraped against the ground, but eventually, it lifted, and while it was bumpy–both Kwazii and Peso were sitting in the seats—it was kinda bearable. Until, suddenly, the anchor loosened, tilting the GUP and the cat & penguin hybrids to the side, and Kwazii fell on top of Peso, “sorry matey” and suddenly, the GUP lurched back as the anchor couldn’t hold onto the GUP E anymore. 

They were flung back, GUP E cruising through the currents without control, and Peso couldn’t help himself but grab onto Kwazii’s hand (and he didn’t realize his claws were out and digging into his flesh because he was just so scared and any form of comfort was comfort, right?) and Kwazii squeezed back, arching his back and shielding Peso’s body with his own, as they suddenly hit something. Peso opened his previously squeezed-shut eyes and as he looked around, he realized, the current couldn’t get to them anymore, but..

“W-we’re stuck in the trench!” Peso exclaimed, and Kwazii got up from his place on top of Peso. “Peso, me hearty… we be one wrong move away from plummetin’ down there like a sunken ship!” and the GUP teetered. “Over t’ that side, matey!” Kwazii yelled, and they leaned against the front part of the GUP E. Their placement was precarious. The back half of the GUP E was leaning off the edge, while the front half was “secure” on the rocky ridge. Peso gulped. Neither knew how much longer the storm would last. “Matey,” Kwazii said, “I think we got to try to get the GUP E more secure on the ledge,” he said, and Peso gulped again. “But how?” Kwazii stepped on the gas (it was battery run but it’s just an expression, right) and the rutter moved a lot, and it scooched them a little over…though the kelp they’d used to drag it along had clogged it up a bit.

Smart in that moment, now an idiot move. If one of them as much as took another step to the side, they could fall down into the treacherous trench. Both of them were still. Neither wanting to risk it. Despite Kwazii’s usually very… danger-oriented nature, he clearly didn’t want to die. And he couldn’t fulfill his nature at the risk of that. “W-what do we do?” Peso whimpered. “..I dunno, matey. I’m sure- the Octonauts will save us,” Kwazii replied. “They gotta.” 

As they were there, both nervous out of their damn minds, the churning water just above the trench, there was nothing they could do. “We gatta come up with a escape plan, matey,” Kwazii said, breaking the silence. “Huh?” Peso blinked away his tears. “Um, w-why?” he asked. Maybe it was a stupid question, though. “So incase if the GUP E ‘ere falls, we don’t die, matey.” Kwazii said, a hint of rudeness in his voice. “Oh. Right..” Peso muttered. “.... wait. Can’t we just… open the back part of the GUP E and swim out? Or.. uh, better yet–open the window shield?” Peso suggested. Kwazii looked at him. “Good idea, matey!” Kwazii said. “Okay, on me count,” Kwazii put up his helmet, and Peso mimicked him, “we swim out, in three,” Peso gulped, “two,” Kwazii’s hand hovered over the button, “one!” he shouted, slamming the button and water flooded inside of the green submarine, and it pushed it back and teetered off the side of the ledge, and Kwazii and Peso swam out, and Kwazii grabbed the front part of the GUP (given how the windshield was still down) and he pulled it, (Peso grabbing onto him to help) and he got it to a steadier place on the side. “Shiver me whiskers, that was..” Kwazii turned to Peso, “very exciting!” he said, shaking him by the shoulders till Peso got dizzy. “W-well, now what?” Peso asked. Kwazii blinked. “...I didn’t think that far ahead.” 

Peso put a flipper to his chin. “W-we could just try to swim back to the Octopod..” he offered. “A bold idea that be, though..” Kwazii looked up. “Even a trained pirate such as meself wouldn’t dare brave that storm.” and Peso looked up too. Even from below, it looked terrifying. “....so we’re sitting ducks..” he muttered. Kwazii sat down against the wall of the trench. “Practically.” 

Peso sat down next to him. “Wait, Kwazii, our air!” he said, and Kwazii’s uncovered eye widened. “A-and we flooded the GUP E, so we can’t rely on that-” he muttered, and Kwazii got up and paced around. “Shiver me whiskers, Peso, I be- I don’t-” and now both of them were panicked, Peso curled up with his knees to his chest and Kwazii pacing back and forth. Their air tanks wouldn’t last forever. Unfortunately, only the Captain had the Octocompass to check the tanks–they couldn’t. “W-well, they were full when we left, right?” Peso asked, and Kwazii nodded. “But we be out here a while, matey–they-” 

Both were panicking to every degree. “Sure– surely the Captain will come rescue us, right?” Peso said. “He will, but–what if he be too late?” Kwazii replied. Peso was silent after that one. What if he was too late? What if him and Kwazii just… died? Hopefully not. And suddenly, like a angel, they saw something blue braving the waves, and it swooped down, and, “Captain Barnacles!” Peso exclaimed for the second time that day. They saw him press a button. “Swim under, there’s a opening,” the Captain said, and the two rapidly swam over to the GUP C, and popped up into it, the door closing behind them. Kwazii and Peso both took in a breath of air. The Captain was smiling. “I’m glad you’re alright. But what were you doing outside of the GUP E?” he asked. Peso and Kwazii looked at each other. “It be teetering off th’ edge, Captain! Certainly a death sentence if I didn’t come up with th’ idea t’ escape through the windshield and then pull the GUP up on the trench side more!” he said. Peso was unimpressed–that was his idea, or at least the first part was. “I helped with that idea,” he said, and the Captain patted them both on the back. “Both of you did good on working together and not, ah, getting hur-” he looked at Peso's hand. “Peso, your hand is bleeding,” the Captain said. Peso looked down at it. Oh. When he had been gripping onto Kwazii’s hand for dear life, Kwazii’s claws had come out and sliced into his palms a little. “Oh.. I think I scratched my hand on a rock a little.” Peso lied, and he felt bad about that, but the Captain didn’t need to know about that. “...I see.” the Captain said. “Better be more careful next time matey!” Kwazii replied. 

That’s a little funny for you to say, Kwazii, Peso thought. “We’ll have to wait out the storm,” the Captain said. “It’s too risky to drive while the waters are like that.” he continued and Peso and Kwazii nodded. Kwazii sat down. “I be set for a catnap,” Kwazii said, and he curled up down on the floor, and fell asleep immediately. The Captain and Peso looked at each other and laughed–it was somewhat impressive he could just do that on the whim. 

Peso looked at his arms and felt his ears–the feathers were gone. He supposed he was okay, now. He sat down next to Kwazii’s sleeping figure and decided to take a little rest, too. It’d been a long day. As he drifted off to sleep, he felt a blanket being draped over Kwazii and himself. 

Lunch was often a casual, relaxing time on the Octopod–when it wasn’t interrupted by the blaring of the Octo-alert, or a mission was happening, of course–and today was no different. The Captain with Kwazii and Peso on both his left and right, and Shellington sat next to Kwazii, with Dashi across from him. Sat next to her was Tweak, and then Inkling was next to her. Kelp cakes, pudding, and seaweed chips (Tweak and Kwazii had managed to convince the Captain to let them get some–even if he wasn’t a fan of the amount of salt they contained) that Tweak and Kwazii were practically just passing the bag back and forth, pouring some onto their plates.

And of course, the kelp cakes varied too–the regular ones, some carrot based ones (Tweak had helped the vegimals come up with that one) and some miso soup ones. The vegimals liked coming up with different types and variations. Some were smashing success, (like the chocolate one (besides with Dashi, obviously. She is part dog)) and others…not so much (The sand one, while… creative, wasn’t exactly tasty). 

The topic today had been focused on family and childhood mainly, as Dashi had mentioned how they should have digital photo albums for everybody. And eventually, that had transformed into this conversation. As Dashi wiped off her chin with a napkin, “I did ballet as a kid,” she said, putting the napkin down. “I really wanted to teach my little sister it, but it wasn’t her style.” she continued, shrugging. Peso chimed in, (albeit kinda nervously) “My older sister did ballet for a while, though she switched over to ice skating..” Dashi put a hand to her chin. “Oh, I enjoyed ice skating the few times I did it–Australia’s not quite.. Ah, suited for it, though.” Kwazii nodded. “I sailed past one time! It be real hot, even in the seas.” he added, and Dashi nodded. “It’s very hot.” 

“Though, surfing’s good there.” she mentioned, and Peso piped up once more, “Oh! I’ve done body surfing with my family before,” he recalled fondly. “It w-was really fun.” “It is, isn’t it? I’ve always loved it.”

“I never surfed, though I be a good swashbuckler,” Kwazii said, plopping a seaweed chip in his mouth. “What does swashbuckling even… entail?” Tweak asked. Kwazii just threw another chip in his mouth. “‘S a lot… like uh-” he trailed off. The table laughed. “Well, you know, I was a polar scout when I was younger,” the Captain mentioned. 

“What that be?” Kwazii asked, and the Captain fondly recollected, “Ah, it was just a little.. Organization, I suppose, that had us to activities that could come in handy during an emergency, or help others.” he said, and Kwazii nodded. “T-that’s cool, Captain!” Peso chimed in, “Thank you, Peso,” he said. “Professor Natquik was our little troop leader, a very nice man. I wonder how he’s doing… he took care of me and Bianca when we were younger.” the Captain said.

“Like a babysitter, for instance?” Inkling questioned. “Something like that. He was more like a��� a father, if anything.” Barnacles said. “I see..” Kwazii piped up. “Yeah, Captain Wolfb-” he stopped himself, and Dashi was curious on why, clearing his throat, “I be also taken in by another guy, after me parents left me on me own.” Kwazii said. “...what’d you mean ‘leave you on yer own’, Kwazii?” Tweak questioned. Kwazii shrugged, leaning back in his seat and letting another seaweed chip fall into his open mouth. “Me parents, I’d presume they wanted to let me…. Be independent or somethin’, cus they left me in a box in an alley when I be a wee kitten.”  Kwazii said, totally laxly. Everyone looked utterly shocked, befuddled even. “What?” Kwazii asked, popping another chip into his mouth. “They left y’ in a box?” Tweak asked. 

“...yeah? Did- does that not be normal?” he asked, and was met with an astounding “NO” and he was surprised. “...how old did you say you were again, Kwazii?” Dashi asked. “Around… uh- well, to be honest, I not be entirely sure of me age, but around.. Six or seven, probably.” Now it was Peso’s turn to speak up. “SIX YEARS OLD?!” Peso yelled, and everyone looked at him. Obviously. Especially given how quiet he tended to be. “T-that’s just, um, horrifying, that’s all.” and nobody could really disagree with that. 

“Huh. Didn’t know that.” he muttered. The table was a bit quieter for a moment, before Shellington spoke up. “I have an older sister,” he said. Everyone was, expectantly, a little confused. He was just trying to lighten the mood, that was all. “People confuse us for being twins, though.” he continues, looking at his plate and popping a kelp cake in his mouth. “I have a twin sister,” the Captain said. “I mentioned her before–Bianca.” he continued. “Ah, my sister’s name is Pearl. I hope we can visit her soon, actually.” Shellington said. “I’m sure we can, Shellington.” the Captain says. “Where does she live?” “In a kelp forest near Scotland.” he says, taking a bite of a seaweed chip. 

“Sorry, did you say in a kelp forest, Shellington?” the Captain asks. “Yes! She’s part sea otter, like myself, of course.” Shellington says. Dashi pipes up, “She’s quite nice.” and they all look at her. “Yar’ve met Shellington’s sister, matey?” Kwazii asks, and Dashi nods. “Me and Shellington ran into each other a while back, after I had just got hired to be an Octonaut. I was finishing my two-weeks for my flight attendant job. He needed some pictures of him and his sister for a project, so I offered to take some.” Dashi told them. 

“Actually, now that I think of it–I think we should get everyone’s pictures uploaded to the Octopod’s database.” she offers. Peso tilts his head to the side. “W-why?” he questions. “Just incase if they get lost or something, there’s a copy out there.” she says, and Peso nods. “Good idea, Dashi.”

“I can start with my own, since I already have those. And then Shellington’s. Anyone wanna volunteer to go next?” she asks. Tweak raises her hand. “I’d like t’, Dashi.” she says, and Dashi gives a thumbs-up. “Okay, me, Shellington, Tweak…” “I’ll do it after Tweak, Dashi.” the Captain says, and Dashi nods. “I’ll go, matey!” Kwazii pipes up. Dashi curtly nods once more. “I-I’ll go after Kwazii.” Peso suggests, and Dashi nods again. “I will go last, then.” Inkling says, and Dashi flashes a thumbs-up. 

***

Her pictures were fairly easy to upload, given she took most of them on her own camera, and she had her phone on the ship with her. Sure, nobody really used their phones while aboard, (even if the wifi was shockingly good) but it was handy for getting some pictures from her family. She wasn’t always able to take the picture, after all. She decides that everyone should have all their pictures uploaded besides any repeated pictures. Or, in Dashi’s case, if they had way too many. So, she ended up putting a nice list of photos for herself. 

One of just herself, full body (she decided that everyone should have one of those) 

One of her and her younger sister, Koshi

One of her and her whole immediate family

One of her and her full extended family 

Some old ballet pictures/hobby related ones

One of her in her flight attendant garb

And some vacation pictures that involved herself. 

She figured it was a good list. It wasn’t all of her pictures, (she actually enjoyed selfies, shockingly) but it was a lot. And certainly all of the ones that she’d want backed up, at least. Next up was Shellington. 

She went ahead and uploaded all of the pictures she’d taken, and Shellington sent her the other ones. He didn’t seem to have any with his full family, but Dashi decided not to pry. It’d be rude, certainly. She called him up though anyway. “Dashi, did I accidentally not send you all the pictures?” he asked as he shot out from the Octochute, and Dashi shook her head. “No, you sent them all. I just need to take a few.” she said, and Shellington cocked his head to the side. “A full body shot of you, and of you and the vegimals. I’ve taken a few of those already, but I want one with all of them in view as well.” she said, and Shellington nodded. “I can go fetch them right now, if you’d like,” he said, and Dashi nodded. “That’d be wonderful.” 

Shellington ran off again, into the garden pod. It was where the vegimals spent most of their time, given that’s where they farmed and cooked, so it made sense he’d check there first. Though, sometimes, they wandered off to random places, (especially Codish–the pink one–and Grouber, –the big purple one– or on occasion, Barrot.) and got lost. Of course, they almost never left the Octopod unless if it was all of them going (or just Tunip given as he was pretty much the leader, the representative of them, so that instead of all of them going when the Octo-alert was sounded, it was just him so they didn’t have to stop their duties) so that led to lost vegimals not being a regularly occurring thing. 

That’s what Dashi thought until Shellington, frantic, jumped out of the chute with all of the vegimals trailing behind him. Except one. The tiniest of the bunch–tomminow. Small and red, they often stayed with the others. Almost never ventured off on their own, and if they did, it was usually with Grouber or one of the other vegimals. They just tried to help their brothers whenever they could, and that was what they did. 

Except now, they couldn’t help because they were “Tomminow’s missing, Dashi,” Shellington said, and Dashi was a little surprised. What had happened to them? The one vegimal who was never on their own. “Are they in the garden or kitchen?” Dashi asked, just making sure she was covering all bases. Shellington looked to the vegimals, and Tunip trilled a response. “Tunip says they looked in every nook and cranny in both of those places. They’re not there.” 

Dashi put her hand on Shellington’s shoulder. “Let’s check the lab,” Dashi suggests, and Shellington looks at her, confused. “Why would they be there?” he asked. Dashi shrugged. “Tomminow’s sweet. And all of them know you have a tendency to forget to eat, so maybe they brought some food down or something.” Dashi explains, and Shellington nods. “Makes sense.” he says, and they both go into the laboratory–nothing. “Maybe they’re spending time with the Professor?” Dashi suggests, pointing to the library. Professor Inkling says he hasn’t seen them. Dashi can feel the nervousness radiating off of Dr. Shellington. “Infirmary, maybe?” she says, and Peso says he didn’t see them at all. “Let’s go to the game pod, maybe they got challenged to play pingpong,” Dashi says, and when she, him, and his 4 current vegetable-fish-human children arrive, Kwazii and the Captain are playing. “Tomminow’s missing?” the Captain asks, and Dashi nods. “Have you seen them?” she asks, and Kwazii shakes his head. “Nah, matey. Maybe they be helping Tweak, though?” he suggests, and Dashi and Shellington decide to listen to his suggestion and head to the launch bay. “Missin’?” Tweak asks, tightening a bolt on the GUP A, leaning over on it from the jutted out bit in the bay. “Tomminow, the tiny red one,” Shellington elaborates, gripping onto his satchel’s strap tight.  “No, sorry. I haven’t seen ‘em.” Tweak says sympathetically. 

Shellington looks at Dashi. “Where are they, then?” he asks no one. And nobody besides Tomminow themself knows the answer. 

Suddenly, the alarm blares–but not the Octo-alert. Tweak races over to the screen, and she presses a button, and she gasps. “Somethin’s stuck in one of th’ pipes!” she cries, and Shellington and Dashi look at each other, sharing one thought–Tomminow. 

“Which one, Tweak?” Dashi asks, somehow still sounding calm even in this situation. She pressed a few buttons and pulled it up on screen, the orangish dot lodged in the pipes that was likely Tomminow blinking, and she pointed. “It’s one of the ones for the kitchen’s sink. No idea how they got in there, assumin’ it is Tominnow…” she said, biting into her ‘thinking carrot’ as she called it.  

She looked at Shellington and Dashi. “But no matter how or why, we needa get em out. I’m soundin’ the Octo-alert!” she said, slapping the button with her palm, and the ‘woop, woop’ sound echoed throughout the ship. “What’s the matter, Tweak?” the Captain asked through the screen–he appeared to still be in the gamepod with Kwazii from what Dashi could see. 

“Somethin’--we think it may be Tominnow–is stuck in one of th’ pipes!” Tweak frantically said, and the Captain’s eyes widened. “Tominnow be stuck in the pipes?! I know they be a little matey, but–the pipes?” Kwazii commented from behind. Tweak nodded. “It’s in the kitchen.” she said, and the Captain commanded, “Octonauts, to the garden pod!” 

***

Soon enough, all of them were there. Shellington looked to be on the verge of tears, most of the vegimals were crying, and everyone else just looked generally concerned. Tweak pulled up a map of the pipes on her Octo-tablet, and her face displayed a grimace. “It doesn’t look great. It’s a little bit of a tight squeeze for someone like the Captain,” and Dashi seemed to be the only one who noticed the Captain get significantly more nervous,”but fer me or Kwazii or Dashi it’d be okay. We’d have to cut a hole about..” she stepped over to a tile, thumping her boot down. “Here. It’d allow for the easiest entrance. And, we’d uh, have to cut open the pipe. So, whoever’s going down will have to twist the valve to stop the flow completely, because otherwise we’d have a real disaster.” 

She sighed. “I could do-” she started, but Kwazii piped up. “I’ll do it, matey!” he valiantly said. It wasn’t a surprise that he wanted to do the risky thing. Tweak nodded. “That’s a good idea. It’s probably smart to have me supervising from above, looking at th’ pipes and the sort anyways.” she said. And so, it was decided. “Captain, you know how t’ belay, right?” Tweak asked. He nodded. “Of course. It was part of my polar scout training.” he said, and Tweak gave a thumbs up. 

As Tweak cut open the hole in the Octopod’s kitchen’s floor, Kwazii wormed his way into the harness, and was embarrassed when it was all twisted up and he had to do it again (this time with some help from the Captain). Though after that little fiasco, they were good to go. Well, after Tweak gave him a backpack that held a sawzall, a device that could cut through the metal pipes.  “Okay, Kwaz, yer gonna want t’ step on the big pipe right there,” Tweak said, pointing. Kwazii turned on his headlight. “I see it, matey.” he said, confident. He was slowly lowered down by the Captain, landing square on the pipe with the thump of his Octo-boots. He could hear the chorus of sighs of reliefs. 

“Okay, there should be a pipe to yer left.” Kwazii hesitated, doing the L finger trick with his hands (Even if he couldn’t read or write very well, he had managed to still get that trick down). “It’s thinner then the one yer standing on now, so be careful.” Tweak said from above. “I always be careful!” Kwazii said, jumping down and he wobbled a little bit, but eventually regained his balance on the pipe easily. “The one Tomminow is stuck in is the one just to the right of that,” Tweak says, “Walk forward to get to the valve for it.” she says, and Kwazii obeys, carefully balancing on the pipe. “Wait, stop!” Tweak calls, and he stops immediately. “Get on all fours–otherwise, you’ll bonk yer head into a pipe.” she says, and Kwazii does so. “Now continue.” 

Kwazii crawls along, his headlamp just barely illuminating the space. “Okay, the valve should just be on the pipe.” Tweak tells him, and Kwazii looks at it. “I see it, matey!” he says. “Twist it to the left,” Tweak says, and Kwazii does so, twisting with all his might, and eventually, he’s able to. “Now go back, and I’ll tell ya when to stop.” she says, and Kwazii crawls back, gripping onto the pipe. He’s glad it’s made of metal that his cat claws can’t slice through, because they’re currently out. They tend to when he’s stressed or needs to grip something like he is right now. 

And eventually, Tweak tells him to stop, and he comes to a halt. “Now, on the pipe, I want you to take out the Sawzall.” she says, and he takes the backpack off, pulling the sawzall out. “Don’t worry, Tomminow’s a lot more to the side, so you won’t be cutting the pipe on them.” Tweak clarifies, though Kwazii has a feeling it’s to calm Peso, Shellington, and the rest of the vegimals, not him.

He revs it up, and he places it on the pipe. “It’ll probably take a minute, so be patient,” Tweak says, and Kwazii has the urge to make a snarky comment back, but he doesn’t want to get distracted, so he doesn’t say anything. 

It takes a couple of minutes, but he perseveres through and the pipe is left open. “Lil matey?” he calls, and he hears a trill. And… flopping? “Can y’ get over ‘ere, matey?” he asks, and he puts his hands under the opening after putting the sawzall back in his backpack. He only hears some trills, and some more flopping, and soon, he sees the little red–oh, wait–

“...does they usually look so–fishy?” Kwazii asks as the little fish flops into his hands, and he comforts them as best as he can. “You be okay, little matey!” he says, and suddenly, the little guy transforms back into a more humanoid form, legs instead of tail, and a regular person head (just with a sprout) instead of a fish head with a sprout. He thinks it’s a sprout, at least. Tomminow, donned in their little overalls, clutches onto Kwazii’s shirt like it’s the only thing anchoring them to life. “I’ve got ‘em!” Kwazii calls, “Lift us up!” and slowly, they’re highered, just having to dodge a pipe or two. 

Once they’re back at the usual floor, Tominnow is crying, a wet spot on the ginger cat’s shirt. “Oh- you be alright?” he asks, and Tomminow just grips harder. Kwazii’s bad at comforting, though, so as he stands there awkwardly as the little guy cries into his shirt, he offers, “Um, don’t ya wanna see Shellington?” he asks, and Tominnow looks up, and he trills happily as Kwazii extends out his arms and Tominnow leaps into Shellingtons. 

“...I think I have t’ change shirts..” Kwazii says, grabbing the hem of his shirt and stretching it out to look at it. He undos his harness, and he walks out, going to his room to presumably change his shirt. 

As he enters, he takes a glance at his catnip plant, and at his closet. He’s tempted, to say the least. Part of him feels he shouldn’t, dinner’s probably soon, but at the same time…he hadn’t even taken a little of either things, so he decides he owes himself a little treat. Opening his way too many doors to get into his closet, he grabs a bottle. He pours out a little in an Octo-mug. It’s not much, really. He pours a little more out–it’s only like, half full. 

He walks out, closing his barrage of doors, and he grabs a little bit off his catnip plant. He figures he should eat it, because that’ll mellow him out. And so, he drops it into his mouth, and consumes, and he finds his brain getting a little fuzzy. His arms are covered in more fur, now. He supposes it’s a side effect of the catnip–making him more cat-like. He takes a swig out of the mug, and it burns his throat in a good way. 

He’s sitting on the floor next to his bed, and he pulls out an action comic. Sure, he can barely read, but he can usually grasp what’s going on just from the pictures. He takes another swig, and he’s not entirely sure how long it’s been since the one before. 

And of course, eventually, he’s drunk all that’s left in the mug. He’s not super high or drunk or anything of the sorts at the moment, but he’s mellowed out and he’s satisfied as he sprawls out on the ground because he thinks he sees a new color, and wow is it pretty. He curls up on the floor, and he doesn’t fall asleep but it is very nice. Even if it’s hardwood. He traces his fingers–paws?--along it, giggling for no apparent reason. 

He just kinda hopes nobody walks into his room, because he’d prefer not getting his things banned. They probably won’t, right? He’s probably a legal adult for that kind of thing. He’s not really sure partially because he doesn’t know the legal age for that and partially because he doesn’t know his own age. Really, a tough situation. He’s sure he’s like… an adult, though. He’s been around for at least 18 years though, he reckons. 

Plus, Peso’s like… 27 or something like that and Kwazii’s probably older than that, he figures. Given how Peso acts. He thinks of this as he’s sprawled across the floor and he can feel his eyes getting droopy, and he dozes off pretty quickly. 

He’s awoken by his alarm that next morning, and he groans. “Mmmmmrroww..” he mewls, rolling over on the floor, “Yeow!” he shouts, as his shoulder hits the hardwood floor particularly hard. It’s healed since the whole tiger shark ordeal, but it hurts more than it would usually whenever he bumps it into anything. Thinking about it now, he realizes it’s been a little while since that whole thing. He supposes time has just been passing by–and he hasn’t thought about his old crew much. 

Sure, they were terrible, but, he still finds himself missing them a little. They were his family, practically. Especially… especially him. Wolfbeard. He shuddered just even thinking of the guy. He was.. Honestly probably the only thing he was scared of, besides spiders, (no matter how much he denied that fact) but fortunately, like spiders, he couldn’t jumpscare him under the water. He sailed on a pirate ship, not a submarine like the Octopod! 

Even if he despised the guy now, he was being honest earlier when he said he was like a dad to him. Given his parents left him at a young age, and Calico Jack went missing a long, long time ago, he didn’t have anyone else. Groaning and getting up, he crawled into his bed. He shouldn’t go back to sleep, though he wanted to. He stretched and got out. Walking out, him and the Captain had decided to leave their rooms at the same time. “Good morning, Kwazii,” the Captain said. “Mornin’, Captain,” he replied. Oh. That was the first time he’d called him Captain. He figured the term and ol’ him had been separated enough in his mind to be comfortable calling someone else that. “Off to breakfast, ey?” Kwazii says, jumping, and the Captain curtly nods. “Yes. I believe Dashi is going to be uploading more pictures, today.” he tells Kwazii, and the cat nods. “Oh, alright. Who’s she on?” “Shellington, I believe. She wasn’t able to finish yesterday with Tomminow’s situation. And, she might skip Tweak for now since she needs to repair the pipe and the floor.” Captain Barnacles said, and Kwazii gave a thumbs up. “Oh, who be after Tweak?” Kwazii asked. 

“Myself. Then you, I believe.” he said, and Kwazii nodded, jumping down the chute. The Captain trailed after him as they launched into the headquarters of the Octopod, and Dashi was already there. So was Tweak. “Hiya Cap,” she said, waving to the Captain. “Hello Tweak. How’s the progress on the pipe going?” he asked, and Tweak put her hand on her hip and took out a carrot. “I know how t’ do it, but y’ need to belay me.” she said. “And the vegimals are too nervous to go into the kitchen while the hole’s open, so we may have to… delay breakfast.” she rubbed the back of her neck. 

Kwazii sulked, his ears pressing against the sides of his head. “Aw, that be unfortunate.” he said, and Tweak agreed, taking another bite of her carrot. “Agreed. I’m hungry.” she said. The Captain cleared his throat. “Speaking of,” he looked at Tweak, “We should go do that right now,” and Tweak flashes a thumbs up. “Yup! Let’s go,” Tweak exclaims, and she and the Captain head into the Garden Pod’s chute. 

Dashi turns around in her chair. “They’re technically next, after Shellington, but he’s busy coaxing the vegimals. I think we should get your pictures uploaded right now,” she says, and Kwazii blinks, a little surprised. “Arr, okay Matey!” he says, and he runs to the chute. “Try to get any and all pictures you have!” she says, and Kwazii gives a thumbs up as he jumps into the chute. 

He backflips out into the small area between his and the Captain’s rooms, and he walks into his room. He knows he has one sacred picture of him and Calico Jack in his closet, the only one that Kwazii had with him and his Grandfather. He had other pictures of just himself or just Calico but that was the only one with them together. Kwazii knew Calico was great, obviously. Just about one of the most famous pirates there ever was! And as much as he wanted to brag about that fact, especially since he was his inspiration for being who he was, it also felt.. Wrong. He didn’t know his crew well enough to tell them. One day, though. But, he did have a few of just himself–not many, as most of the pictures he had taken during most of his life were with his old crew. And he only had one that he had brought–he hadn’t wanted to escape on that little lifeboat with too many remembrances of the past. He… if something happened to the Octopod, he wouldn’t mind that one being destroyed forever. So, instead, he picked up his small amount of pictures of just himself… and he brought them down to Dashi. 

“No offense, Kwazii, but is this really all you have?” she asks him as he hands her the minimal amount of pictures. “Yes.” he lies, and despite being a pirate, he’s a bad liar. Though, even if Dashi can certainly tell, (she seems pretty perceptive, plus she made a face at the lie) she doesn’t pry, thankfully. Kwazii isn’t sure if he’d be able to lie straight to her face again, especially if she interrogates him. “Hm. Alright. Well, this shouldn’t take long at all, then,” she says. “What exactly are all of the pictures of, by the way?” she asks, tapping at the screen. 

Kwazii picks one up. “This is me as a wee kitten,” he says, handing it back to Dashi. “Aw,” she coos, and Kwazii flushes in embarrassment. Maybe he should’ve left that one out, too. “This one be of me chugging me first rum,” he says. Dashi makes a face. “...I know you don’t know your age, but you look.. Pretty young, there,” she says. Kwazii puts his hands on his hips. “Ah, well a pirate has his first rum at 10, usually.” Dashi looks concerned. Kwazii clears his throat, accidentally a little like the Captain. It’s a habit he has. Mimicking little things like that. He knows he still subconsciously does things that he used to do. It’s not on purpose, really. It’s just a force of habit, truly. Dashi doesn’t say anything more. “And the last?” she asks, still scanning in the second. “That be me after they got lopped off!” he says, handing the picture to Dashi, and she blinks. “Huh. Didn’t know you were trans, Kwazii.” she says, beginning to scan in the picture. 

He cocks his head to the side. “Trans?” he asks, genuinely. She swivels her seat back to look at him, and then back at the picture. “Do you–” she pinches her nose bridge. “Were you born with feminine features, Kwazii?” she asks, and Kwazii shrugs. “Me parents thought I be a girl for way too long, I guess. An’ I got those lumps growing,” he motions to his chest, “There. For some weird reason.” he says. Dashi chuckles.

“What?” he asks. “Don’t worry about it, Kwazii.” she says, a hint of a giggle still in her voice. He decides to ignore that interaction. “Well, I have some other pictures of you that I took, so I’ll upload those,” Dashi said. “Would you mind getting Peso for me?” she asks. “He’s next. Well, probably, at least. Given Tweak and the Captain are probably still fixing up the kitchen from the whole pipe situation, and I think the vegimals won’t leave the lab until the kitchen’s fixed.” she says, shrugging. Kwazii gives a thumbs-up. “Will do, matey.” he says, bounding off to go inform Peso. 

When he gets there, Peso seems to be cleaning up. “Hey, matey!” Kwazii yells out, and Peso’s head bobs up, looking at Kwazii with widened eyes. “H-hello, Kwazii. Why are you here?” he asks, walking towards him. “Yer next for th’ whole picture thing. Y’  might wanna grab some from yer room,” Kwazii says. Peso blinks. “Oh, okay! I’ll go do that now then,” and Kwazii flashes a thumbs-up. Now what?

He’d figure it out, probably. 

Dashi isn’t left waiting long, though she’s able to upload all the pictures she already has of Peso on her camera before he gets there. Peso arrives just 20 minutes after Kwazii went to go fetch him, a box presumably filled to the brim with pictures in his grasp. When he places it next to her, Dashi finds she was right. She should’ve expected it, but this was a lot of damn pictures. She held back the urge to sigh. Peso pulled one out, and unleashed it from its frame. 

“This is of my whole family, not including all of my cousins and aunts and uncles for the most part.” he says. Dashi nods, careful to not accidentally rip it as she scans it in. It seems to have been kept in pristine condition, (unlike Kwazii’s pictures) so that made the process a tad easier. She handed it back to him, and he slid it back into its frame. He put it off to the side. 

He hands her another after taking it out of its own frame. “Me and my younger brother, Pinto, when he was just a chick” he explains as he hands it to Dashi. She coos–it’s an adorable picture. Who she presumes is Pinto is swaddled in a red scarf, and who she assumes is Peso looks nervous and elated at the same time. She scans this one in with ease too. She hands it back, and the process starts again. 

This one’s of Peso and all of his siblings–his older (twin) siblings Perita and Pogo off to the left, Peso next to them, and who she presumes is Pinto’s head barely in frame to Peso’s right. The next is of a lot of penguin hybrids that Dashi can’t distinguish on top of a hill, and who Peso clarifies is himself face-planted in some snow. The one after that is Peso with his medical diploma. Peso in a hospital, which he says is his first real job (Technically more of an internship, but same difference, right?). There’s a lot more pictures after that, but Dashi kinda zones out at that point. 

Eventually, though, Peso’s photos are all uploaded. Dashi thinks one day they should all show their pictures in the game room–or just watch a movie or something. It’s been a while since she’s had a movie night, actually. And she didn’t think anybody would mind snacking on some buttery popcorn. Been a while since she’s had that, too. 

When she laxes back in her chair, she remembers the only ones left are the Captain, Tweak, and Professor Inkling. Technically Shellington and the Vegimals too, but it’s not that many more pictures. She could hold off on that for a little longer. And, as if Meomi themself had granted it, the green haired girl and white haired man popped out of the octo-chute just moments later. “Heya Dashi” Tweak greeted, and Dashi took in the state of them. Covered in sweat, the both of them. As Tweak grabbed a carrot, she dropped it almost immediately, wincing. “Got my hands burned.” Tweak elaborates, kicking up the carrot and it lands on the table. “I’m gonna go t’ Peso, even if it’s probably fin-” The Captain looks at her sternly. “... I’m goin’ to Peso, ain’t I?” she says, and he nods. “That’s true. Now,” he says. Tweak rolls her eyes playfully, jumping down the Octo-chute. 

He turns to Dashi, walking up behind her. “How is the photo-uploading coming along, Dashi?” he asked. “Excellent, Captain. I just need… yours, Tweak’s, and the Professor’s.” the Captain nods. “I’m off to the showers, but I can go get Professor Inkling.” he says, and Dashi grins. “That’d be wonderful Captain.” she says, waving as he launches himself down the Octo hatch. She sighs. 

A frigid shower was probably the most refreshing thing to Captain Barnacles. Given the whole part-polar-bear thing, it was enjoyable. He always tried to keep his showers short, though. Less time in the shower, less likely the Octo-alert would sound while he was in the shower. Either way, it finished quickly, he got changed, and he decided to head down to the hq. Dashi seemed to have already finished up with the Professor’s photos when he walked in, and he walked up behind her. “Dashi, how is the photo-uploading going?” he asked, and she swiveled back to look at him. “Really well, actually,” she says, tapping on the screen. “I’ve got Kwazii’s,” she swiped past a few of his, “Peso’s, My own, most of Shellington’s, the Professor’s… only two I need are yours, Tweak’s, and a little for Shellington.” she says, and the Captain nods. “That’s fantastic, Dashi.” he says, hands behind his back. 

“Mhm. And, I actually have a bit of an idea,” she says, now swiveling the chair completely towards Barnacles. “There’s going to be Octonauts after us, right?” she asks, and the Captain tenses. He hadn’t really thought about it. “Well, yes, there will be.” he cocks his head to the side. “Why?” he asks, curious on what this had to do with anything. “I figured that, and so I had the idea–what if we made a series of videos that are sort of, uh, instructions, I guess. For specific scenarios and situations, I suppose.” 

He puts a finger to his chin. “That’s an excellent idea Dashi!” he says, and Dashi flashes a thumbs-up. “If you could compose a list of sorts of all the things somebody might need to know so that we can develop the videos, that would be great, Captain.” she explains, and Barnacles nods. “I’ll do it once we’re done with my photos,” he says, and Dashi nods. “I’ll go grab them now,” Barnacles finishes, and Dashi nods, facing back towards her screen. He jumps down the Octo-chute, and walks to his room. He gathers up all of his pictures in his arms, and is easily able to carry him all. He works out every day for a reason, after all. 

***

Dashi was glad they’d gotten through uploading all the photos, but this new project was going to take longer. And be a lot more effort, to say the least. Making a LOT of instruction videos was going to take awhile, and it already had. Her and the Captain had gotten together and come up with a bunch of ideas, then later Dashi stayed up kinda late, (blasting music through her earbuds, probably visible eyebags, some of the vegimals bringing her a plate of fish biscuits or kelp cakes on the occasion to keep her fed, sitting criss-crossed on a chair with a fluffy pillow under her, makeup freshly wiped off her face) editing and coming up with ideas for the videos from the ideas. 

She had a lot, to say the least. She was kinda excited to see Captain in that ‘exercise’ outfit that he mentioned–sounded silly, in all honesty. She knew they weren’t doing this in any particular order, and she’d probably end up switching up the numbers a little in the end so that it’s not a bunch of the same thing in a row. Currently, though, she needed to get the actual set up done. A greenscreen was necessary, of course. A lot of these ideas involved it. 

Plus, there was an idea with a blob–one of the few videos that wasn’t just the Captain speaking–that they needed pudding for, plus two others. Dashi figured it’d be Peso and Kwazii, given how those two were 1: often the least busy (especially Kwazii who was really only actually doing things during missions) 2: both most likely more than willing (Peso because he likes helping people + would feel bad if he didn’t help and Kwazii because of boredom). She had a video camera… not the best one, but it would work. 

And today was the start of filming. The first few videos were kinda ‘cringey’--given how the Captain was dressed up in bright, 80s inspired workout clothes, and Dashi was trying to keep herself from giggling basically the entire time. The Captain seemed to be rocking it though, not at all embarrassed, (Dashi wondered if he was a theatre kid) and showing off his ‘polar bear strength’ in a few of the videos. Fortunately, the filming for most of those ones only took… about an hour or two? And there would be a lot more filming. The next batch was just a lot of ‘what if’ situations, some of which the Captain explained just with his words, and a few that they decided on physical visuals. The non-physical-visuals was a little… repetitive, to say the least. The Captain, in front of the greenscreen, yapping on about one thing or another. And that same thing, just… a million times. It was getting at least a little boring. Then, the ones with physical visuals, just… without those, yet. The intros, basically. And, eventually, after a lot of filming (and I truly mean a LOT of damn filming) the Captain orders for a break. 

“Dashi, I believe a break is in order.” he said, and Dashi looked up from the camera that was currently situated on the tripod. “Oh- of course, Captain,” she said, standing up from her squatting position and dusting off her (still clean) skirt. He grabbed his Octo-compass from his belt, looking at the time. “Yes, it’s just about lunchtime, anyway.” he started putting away his Octo-compass back onto his belt. Dashi nodded, clicking the off button on the camera. “Sounds excellent, Captain,” she said as they walked over to the chute, which the Captain jumped in. She followed in after him, whooping a little as she was launched down. 

When she entered the kitchen/dining area of the garden pod, almost everyone was seated, except for Shellington. Dashi was… mildly curious why he wasn’t present. She grasped a plate from the end of the table, getting some fish biscuits and some kelp cakes. There were some clam sandwiches, too. As she sat down, she asked, “Where’s Shellington?”. Kwazii was the one who answered her. “He be researchin’... somethin’. He be real vague,” Kwazii shrugged, “But he hasn’t been comin’ up for meals for a day or two,” he said. Dashi knew her concern was apparent with her expression. “Th’ vegimals have been taking him stuff,” Tweak added. “Oh, that’s good.” Dashi remarked. 

Peso and Kwazii ended up chatting about something or another and everyone else jutted in with their own remarks, though Dashi wasn’t really paying attention. She was concerned for Shellington–sure, he seemed like the type to get obsessed and obsessively research something–, but not even coming out of his lab to eat for a long period of time? It was… mildly concerning at best. She noticed the vegimals were walking off with a plate, and she stopped them. “Tunip, do you mind if I take Shellington his food today?” Tunip tilted his head in confusion for a moment, then nodded, placing the plate back. Dashi finished up, put her plate in the sink, and grabbed Shellington’s. 

Detective work was usually Koshi’s gig, though Dashi figured she’d have to temporarily do it today. 

Jumping down the Octo-chute, food in hand and hair bouncing, she landed in the main hall. She raised an eyebrow—the door to Shellington’s lab wasn’t usually closed. 

[shadowmaat]

It's only going to get worse, folks.

Mullenweg says that users might start with just a Tumblr blog but then, over time, want to expand into something larger — an e-commerce store, a more customizable site, a newsletter or a membership site — and Automattic could direct users to other products it offers that allow those possibilities, like WordPress.com or WooCommerce, and others. “I’m excited about that on-ramp as well as to bring a younger demographic and young people into WordPress,” Mullenweg noted.

It was never about "saving" tumblr, it was about driving more traffic to Automattic.

And yeah, that "younger demographic" thing comes up a couple of times. It's part of the base code of the internet: the "younger demographic" is the only one that matters. Which is stupid, since your "younger demographic" becomes your "older demographic" over time. AKA your long-time userbase. Why the hell would you want to alienate the people who've been with you forever in order to chase the youngers? "They have more disposable income" is a lie that needs to finally die.

Mullenweg is also severely disconnected from reality when it comes to "AI."

“For Tumblr…I think it can make our developers a lot more productive…the code could be checked by AI or tested by AI or something like that. So that’ll allow us to do a lot more with the same or fewer developers, which is really exciting. So maybe our pace of development can increase,” he said. Plus, AI can be a help in moderation, flagging things before they’re even reported by Tumblr users. In addition, AI and machine learning could make the Tumblr feed better and more personalized to end users. “You can tweak it and it can really learn the things you want to see and the friends you want to follow,” he said. The exec was also generally bullish on generative AI as a tool for artists, which may benefit the community that uses Tumblr, but didn’t note that Tumblr itself would build gen AI tools.

I feel like Staff is just as under threat as the rest of us with this. He's gonna try and save money by potentially cutting staff and relying on "AI" to handle coding checks and moderation. Yeah, because robomodding has worked so well in the past. /sarcasm

He also seems to have missed how much "AI" is loathed by artists. Like, yes, it can and has been used as a tool to help artists create their own unique works, but it's far, FAR more commonly used as a way to steal the work of others, tweak it, and regurgitate it as something "new" with no actual artistic changes made by the non-artist end user.

This is the future of tumblr. No wonder our feedback goes unanswered. It also seems I was right in guessing that being a long-time user is considered a bad thing: we're "old" and the only ones that matter are the "young."

Huh. I wonder if any of that plays into the under-20s believing the over-20s don't belong here.

ANYWAY! Now's a good time to mention that Pillowfort isn't owned by corporate sponsors and works well as a blogging platform. Dreamwidth is also out there, but reminds me more of Livejournal than tumblr in its mechanics.

Damn. I knew tumblr was taking a downward trend but I didn't realize we were already circling the drain.

[therapardalis]

memeusup​:

SENTENCE MEME ⟶ SINGLE PARENTS / 1.11 – 1.12 always feel free to tweak the sentence to fit your muse.

[Cut for length.]

“And those are the ten best fruits.”

“I can’t take it anymore. What’s up with the suit?”

“I ran into them at the store, while I was right in the middle of a free sample of crumb cake.”

“What are you, a private detective?”

“I’ve just been more willing to put myself out there.”

“Wow, I’m really proud of you.”

“There is no live audience for local news.”

“My dad skills are on-point.”

“When you experience zazz, you’ll know it in your bones. And your butt.”

“Uh. Something happened. Is it noticeable?”

“This feels more like a cover-up than a wipe-off.”

“A bad picture can haunt you an entire year.”

“I’m a lost cause, but you still have time.”

“Tell me who did this. I promise I’ll be cool.”

“I’ll kill them!”

“I can’t do it tonight. I mean, technically I could I just don’t want to.”

“His day is ruined! And not to be an alarmist, but maybe his life.”

“You gotta admit, it’s hilarious.”

“His face looks like the side of a bathroom stall.”

“Apologies are for the weak.”

“So in the future when a self-driving car is president and the robots figured out that the only thing they need from us is teeth, at least these two will be able to handle themselves.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“If you refuse to civilize them, I’ll do it myself.”

“Good luck getting an apology. Maybe after that you can push back the ocean or wrestle the wind.”

“You’ve been lulled into a California complacency like a tan baby eating an avocado.”

“Here’s a weather report: that audition was a natural disaster.”

“This whole bowl of popcorn could be yours if you could just apologize.”

“I was trying to be edgy.”

“I love that you’re going after your dream.”

“I’ll take that comparison as a compliment.”

“I’ll take you from hateable to relatable.”

“I hope you’re happy. You made me abandon my principles.”

“It took four hours using questionable tactics, but I did it.”

“The bangs were a mistake.”

“Are you done with the mustache jokes?”

“They’re helpless and I’m done trying to help.”

“Mess with me, fine. But no one messes with [name]!”

“Being a jerk is not a survival skill.”

“He’s your friend, even though he’s whiny and weird.”

“Being angry is exhausting.”

“I haven’t said sorry since 1998.”

“That’s a start, and you have to start somewhere.”

“It could be boring, but it’s not with you. You make it fun and interesting and weird.”

“Did you just double blindfold me?”

“You must be [name]. What a wonderful face.”

“I feel like I’m crying.”

“Get a hold of yourself.”

“I’m always curious to know what goes on at these ‘girls nights’. What do you do? Eat yogurt and tickle each other?”

“Did you know that photos could be on paper?”

“Never give away anything unless you’re getting something back.”

“Nobody likes a kiss-ass.”

“I love these so much, I got adult-baptized in them.”

“The joy of giving lasted five seconds!”

“I’ll fall for that, but only because I love you.”

“Without riles, social order falls into chaos.”

“Get in here, bitch!”

“I bet you’re really annoying on vacation.”

“Every time I see her face, I just wanna yell.”

“I’m like Gwyneth Paltrow if she had a baby with Gwyneth Paltrow.”

“I know that look. You two dummies did something good, didn’t you?”

“You’re like the closest thing we have to Liam Neeson.”

“I’m not gonna come to your rescue, but what I am gonna do is teach you a life lesson because you’re both emotionally seven years old.”

“You did something nice, but it was a dumb accident.”

“Why does my mouth taste like pennies?”

“Can I interest you in a thousand hugs?”

“That gutted feeling? You’ll get over it.”

“I just go along with it because it makes her feel good.”

“You can’t just show up here and undermine everything I do.”

“I hate that I make you feel like what you do isn’t important.”

“Now go be a man and get your shoes back.”

“You’re a very scary woman.”

“You’re the strongest person I know.”

“This conversation has already gone on longer than I care for.”

[gabessquishytum]

Yan Anon reporting in~

These are all just *chef’s kiss X2* perfect.

“yeah so i'm also obsessed with unhinged dream so if i may just uhh throw my own kinks into the pile (nonny if this inspired you i will be thrilled if not i'm still also hoping you wind up writing this fic because. omg.) but uh. dream giving hob a pussy, wrecking it, and then immediately adding some nice chastity piercings?” -🐈‍⬛

🐈‍⬛Hello! It has indeed inspired me, my gosh, you have no idea. I was thinking how Dream could torment Hob with the piercings and this is just inspired. And Dream being absolutely mean, making Hob beg for his release- my nose is starting to gush blood. I imagine Dream on a comfy armchair, sitting there with an uncharacteristically manic grin and flushed face, while Hob has to slowly crawl his way over and plead with whines and whimpers, and in his head he’s thinking, “Master please, I’ve been good, so good. I need your cock inside my pussy please. pleaseletmecum” All the while spreading his legs and pussy, just presenting himself to tempt Dream. WHEW. I just can’t explain it, Yandere Dream is just so hot to me, and I want him to be as possessive and as fucked up as possible.

“oh my GOD yes please like. dream eventually lets hob go and he feels awful and guilty about the whole thing and it hurts to let hob go but he does, he tweaks enough people's memories to just think that hob was away on sabbatical and it's fine, he can drop back into his old life.”

I hope I’m right in thinking this is the same anon XD‍‍ I was kind of torn on which ending I would like to happen, one where Hob gets mindbroken to the point where he stays in the Dreaming permanently(which is a bit too dark and urgh than I’d like) or one where Dream comes to his senses and lets him go, but this is perfect. Hob willingly and consensually offers himself to Dream and he’s not so far gone where he’s just a broken mindless pet. I LOVE IT. It’s hilarious to think that Dream would be the speechless one for once XD

Oh btw, here's what I was thinking about how this all started. Hob POV, Dream and Hob had their meeting in the New Inn, and everything’s wonderful cause Hob finally knows what to call his stranger AND Dream agrees to more than one meeting a century, a miracle! So they start meeting once every few months, then once a month, and so on and so on, until Hob realizes that they’re meeting multiple times a week now. Not that he’s complaining, he’s ecstatic really, even if Dream is exhibiting some weird tendencies/behaviors/habits.

Staring/Stalking - Hob notices that Dream likes to stare, at him specifically now that he’s thinking about it, there’s a kind of darkness in his friend’s eyes that’s a bit unnerving, but he’s probably just imagining it. He’s just happy to have his friend around, but definitely not the big-ass raven that seems to be stalking his every move. There’s also the constant feeling of being watched whenever he’s alone or in public but maybe he’s just being paranoid.

Touching – They were fleeting touches at first like handshakes, and shoulders bumping, but now they’ve upgraded to handholding(context to follow XD) and actual hugs! Hugs that Hob swears linger just a tad too long to be considered normal, and did his hand kind of graze his ass? Ah who cares, Dream is finally being friendly and with honest-to-goodness smiles now.

People – People who have shown or expressed the tiniest bit of interest in Hob are now avoiding him like the plague. The regular customer that flirted with Hob yesterday at the inn is never seen again, the student that sent him a love letter has now dropped out of his class, and the friendly neighbor that usually gives him baked goods practically kissed the hallway trying to get to their apartment around him.

Dreams – Okay so I’m not so sure what to do here, Hob knows to an extent that Dream has dream-related powers, cause Dream gave him some vague bs answer like usual XD There’s gonna be mind-blowing wet dreams about Morpheus obviously, but maybe Hob doesn’t suspect Dream at first, perhaps he thinks it’s his desires manifesting into the hottest dream sex he has ever had, nearly every night, started almost the same time as when Dream reappeared in his life. Right Hob, right. Hob is gonna act more awkward cause of the dreams but I’m still thinking about whether there’s gonna be any physiological effects like increased horniness.

Then I was thinking of an incident that pushes Dream over the edge, perhaps someone flirting aggressively with Hob or Hob gets into an accident of some kind. Then boom, goodbye waking world.

A bit long I know hahahaha but all thoughts and criticisms are welcome here~

-Love, Yan Anon <3

Yan Anon, you are INCREDIBLE. I am so obsessed with this crazy yandere Dream who is totally obsessed and fixated on Hob!!! Somehow it's made even better by the fact that Hob is "just a human" so why is Dream so completely insane about him? Nobody understands!!! I love the idea of him using every spare moment to check in on Hob (either spend time with him or just... watch from afar), it's like his hobby at this point (there's a pun in there somewhere).

I also think Hob would be weirdly into it? Because he craves Dream’s attention, he wants to be Dream’s special pet... he even gets jealous if Dream happens to spend time with someone else because he’s come to expect that he’s Dream’s favourite. Just these two being weird and toxically attached to each other pleeease. Hob flirting with someone bc he knows Dream will go off the rails with jealousy and sweep him off to the dreaming to spank his pussy? Yeah. Yeeeeah <3

[btsqualityy]

Brooklyn’s Birth

An anon brought to my attention that I also didn’t write a birth drabble for Brooklyn so here we go!

Warnings: unprotected sex, facial, cum feeding (?), I know those tags are weird for a childbirth drabble but just trust me and don’t ask questions lol, childbirth

“Fuck Mase,” Kinsley moaned loudly, her back arching as Mason fucked her. It was Mason’s 29th birthday and after an amazing night with their friends, siblings, and cousins, the two of them went back to their house so that Kinsley was able to give her husband his last birthday gift. 

“You sure you’re ok, Princess?” Mason grunted, clutching tightly onto her hip as he fucked her from the side. They both were laid on their sides, Mason’s chest pressed up against her back while he fucked her deeply. 

“I’m fine, shut up.”

“Excuse me for worrying when you’re due in two weeks,” he shot back. 

“13 days,” she corrected him.

“Same thing,” he scoffed. “I thought I was gonna go crazy today, thinking you might go into labor at any moment.”

“Well, I didn’t so shut up and fuck me,” Kinsley whined. “I wanna come.”

“You’re spoiled.”

“Your fault.”

“Only because I love you so much,” he cooed, taking his hand off her hip to reach around and cup her breast in his hand. He tweaked her nipple with his fingers, groaning when he felt liquid leak onto his digits. 

“You have the best fucking pussy Princess,” he whispered into her ear, leaning forward so that his cheek was up against the side of her head. “So fucking wet and tight for me.”

“Just for you Myungie,” she whimpered. “Rub my clit please.”

“Ok baby,” he murmured, taking his hand off her breast and moving down to her clit, rubbing quick and firm circles on the bundle of nerves. Kinsley immediately began to come, loud and drawn out moans escaping her as she rode out her orgasm. “Fuck, I’m close.”

“Come inside of me Myungie,” she requested.

“I am not coming inside of you,” Mason huffed. “What if you go into labor? I will not have our daughter sliding out of you past my cum.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Can I come on your face?”

“Promise not to blind me?” She asked and Mason nodded his head. “Fine, but only because it’s your birthday.” Mason pulled out of her then, waiting until Kinsley had rolled over onto her back before he began to stroke his cock over her face. Kinsley stuck her tongue out, moaning appreciatively when the first few strands of his come hit her skin. 

“Fuck, you’re so sexy baby,” he grunted, sighing heavily when he finished coming. He reached down and scooped up some of his cum off of her cheek before putting his fingers, smiling when she sucked them clean. 

“I feel like a whale,” she replied when he took his fingers out of her mouth. 

“Only 13 more days,” Mason chuckled. “Lay here and I’ll go get a towel to clean you up, ok?”

“Ok,” she yawned tiredly. “I love you and happy birthday Myungie.”

“I love you too,” he smiled, leaning down and kissing her sweetly. 

.......................................................

The next morning when Kinsley woke up, the first thing she did was tumble out of bed and into the bathroom to pee. Being almost 39 weeks pregnant for her meant that their daughter had moved down and had now made a very comfortable home laying on top of her bladder. That, along with the contractions that had woken her up, did not make for a very good start to her day.

When she pulled down the sleep shorts that she had on before having a seat, her eyes widened slightly when she saw the seat of the shorts. 

“Fuck,” she sighed. “Mase! Mason!” Within a few seconds, she heard footsteps pounding up the stairs in their house as well as a small bump before Mason appeared in the bathroom doorway.

“What is it?!”

“Did you fall on your way in here?” She questioned. 

“You screamed my name and you’re 38 weeks pregnant,” Mason chuckled in disbelief. “What is it?”

“I lost my mucus plug,” she reported.

“Oh shit,” he said. “And your contractions?”

“Definitely stronger than they’ve been all week,” she told him. “I think baby girl wants to get ready and come out.”

“Alright, you get ready and I’ll call the hospital and get the bag,” Mason said and she nodded her head before they both set about getting ready for their third child to enter the world.

.......................................................

“Kins, you’re ok,” Mason whispered soothingly as Kinsley whimpered into his chest. After the two of them got to the hospital, it seemed like their daughter knew what time it was because the dial on Kinsley’s contractions turned up to almost the highest level.

In an effort to help with her contractions and keep Kinsley calm, she was leaning against Mason with her arms around his neck and her head on his chest, her bump hanging in between them as Mason rubbed at her back with his hands. 

“It hurts so bad,” Kinsley sniffled. “Say something.”

“Like what?”

“Anything,” she said. “As long as it takes my mind off these fucking contractions.”

“Ok, are we still going with Brooklyn for her name?” He asked. 

“I still don’t know how I feel about naming her after the place that she was conceived in,” Kinsley chuckled, able to speak a little clearer now that she wasn’t actively having a contraction. “Don’t you think that’s kind of corny?”

“It’s not just the place that she was conceived but we were there when we found out you were pregnant too,” Mason pointed out. 

“I don’t know, it feels a little pretentious,” she shrugged. “Michael Jackson named his daughter Paris because that’s where she was conceived.”

“How do you even know that?”

“I’m a producer so he’s literally one of my idols,” she told him, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Hell, I love him almost as much as I love you.”

“Almost?”

“Yeah, I love him more,” she joked, giggling when Mason reached down and lightly smacked her ass. “No but seriously, we can go with Brooklyn but I want her middle name to be Alea.”

“Like Kam’s?” 

“Mmhmm,” Kinsley muttered, shutting her eyes when another contraction started. “She was really there for me and Junior and Kennedy when you were gone for enlistment and I don’t know, I feel like she deserves it.”

“Ok, Brooklyn Alea it is,” Mason agreed. “Now let’s just hope she isn’t like Kam and decides to be a difficult baby.”

“Maybe we should rethink the middle name then,” Kinsley said, making Mason laugh before he refocused on helping her make it through the contraction.

.......................................................

“Kins, baby,” Mason groaned. “I know you’re hurting but you’re gonna choke me out Princess.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Kinsley screamed out, her grip on the collar of his shirt so tight that her knuckles were white as she bared down. 

“Great job Kins, keep pushing,” the doctor encouraged her. “Her head is coming.”

“Almost there baby,” Mason said but Kinsley tightened her grip on his collar.

“You shut up,” she snapped. Knowing that it was just the contractions and pain of pushing a baby out talking, Mason dutifully shut up and let Kinsley pull on him as much as she needed to as she pushed. 

“Here’s her head!” The doctor announced, which was accompanied by a loud shout from Kinsley as the baby’s head slipped out. With two more pushes, the shoulders and rest of the body followed and Kinsley fell back onto the bed in exhaustion. 

“Here you go,” the doctor said as she reached up and laid the baby down on Kinsley’s chest. 

“Hi baby girl,” Kinsley smiled, rubbing the baby’s back firmly as she screamed on her chest. 

“Hi Brooklyn,” Mason whispered and Brooklyn’s cries slowly died down as she looked up in Mason’s direction, her eyes wide open. 

“Oh, she knows that voice,” Kinsley giggled. “You know your Daddy, huh?”

“I talked to her enough over the past seven months,” Mason chuckled. “She’s so beautiful Kins, and she looks just like you and Kennedy.”

“My mom and dad will be happy to see the Min Y/N genes prevailing,” she joked. 

“Definitely,” he nodded.

“Kins, you tore a little bit so I’m gonna do some quick stitches once you deliver your placenta, ok?” The doctor spoke up and Kinsley nodded her head.

“I knew I was gonna tear,” she sighed. “I literally felt it, like when I had Junior.”

“I’m sorry Princess,” Mason whispered, leaning over and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Good thing Brooklyn’s our last baby.”

“Uh, what happened to four?”

“I never agreed to that, you’ve just always said that,” Kinsley shrugged. “And after that delivery, I’m good. No more Kims are passing through this vagina.”

“We’ll discuss it more later. For now, we need to focus on this gorgeous girl,” he cooed softly, reaching out and gently running the back of his hand over Brooklyn’s chubby cheek. “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too,” Kinsley grinned. 

[maliciousspirit]

Re-do - Modern Baseball

A shitty analysis of Davesprite through it

I wanna start from the top, maybe like a do-over

(Obviously him going back to save John, maybe just speculating abt whether he’ll do it/when)

replace the voices in my head with blind innocence

(Could be extra voices he gets once he sprites himself- he gets knowledge of the game but he is still Decidedly Human and probably can’t take the sheer amount of *INFORMATION* sprites have; it’s probably broke up into chunks to not overwhelm him)

I wanna complete re-do, maybe change my name

(Pretty self explanatory, I see it more so as like. Him *before* John dies, bein like “I wish we never played this game”)

Report the loses grab the claim, it’s a shame it's such a shame

(Either rose or Dave saying that they think John & jade is dead, “reporting” the losses to eachother)

We’re pissing away our time cause we’re pissing away these beers

(They kind of have unlimited time? Like as long as they don’t die they’re pretty much set in their timeline. They’re kind of wasting the excess, along with grinding and stuff, and it’s already established that rose has alcoholic tendencies; so when you have two siblings, one who’s established to become addicted, and kill two of their friends? I’d be genuinely shocked if they didn’t get fucked Up at least once)

No monumental moment ever came from saying

(Sarcasm!)

“Come on dude, just take one more shot”

(From monumental moment to here it feels like. Davesprite being like “oh, nothing bad has EVER happened from killing John in a timeline!

So the dialogue would be “COM3 ON DUD3, JUST T4KE ON3 MOR3 SHOT”)

(Also technically the chorus is that same later in the song but I’m gonna tweak it just a Bit, only a tad little bit)

Try to, try to forget, that your bones will dismantle

(I don’t think sprites have bones?? And while he’s keeping his general Shape he’s still sacrificing his body and autonomy to a certain extent)

And the dreams you had they’ll collide with time

(YES. This. The dream that Dave has *literally* collides with how the timeline is supposed to go, forcing him to become something he isn’t)

Your unrequited love for life will surely….

(First of all. The absolute banger like that is “your unrequited love for life”. And second, it’s very literal! Davesprite *wants* to exist, he wants to be Dave, he wants to survive, but life dealt him literally one of the worst hands)

Halt that I’m thinking way too much at night

(Him being like “if I’m gonna do this I’m gonna have to stop thinking abt it)

Maybe I could just move away or go extinct like triceratops

(You can’t convince me that Dave n rose didn’t consider just. Letting the game end. Everything happened during one day, at least up to act 5, but I can’t imagen how tired the strilondes especially must be)

But I love loving, watching movies, sitting back and also breathing

(These are all such. Domestic, human things. He wants to disappear to a certain extent, but he holds onto what he loves so tightly, even when he pushes them away like we see on the battleship)

My family and friends would be crushed, but is it enough

[No, it's not enough]

(Hence why he begins to push everyone away. I don’t know if it’s entirely intentional, but davesprite is a dick to them. I think part of it is him subconsciously protecting himself; he’s already witnessed their deaths, and if he just keeps them at an arms’ distance, the inevitable death will hurt less)

The future freaks me out but I guess I could just

Curl up in a ball and think

(Sad bird man)

(Again; I’m tweaking this chorus just a lil)

Try to, try to forget, that your bones *were dismantled

And the dreams you had they *all collide with time

Your unrequited love for life will surely….

Halt that I’m thinking way too much at night

(I already went over this, but now it’s more reminiscing/thinking abt him getting sprited and his timeline)

I won’t be breaking any barriers

(“I’m no longer a main character”)

So I’ll keep thinking the "future freaks me out"

(Davesprite lost his time powers. He’s lost a lot of the knowledge of time he’d had as Dave, along with the fact that he *knew* his future; but now they’re on a brand new timeline where he doesn’t know nearly as much as to what’s happening, and not only that, but he also doesn’t have a whole lot of control over it)

I won’t judge you if you think the same

So let’s keep thinking:

“Well the future, the future freaks us out!”

(Dave and davesprite, also just. All the kids being scared for the end of their journey)

[amphtaminedreams]

Why Ethical Fashion Doesn’t Need to be Boring (In the Words of a Shopping Addict): Lookbook no.14

Hi to anyone reading,

Arghhhh.

I never know how to start posts when I literally just uploaded the other week because I tend to follow the very formulaic approach of summarising what I’ve missed due to sporadic posting…I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m still posting sporadically, it just so happens I’ve had more content to get up recently-sometimes lightning strikes twice, ya know, and I have a brief, if chemically fuelled, reprieve from the permanent state of exhaustion. It’s not like there isn’t stuff to talk about- the last month has seen a horrific murder and public outcry in response. There are a lot of important conversations going on about women’s safety and misogynistic violence that I really cannot do justice to in a paragraph and feelings that have been brewing for a long time that I can’t articulate yet and will not attempt to offhandedly do so in this post. Right now I just wanna say that I stand in solidarity with all those with histories of experiencing violence at the hands of men, those who aren’t here with us anymore as a result of that violence such as Sarah Everard, and those marginalised women whose stories don’t make national news. It’s very telling the way Sarah’s vigil was responded to by the same police force that have allowed mostly male anti-mask protests to go ahead with protestors unscathed, and solidarity with the women who were treated with such an unjustifiable amount of force at the vigil too.

That being said, women’s rights are something I wanted to talk about in this post, with regards to the way it ties into ethical fashion. None of us are perfect and it’s easy living in a first world country to detach yourself from the issues stemming from fast fashion, especially when you don’t have the time or money yourself to be selective about where you buy from. Don’t get me wrong, I do treat myself to some new clothes from fast fashion companies like ASOS and Urban Outfitters a few times a year so this is NOT coming from a place of preaching, but I have drastically reduced that to buying about 90% of my new clothes either second hand from Depop or charity shops or clothing stores that are upfront about their outsourcing practices. I love putting outfits together and updating my wardrobe and I don’t want to abandon that as a medium of self-expression because it does bring me joy, but to continue to update my wardrobe with the frequency I do by buying from fast fashion retailers on such a regular basis I accepted was going against the things I care about; around 80% of textile workers on poverty wages in developing countries are girls and women (opensocietyfoundations.org), and whilst fast fashion companies in the West continue to outsource manufacturing to said countries to cut costs and there is little regulation enforcing employers to pay women the same amount as men or even adhere to a minimum wage, they will continue to be forced into these roles where they are subjected to horrific working conditions, impossible production targets and frequent abuse (according to an article published in the Guardian in June 2018, 540 incidences of abuse, often of a sexual nature, were reported by women working in factories supplying the retailers GAP and H&M when they were interviewed on the subject). There is no denying that the fast fashion industry depends on and perpetuates the subjugation of women and systematically prevents them from making steps towards gender equality in their countries, be it through greater financial independence or the freedom to pursue higher education; the popular current practice by western fast fashion companies of outsourcing manufacturing to factories unhindered by workers rights and gender equality laws by association condones the sexual and physical violence that occurs as a means of punishment for not meeting targets, the exploitative pay which affords women little independence from husbands and families dominated by patriarchal values, and the long, exhausting hours which women have little choice but to take in order to avoid their contracts being terminated and to put food on the table. No, one individual completely abandoning fast fashion isn’t going to put an end to these unethical practices but if all of us make a conscious effort to reduce our consumption at least a little and make it clear why we’re doing so, we put greater pressure on fast fashion companies to act in a more responsible way. There isn’t going to be any kind of miraculous change of heart, so to force them to change we have to hit the industry and the people at the top who benefit from such practices where it really hurts: their profit.

SO, for this post I thought I would highlight some of my favourite more ethical online clothing companies to buy from; the more popular these more socially responsible brands become, the more apparent it becomes to fast fashion companies relying on an exploitative business model that how they treat their workers is of growing importance to consumers. It’s all very well and good Missguided and PLT talking about empowering women and making “girl boss” slogan tees but we need to make it clear that we’re aware of the hollowness of the gesture, and that we want less hypocritical talk and more action to actually enhance the lives of the women that work for them, not just the ones they show in their flashy offices on TV. I’ve included my favourite Depop shops too, because if you can shop second hand, that’s even better; though I like to treat myself to new clothes now and again, I’m aware that the impact the manufacturing process in general, whether or not the company acts in an ethical way with regards to their employment practices, has on the environment is more often than not detrimental. Depop has really been my saving grace this past year-if you know what you’re looking for and have the time and patience, you can find so many gems, and at this point the balance of my wardrobe is tipped firmly in the favour of the reuse and recycle approach to shopping. In the vein of reusing fashion, I thought I’d also include a mini lookbook for a cardigan I got from one of my favourite online retailers, The Ragged Priest, just as a reminder that 1). The best way to be sustainable is to rewear and 2). That with tweaks, one piece alone can give you multiple completely different outfits. Like honestly, outfit repeating doesn’t have to be a literal repeat. Sometimes it’s worth spending a little bit extra on something that looks good with everything, and making that investment into your ability to fool people that you’ve got your shit together by wearing something cool as fuck.

Quickly before I get into it, I’m aware that some ethical companies are a bit out of the average consumer’s price range, and so I wanted to sort them into price point categories which will work as follows:

£= most of their stock is £40 & under ££= most of their stock is between £40-��100 £££= most of their stock costs upwards of £100

Now, in no particular order (and starting with online retailers before moving onto Depop shops), here’s the list!

1. THE RAGGED PRIEST

PRICE POINT: ££

Using recycled fabric to construct their pieces where possible and releasing clothing in small drops designed to sell out rather than following the typical fast fashion model of outsourcing the production of vast amounts of clothing overseas, the Ragged Priest is my absolute favourite clothing brand out there. It’s *semi* affordable and because they are all about those bold, in your face, your-grandma-will-probs-think-it’s-ugly kinda pieces, just one can do SO much for your wardrobe.

I recently bought this cardigan from their The Simple Life drop and had so many outfit ideas for it that I thought I’d put a few of them together for this post just as an example of how you can take the same piece over and over again and still make it interesting, even when you don’t feel like straying too far from your personal style preferences. While we’re at it, I also wanted to use this mini lookbook to point out how fucking great Depop is! Literally everything in these outfits is from there apart from the shoes and the jewellery, the leather blazer on the right I bought a few years ago and then the top and skirt in the outfit from the far left which are both from Ebay. The shoes with that outfit are from Koi Vegan footwear-I didn’t include them in this list because I wanted to keep it consistent and focus on ethical clothing companies rather than retailers that focus on one specific thing such as shoes or jewellery, but they are my favourite place to buy shoes from and focus closely on ethical production too so definitely recommend.

2. MINGA LONDON

PRICE POINT: ££

Towards the lower end of the ££ price point, Minga is probably the closest you’re gonna get to an ethical version of the Dolls Kill Deliah’s range. Their focus on being a socially responsible business is a huge part of their ethos and their pieces are put together in Portugal, where they're based, by a small in-house team; the majority of their fabric is sourced from local Portuguese businesses and even more amazingly, they recycle the fabric of the pieces they don’t sell in new designs. They are just a generally amazing company and I wish more people knew about them because their pieces are fucking adorable and wouldn’t be out of place (or overpriced) in your local UO.

3. ELSIE & FRED

PRICE POINT: £

A small, black owned business set up by 3 siblings from Coventry, Elsie & Fred have earned themselves a reputation as a staple provider of the festival season wardrobe. Being an independently owned business, they have strict standards that their manufacturers must adhere to and a close working relationship with the owners of the two factories who oversee production in Guangzhou, China, to ensure fair wages and a safe working environment. On the environmental side of things, Elsie and Fred are working to incorporate recycled fabric into their designs as much as possible and have this year introduced compostable mailing bags.

4. HOUSE OF SUNNY

PRICE POINT: £££

Follow enough British instagram fashion influencers and you are bound to have heard of House of Sunny in 2020-snagging what is probably my all time favourite coat from there in 2019 before all the hype is a humble brag I will allow myself on the basis that I haven’t been able to afford anything since, lol. Along with kooky, one of a kind designs, being decidedly anti-fast fashion is a huge part of their branding; HoS only drop 2 collections of limited stock a year, thoroughly screen suppliers and on their website you can find a tonne of information on how they’re working to offset their environmental impact too. If you can treat yourself to a piece from there at any point, the quality of the garments truly make the price point worth it.

5. JADED LONDON

PRICE POINT: ££

Similarly to The Ragged Priest and House of Sunny, Jaded London go the route of dropping limited collections on a less frequent basis intending to sell out (particularly popular pieces are occasionally restocked) rather than needlessly manufacturing vast quantities of garments to flog for whatever they can get and cutting corners with fair employment practices to offset any losses. By employing independent staff in the manufacturing plants with which they liaise to ensure fair, dignified working conditions and also by working closely with charities such as the Trussel Trust and Stand Up to Racism, Jaded London demonstrates a level of commitment to corporate responsibility that set them apart from a lot of similar online retailers. They are at the top of their game when it comes to daring and experimental yet wearable pieces and so it’s cool that they recognise the need to conduct their business in a considerate way too.

6. THE HIPPIE SHAKE

PRICE POINT: ££

Owned by UK based bohemian queen Naomi Hession, the Hippie Shake is not only a great small independent business to support but is also the definition of slow fashion. With a limited number of opulent 70s style pieces, I have always wanted to purchase something from here. I’ve yet to do so but I’m gonna make it my mission eventually.

7. VINTAGE HEARTS

PRICE POINT: £

An affordable, gorgeous array of quirky handpicked vintage pieces that would probably take you forever to find in a charity shop or that you’d be charged a small fortune for if you found it in a high street second hand store, Vintage Hearts is where you should go if you want a timeless statement piece that may have otherwise ended up in a landfill. The added benefit of vintage clothing is that it is, by its nature, great for the environment, but you can also look fab and groovy as fuck as you do your bit for the planet<3

8. WE ARE COW

PRICE POINT: £

Offering both original vintage pieces and reworked pieces using recycled fabrics, We Are Cow has both basic branded second hand items but also handmade streetwear style original designs all for a fair price. You can tell that it’s all high quality stuff consistent with their modern, functional aesthetic and it’s clear that the team behind the shop has a real vision in mind when they’re designing. 

9. OUT OF THE ORDINARY CLOTHING

PRICE POINT: £

In the words of Corrie Davis, founder of OOTO "I start with the belief that fashion will be always be worn differently by the individual that wears it. Every collection from Out of the Ordinary is different to the last but undeniably Out of the Ordinary. I champion flamboyancy and embrace the cultures I've experienced around the world, merging the two and creating popular style trends in exciting textiles, prints and techniques to bring to you something a little Out of the Ordinary." That pretty much sums up the vibrancy, vivacity and bold elegance of the brand’s aesthetic perfectly, which is reflected by Davis’ commitment to ethical manufacturing based on relationships forged between the founders and family artisans and the sourcing of fabrics from textile markets around the world. Everything you need for a boujie summer holiday in the Mediterranean-when leaving the country is finally allowed again, lol, EVERYBODY GET YOUR FUCKING VACCINE-is here.

10. WILD THING

PRICE POINT: ranges from £-£££ depending on the brand

Probs the closest thing you’ll get to an ethical ASOS, Wild Thing brings together a host of sustainable and independent clothing brands and puts them all in one place to present to us all a collection of the sickest festival style fashion out there. Whilst it’s super cool that this already exists and a slice of humble pie for myself to remind me that I am not in fact the revolutionary marketing genius I thought I was, I’m bummed to know that my idea of said ethical ASOS style website is already out there. Fingers crossed for the next grand money making scheme that comes to mind that I can use to distribute some wealth (yeah, there probably won’t be any because very few original thoughts enter my head, clearly, tehe) xoxo

11. SHOPFLUFFY

PRICE POINT: ££

I know it’s 2021 and we all kind hate the idea of girl boss feminism and the connotations of privilege and exploitation that come with it but can we bring it back when we’re talking about women who embody what it was actually all supposed to be about? Because the owner of ShopFluffy, @lulutrixabelle embodies everything good about the term. Somebody who genuinely does (cue Ramona singer voice here) empower other women through her celebration of powerful female friendship and free spirited sense of personal style that should inspire every one of us to wear whatever the fuck we want (clashing patterns and over-accessorising be damned), Lulu handmakes all the designs on her site and very much places an emphasis on slow fashion by releasing only a few collections a year which you can clearly tell a lot of painstaking effort and talent went into. ShopFluffy is on the pricier side but the adorable crocheted coords LuLu specialises in, reminiscent of carefree childhood days and picnics in meadows picturesque enough to be the backdrop of a Jacquemus runway presentation, are a bold and beautiful expression of playful femininity worthy of departing with a bit more than you’d usually spend. After all, if you are gonna spend that money on a piece of clothing, supporting an ethical, independent woman owned business clearly built on carefully honed skill, passion and authenticity is the way to go.

12. SHOPEASYTIGER

PRICE POINT: ££

It feels correct to follow up the ShopFluffy mention with ShopEasyTiger given the friendship between the former’s owner with Tigerlilly Winfield (is that not the most wonderfully storybook character sounding name of all time?), owner of Easy Tiger. Up there with my most revered style icons, Tigerlilly’s designs are as flamboyant and glamorous and daring and dramatic as her own personal style, and again, they are ethically made! If you want to get that psychedelic rock n’roll groupie that’s actually way cooler than the band itself kinda energy too, her shop is the place to start.

13. HOTTTRAMP 

PRICE POINT: ££

Founded by the incredibly hot Belle_hott_tramp on Instagram, HottTramp is a collection of both handmade pieces and carefully selected vintage finds that blur the lines between 90s Courtney Love style grunge and 70s summer of love hippy that make me want to start my own all girl rock band and hire a camper van to paint black and road trip through the American desert. Given my complete lack of hand eye coordination, I’ll most likely never have the instrumental skills to do that but I never said it was a realistic fantasy, okay?

14. LAZY OAF

PRICE POINT: ££

Is it just me that always thought Lazy Oaf was within the same kind of price range as The Ragged Priest? Because it’s a lottt more expensive than I thought. That being said, if you’re going for a playful, toned down Molly Goddard kinda look, anything bright and youthful, Lazy Oaf’s clothes 100% fit that brief. You are paying more, but part of that markup is reflected in their transparency when it comes to their ethical code, which includes ensuring that statutory minimum wage laws are adhered to in the supply chain as well as that all workers are of the legal working age for their countries and that their working hours do not exceed the legal limit. They are also steadfastly committed to donating a portion of their profits to charities dedicated to improving mental wellbeing such as Mind, Rethink Mental Illness, and Young Minds, something that is hugely important to me given my own experiences and the line of work I want to go into.

15. NEVER FULLY DRESSED

PRICE POINT: ££

Similar in their aesthetic to Out of the Ordinary, Never Fully Dressed is big on colour, print, and elegance. They have both specially selected second hand pieces on offer and original designs too and the about us section of their website clearly states how passionate they are about their ethical manufacturing process, which takes place both here in the UK and in China.

16. TUNNEL VISION

PRICE POINT: ££

Offering the dreamiest, one of a kind vintage 90s pieces, Tunnel Vision could just as easily be a grunge girl band come the craft themed moodboard as it is an online retailer. If the 90s isn’t for you-I mean, I don’t wanna question anybody’s taste levels but…-they also have the option of shopping by era, which I think is a really cool feature I wish a lot of irl vintage shops would incorporate.

17.  LOVE TOO TRUE

PRICE POINT: £

Everything on Love Too True is fucking gorgeousss and it is no surprise that they manufacture their garments here in London because I feel their brand totally encompasses that stereotypical 90s East End punk vibe perfectly with a shit tonne of chunky boots and show stopping plaid pieces that makes my heart ache for a riot grrrl renaissance. Yes, when it comes to feminism’s place in mainstream culture, making sure the political goals and structural changes we’re aiming for are visible to all is by far the most important, but let’s have a resurgence of the grunge girl’s armour along with that and PLEASE let’s leave athleisure in the 2010s. No more Kardashian nude leggings, I beg (I AM being lighthearted, wear whatever you want! We’re not policing women’s clothes in this neck of the woods).

18. NINE LIVES BAZAAR

PRICE POINT: £££

Eurgh. Nine Lives Bazaar. I want it ALL. Their clothes give me all the Etro, Zimmerman, Torey Burch, modernised Stevie Nicks vibes on a slightly more realistic budget, though unfortunately for me said budget just isn’t realistic enough. You would think pieces being ethically produced is just a given when it comes to clothes within this price range but that’s not necessarily the case and Nine Lives Bazaar is one of the ones you can trust to actually be considerate of their employees needs when it comes to their approach to business. To anybody who can afford to shop here, I am insanely jealous. The rest of us, for now, can just browse the website n feel the fantasy, channel a Valentina level of delusion and pretend it’s just the import taxes from Australia that’s holding us back from making a purchase.

-DEPOP SHOPS-

1. @HOUSE_OF_EROTIQUE

PRICE POINT: ££

Everything handmade and latex and form fitting to make you the baddest bitch in the room, I’ve got myself a few pieces from this shop over the past couple of years. Customer service is a bit hit or miss and there’s been times when I’ve had to wait a while for my purchases to get to me but because they’re all one of a kind and custom made to fit, it’s worth it, and when they have messed up they were kind enough to add something to my order for free.

2. @SACREDHAWK

PRICE POINT: ££

If you picture raiding the wardrobe of a biker gang, snatching the Coachella bound suitcases of the Revolve ambassadors at Palm Springs airport, and then jumbling all those clothes together, that’s probably your best bet at getting an idea of Sacred Hawk’s aesthetic. Formerly an ASOS concession, the brand is now available on Depop and is a collection of the most lavish glam grunge pieces, all vintage or reworked vintage. Some things are a bit on the pricey side but I would say they are all priced fairly considering how unique and ornate a lot of the pieces are, and I reeeeally wanna be able to say I own something from there one day.

3. @IDENTITYPARTY

PRICE POINT: £££

I struggled with how to categorise this Depop shop in terms of price point because although there are some fairly low-priced pieces, the standouts are the vintage coats which are understandably a lot more expensive-if you want to fully immerse yourself in the Almost Famous Penny Lane fantasy, you’re gonna have to fork out a little bit.

4. @RETRO_RAIL

PRICE POINT: £££

Retro_rail is of a similar vein to IdentityParty, in that the standout pieces are the vintage coats which are usually upwards of £100-if you’re looking for one-of-a-kind statement outerwear to invest in, I can’t recommend this shop enough. If you’re like me and you’re looking for something more within the £ to ££ price range, Retro Rail is still worth a browse as inspiration for the kind of styles you might wanna try and find elsewhere on Depop.

5. @5THSEASON

PRICE POINT: £

Most of the quirky vintage pieces you’ll find on offer on this Depop shop are within the £25 to £40 price range and though you’ve got coats similar to those you’ll find on Identity Party and Retro Rail and they are sill slightly more than the tops and trousers and dresses on sale etc., they are more modestly priced than the other 2 listed.

6. @DREAMERSREBELS

PRICE POINT: £££

Another v pricey one, dreamersrebels specialises in the daintiest, most whimsical 60s style co-ords I’ve ever seen. Handmade upon purchase, which in turn guarantees little textile waste, you can find the kind of pieces you’d expect to see on a 21st century incarnation of Audrey Hepburn, all the soft pastels and timeless, retro silhouettes you could possibly wish for. I mean, wishing is pretty much all I can do rn but anyone with a near minimum wage retail job knows you need something to aspire to, lol. I managed to budget enough to treat myself to a Selkie dress so I’m manifesting that same level of self-discipline to get me a dreamersrebels piece next.

7. @AWKWARDPHASE

PRICE POINT: £

Very affordable vintage pieces that range from cutesy mid-century style dresses and coats to grungy 90s jackets, perfectly styled and presented too in a way that will have you wanting to order something for yourself to replicate that modern spin on old staples and give them a second life.

8. @EVIEHALLOWS

PRICE POINT: £

Another Depop shop where the clothes are styled so well, it’ll have you thinking you can make anything from a floral 1950s housewife style cardigan to a lycra jumpsuit look very intentionally on trend.

9. @JAHOOLI

PRICE POINT: £

There’s also Jahooli, which I will just say ticks all the same boxes as the other two aforementioned stores to avoid repeating myself.

10. @LOVELYANDLOVELESS 

PRICE POINT: £

In terms of price, I would put Lovely and Loveless into the same category as Jahooli, Awkward Phase and Evie Hallows, the difference being that the clothes available are more on the dainty, classically feminine side. People who have a Pinterest board dedicated to the cottagecore or light academia aesthetic (whew, the gen Z is showing), this one’s for you.

11. @CHLOESTJOHN

PRICE POINT: £

Finally, we have the ChloeStJohn Depop shop and it’s definitely a good one to end on; picture the wardrobe of Carrie Bradshaw if she’d lived in Camden instead of New York in the 90s and hung out with a slightly edgier crew than Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha and there you have it, the vibe of the pieces on offer. Does it belong to a girl who probs lives near Primrose Hill and has access to all the boujiest second hand clothes shops available which she most likely routinely raids to resell on Depop? Potentially, but hopefully not because I am very here for this whole red wine in one hand and a cigarette in another back when people were allowed to smoke inside bars aesthetic. I’m sorry that the gen Z part of me once again jumped out in such an aggressive fashion with that last sentence, but I know you know what I mean.

And that’s everything! 

I did wanna close off the post with a reminder of how nuanced a discussion this is-having the time and money to be more conscious about your ethical footprint when you’re buying clothes is in itself a privilege; fashion shouldn’t be an interest reserved for only those who have the means to pay extra or spend time scouring the internet. It’s also important to be aware of the lack of size inclusivity-a lot of the “trendy” sustainable fashion brands tend to not stock anything larger than a size 14 and attempt to deflect attention away from this by categorising clothes as either XS, S, M, or L, which is in itself a bit of a pisstake considering that 12-14 is the average clothing size here for women in the UK, and so in no way large. Shopping from Depop and Ebay is hard too when so many brands fail to understand how to fit a non-straight size body which in turn necessitates trying stuff on before you buy it, something that isn’t possible when you’re shopping second hand. A lot of Depop shops fail to offer returns and even with those who do, chasing up that return can be a time-consuming and generally all round frustrating process.

Basically, when we’re having these kinds of discussions it’s important to consider everyone’s situations and avoid sitting on some kind of high horse. I feel like things have become even more complicated lately- with the recent closure of once popular high street stores such as Topshop and Miss Selfridge, it has got me thinking a lot about just how many people’s income here in the UK is dependent on fast fashion retailers too and their popularity. The job scarcity resulting from these kind of closures, which are often all that is available to a lot of people with the demands of the job market seemingly becoming more and more impossible each day even for those who have been in higher education, is clearly an issue when the kind of support you can expect from the government as someone out of work is so woefully inadequate and likely to become even more so as the conservatives push for further cuts to UC and PIP. The past year has really shown us just how shaky the ground that an intensely capitalist society stands on is and how quickly everything can go tits up when we don’t invest in a safety net for those who are struggling. People seem to have realised more than ever the extent to which those whose jobs we deem “low-skilled” are actually the backbone of society, and yet even here, whilst the situation may not be quite as desperate as it is elsewhere, we still haven’t seen pay rises that reflect that. Turns out all the clapping WAS an empty gesture, who’d have thought it (for fuck’s sake)? Fair wages really are a global issue that starts with paying people enough for them to comfortably live on and in time should lead to a shift in consciousness away from the concept of profit before everything else and towards an equal playing field for everyone, something we should take every opportunity to speak up about and demand from our “leaders”, however shit a job so many of those leaders do. It’s frustrating how the focus on making ethical purchasing choices is so often on the overconsumption of things that women historically are more actively interested in such as clothes and accessories and make up when the reality is that the wealth of every industry titan on this planet, NOT just the ones who dominate the fast fashion sphere, depends on them continuing to get away with exploiting people-we should be looking at how we can show our dissatisfaction in all areas. Maybe I’m perpetuating that with this post, since a lot of the online retailers I mentioned only sell women’s clothing, but that being said, I’m not about to do men’s work for them, lol-they should make the effort, if possible, to research into sustainable clothing alternatives too.

Anyway, that’s the end of this post! If you read to the end, thank you so much! If I’ve made any errors in my research or there are more sustainable clothing brands that I could’ve mentioned, feel free to inbox me them too, and I can add them to this post if Tumblr allows. It’s usually a little bitch when it comes to editing long posts but I’ll try my best:) Again, thanks for reading! And if you are, I hope you are safe and well!

Lauren x

[teacupfulofstarshine]

LOVELY, DARK, AND DEEP CHAPTER 10

PLEASE HEED THE CONTENT WARNINGS!!! this chapter features Evil Scientist Lady and her Fucked Up WorldView a LOT, and there are also some Major Plot Events that involve Violence. i will put a summary in the end notes if you decide at any point that this particular chapter is too much - that's super valid! i will also mention here that no main characters are going to die in this story and no one dies in this chapter either.

huge huge thanks to @flamingfawkes for beta’ing!

CW: extreme disregard for human life, mentioned human and animal cruelty, toxic workplace environment, violence (both imagined and actual, mildly graphic), gun mention, minor blood, death threats, extremely unethical character, unethical science, stalking

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // chapter 6 // chapter 7 // chapter 8 // chapter 9 // read it on ao3!

“This is the same result we’ve gotten the last twenty times -”

“I don’t care, Steven, run it again!”

Steven sighs, punching at the keyboard to run the statistical analysis sequence again. “This is ridiculous! I’ve run this sequence so many times it feels like my eyes are going to bleed. Why can’t we just turn in the results we have and -”

“Because she’ll behead us,” James snaps, “and then she’ll destroy our reputations and our families and they’ll get no severance. I have three young children at home, Steven, I need this money.” Steven softens a little, fingers running smoothly over the keys as he combs the data again. Next to him, James has a computer screen full of frame-by-frame stills of what little data they recovered from the probe before it was destroyed; Penny across the room is surrounded by ancient texts a mile high and at least three laptops.

“Why is she so interested in this, anyway?”

“It’s beyond me. Since when do we question the whims of what we’re told to do?”

Steven squints at the screen, pushing his chair back and rubbing at his eyes. “If I have to stare at these numbers for one more second, my brain is going to explode. I feel like my eyeballs are going to melt out of my skull. I wanna scream.”

James pulls up another image, staring at the blurry image of the merman before him. Steven pushes away from his own screen and squints at James’s. The merman in the photo looks young, not much older than his kid brother, but they don’t know anything about the lifespan of these creatures. He looks confused, squinting at the camera. As James flicks through the stills, the merman transitions from confused to angry to enraged, and then he attacks.

“He’s not happy about the camera.”

“Would you be happy about someone spying on you and your family?” James says, switching to the next still.

“I wouldn’t be happy if I thought someone was doing anything we do in this lab to me or my family.” James elbows Steven, but luckily no one else seems to have heard.

“This lab isn’t the most ethical place I’ve ever worked, but it pays the bills,” James mutters. “And we’re not even in the experimentation lab. We just do data analysis. We’re removed from the situation.”

Are we? Steven wonders. He sees James reach out and touch the framed picture of his daughters, and keeps his mouth shut. He turns back to his computer, watching the little spinning color wheel of his mouse as the program calculates the same numbers again and again. The results come up identical to the previous ones, and Steven clicks “Run Program” again wordlessly.

They work in silence for a while, the three of them, broken only by James’s muttering and the occasional thud of one of Penny’s books and the clicks of keyboards and mice. If they weren’t so reliant on technology, Steven thinks, there would be an enormous corkboard spanning three of the four walls, covered in pushpins and handwriting and red string connecting images. He debates actually building one, if only to increase the levity in the room, but decides against it.

He’s seen people punished or fired or who-knows-what-else for far less, after all.

Instead, after his program tells him for the twenty-third time that his results are the same (and didn’t someone say insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?), Steven scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms and opens the data entry window. Maybe the problem with the results has to do with the entry of the data; did he input something wrong? It’s possible . . .

Here he goes again, he supposes. He stands up, stretches, and leans back to crack some vertebrae. “I’m gonna grab a coffee, take a short screen break, and go back to the beginning. Maybe there’s something in the input that I missed. You want anything?”

James groans, thunking his head against the desk. “I want something with enough caffeine to kill three elephants, please.” Steven nods, looking over at Penny. She shakes her head, and he heads for the shitty coffee machine a few doors down.

Several floors below, a young woman pulls her lab goggles up to rest on top of her head with her perfectly-pinned protocol-compliant bun. “The latest round of tests is completely done, ma’am. I think you’ll find the efficacy . . . striking.”

She takes the clipboard, glossy perfectly-painted nails pinching the sheets of thin paper and flicking between them. “I’m afraid I don’t do so well with the scientific side of things - Kathleen, was it? Explain this to me, would you?”

“Certainly, ma’am. As you know, the kill time for the most effective neurotoxin currently available, tetrodotoxin, varies from thirty minutes to four hours. Average time for symptoms to manifest is seventeen minutes, and from there the symptoms progress through tingling of the lips and tongue, headache, vomiting, muscle weakness, ataxia, et cetera. Death occurs as a result of respiratory or heart failure, and the poison is nearly undetectable if you do not specifically test for it.”

“The untraceability is a plus, but that is far too wide a range of times, and too slow a time even at its fastest.”

“Of course, ma’am, but as far as naturally-occurring marine poisons go - actually, as far as naturally-occurring poisons go, full stop - it is the most effective. Until now, that is.”

“Oh? What are your findings?”

“Which trials would you like to start with, ma’am?”

“The human trials, Kathleen. The only ones that matter. I hardly intend to go around killing mice and hoping that no one traces their deaths to a novel neurotoxin.” She laughs airily, and Kathleen nods along.

“Certainly, ma’am. The most recent data points indicate an average efficacy time of thirteen minutes for our compound neurotoxin, with a full range between nine and seventeen minutes passing before subject death. Subjects began to show symptoms around five minutes, give or take twenty-five seconds.”

“And those symptoms were?”

Kathleen flips through the document. “Seizures, vital organ failure, blindness, painful muscle spasms, suffocation from the inside out.”

She hums, tapping a manicured finger against the report. “Well, Kathleen, that is certainly impressive, especially for a preliminary human subject trial. These results . . . I must say, they are not nearly as disappointing as I anticipated when I came down here.”

“Ma’am?”

“How long have you worked for this company, Kathleen?”

“Almost five years, ma’am, but I’ve always been an assistant. This is my first time as lead researcher and biochemist on a project, ever since you . . . laid off the previous lead researcher.”

“Kathleen, let me be frank. These results are not what I hoped for. The efficacy time and symptom onset times are both far too long for my liking, and the range of efficacy time is too broad. By all accounts, I should consider this a failure.” Kathleen swallows, but remains poised. “However, you’ve managed to shave off a considerable amount of time from the tetrodotoxin readings. The range of symptom onset time is an acceptable breadth, and your results are far beyond anything your predecessor ever accomplished for me. This is truly impressive, all things considered.”

“Thank you, ma’am. How should I proceed?”

“I want the efficacy doubled - tripled - I want it upped by anywhere between four and five hundred percent. I want the pain increased, too. Feel free to increase your requests for test subjects, but get me the results I want. You said the original tetrodotoxin was untraceable?”

“That’s correct, ma’am.”

“Can you keep that feature intact?”

“As of right now, it is intact, ma’am. I will endeavor to keep it so in future experiments.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Welcome to your new position as head of this research division. Don’t let me down.” She holds out a slender hand, and Kathleen takes it, trying not to seem too eager.

“I won’t, ma’am.”

“How soon can you start this experiment up again?”

“The cleaners should be finished by tomorrow morning, ma’am, and I can tweak chemical formulas until then.”

“Excellent.” Her watch beeps, and she lifts it, pursing her bright lips as she examines the message she’s just received. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another matter to attend to. Someone will drop off your master access key for Lab Three within the hour.”

She steps into the elevator and lifts her watch up to her face, swiping through the messages from her secretary. One finger reaches out to press the button for the digital analysis labs floor, and the other taps away at her watch.

When she steps off the elevator, her secretary is waiting. “Ma’am.”

“What do they have for me?”

“Unclear. They said it was something they wanted to report directly to you and you alone, but it seems to be something big.”

“Hopefully it’s a big step in the right direction, or they’ll be taking a big step out of a job.” She relishes in the way the employees she passes all unfailingly flinch and then snap to perfect attention when they hear the sharp echo of her heels against the floor. She lifts her head and walks faster, striking the tiles with her heels like a gavel, sharp and precise against a judge’s desk.

The computer labs are disorganized when she enters, but there is a string of promising-looking numbers on the main display monitor. There is a woman surrounded by books and a man pulling up photos on his computer, and there is a third man standing in front of her like a toy soldier. She focuses on that one.

“I hear you have news for me? Make it swift, and make it good.”

He swallows, hard, and her eyes idly trace the line of his throat. If he disappoints her, perhaps she will drive her heel through it, to make an example of him. That would be far too messy; perhaps his dominant hand will do.

“I have narrowed down the location of the missing net, ma’am. I believe it to have washed up somewhere around these general GPS coordinates.” He fiddles with a remote in his hand, and the image on the screen changes. It shows an aerial satellite view of a secluded strip of beach, framed by rocky cliffs with larger rocks studded out into the open water. “It should have washed up somewhere in this one-point-three-seven-mile strip of beach. The whole area is property of one Doctor Thomas Sanders.”

She snarls. “That man. He won’t let us on that beach willingly until hell freezes over.”

The other man, the one scanning through photo stills and video footage, jumps up, knocking his chair backwards. “I found something!”

She turns towards him, and his excitement freezes and sputters into something much more controlled and terrified. “Show me.” He clicks something and pulls up video footage from one of their surveillance drones, zooming in on a particular patch of ocean along the stretch of Sanders’ beach. Her eyes widen when she sees what he’d noticed - a hump of red-and-white tail arcing above the waves before a pattern of ripples streaks off towards the cliff. He pauses the footage, rewinds it, uses a laser pointer to show an opening concealed in the cliff face.

“There’s some kind of grotto in there, hidden by the cliff. It’s on Sanders’ property, he has to know it’s there. And it looks like the merman from the destroyed drone knows it’s there too. Which means -”

“That must be where he’s keeping them.” Something burns in her chest, brilliant and terrifying and all-encapsulating, like wildfire. “We’ve found them, at long last.”

“What would you have me do?” her secretary asks. “I can arrange for a recovery squad at your earliest possible convenience, ma’am.”

“Assemble the squad, but do not have them move out. They will wait for my orders. When they go, you are to go with them.” Her secretary nods, once, sharp and sure. “Dispatch a crew to Lab One and clear it out. I want it prepped for containment, vivisection, chemical tests - the works. Get at least three tanks set up and one strap-down human table.”

“A human table, ma’am?”

“Yes. We have to deal with Sanders once and for all to ensure that he does not ruin any future experiments.”

“Will we be taking him as well?”

She hums thoughtfully. “No. Pull up the file we have on his known associate?”

A few swift clicks and flicks and a photo appears on the large screen: a young man with brown-and-purple hair, sleeves rolled up, carefully lowering a perfectly viable specimen into the ocean and letting it go, like some kind of fool. “His doctoral student, ma’am. The longest one he’s ever kept - this one has been with him a few years.”

“Excellent. When you raid the lab, take him.”

“Should we kill Sanders?”

“No. Rough him up a little, but leave him alive. Taking his protégé and leaving him alone, helpless to rescue him, will be the highest form of torture for such an insufferable person. The agony will eat him alive until his dying day.”

Her secretary nods, taking the notes down dutifully. The other employees look vaguely horrified, but she pays them no mind. No sacrifice is too great to be made in the name of progress, and anyone who thinks otherwise is a weakling who will never get anywhere in life.

She refuses to be one of those weaklings.

*~*~*~*~*

Logan wakes up confused.

He’s warm, warmer than he thinks he’s ever been in his whole life. When he stirs, he moves farther than he meant to - he must not be underwater. That’s enough to send a jolt of concern through his sleep-addled brain. Why isn’t he underwater? Why was he sleeping if he was above the surface? There’s no way his dad is here, and Roman hates surfacing, where are they? Where is he? But he’s so comfortable . . .

Someone shifts beside him, an arm draping across his waist, and Logan forces his eyes open. He shifts his lower half, confused when two things move instead of one, and there are layers upon layers of thin, flat, soft things wrapping around him. What is happening?

Slowly, slowly, his mind clears, and he remembers the events of last night. He grew legs - he was a human, once, before he was mer - he couldn’t sleep underwater with Dad and Roman - Virgil was teaching him to walk - Virgil put “clothes” on him - Virgil was embarrassed that he didn’t have those “clothes” on him - Virgil took him out of the lab to sleep - Virgil agreed to cuddle him since his pod couldn’t -

Logan feels the strange burning in his face again as he shifts. He can’t see well in this new human form, but when things are close enough to his face they’re relatively clear. And Virgil, still sleeping, is close enough that Logan can smell him - he smells like salt water mixed with something sharp and something sweet and something else that Logan can’t quite identify but finds addicting nonetheless. Sunlight streams in and pools around Virgil’s face, illuminating the tangled mess of hair spread around him and flopping into his face, the small puddle of water leaking out from his open mouth onto the soft thing he’s resting his head on, the way his chest moves slowly with every breath. His arm is wrapped around Logan, pulling him close. Logan thinks he might explode if he focuses on this any more, so he rolls from his side to his back as carefully as he can, not wanting to wake Virgil. Virgil tightens his arm around Logan and mutters something indecipherable in his sleep, but he doesn’t wake.

Rather than focusing on his very confusing feelings for the very pretty man next to him, Logan focuses on what he can see of the room around him. He makes a list in his mind of things that he plans to ask Virgil about later today, including:

1: There are many draws attached to the small, smooth cliffs surrounding them. How do they stay there?

2: There are lots of “clothes” scattered all around the floor, and there were several on the bed, too. Is that normal for humans?

3: Last night, Virgil did something that made the room light up with trapped sunlight! How did he do that?

4: How did Virgil get ice to stay in those big frozen sheets in such a warm place to let the sunlight in?

5: How did Virgil make ice into that weird shape that he filled with water and drank last night?

6: How did Virgil get the water to come into this place?

7: Do all humans have a specific area set aside for sleeping? Logan and his pod usually just sleep wherever they can, but Virgil seems to have this soft slab set aside with all of these soft things to be comfortable and sleep in every night. Is this a Human Thing or strictly a Virgil Thing?

Logan looks out through the sheet of ice that protects Virgil’s area from the outside and gasps. He can’t see well, but there’s a glittering expanse of blue that shifts and moves and oh, is that the ocean?

He’s spent his whole life (well, his whole remembered life, anyways) in the ocean, and he’s seen some truly wondrous things. He travels around the world with his pod, he knows the ocean is big, but seeing it spread out like this is . . . awe-inspiring. Logan has never seen the ocean like this, and now that he has he doesn’t think he can ever not see it like this again. It’s like a perfect sheet of sea-glass, rippling and unbroken but dynamic in a way that he never really gets a sense of when he’s beneath it.

He knows that there are waves, of course. There are smaller swells out on the open ocean, and larger ones when the Second Goddess dips her fingers down from the Upper Ocean and swirls the storms to a thundering burst. There are waves along the shoreline, ones that he frolics in with Roman and batter him against the shoreline. There are waves created when he or his pod members surface. But watching the movement of the ocean from up here is . . .

Even with his imperfect vision, he is completely at a loss for words as he stares at the ocean.

Eventually, Virgil stirs next to him, and Logan turns away from the ocean to stare at him. Virgil is close to him, arms wrapped tightly around him, face pressed against him. Logan’s eyesight is not great, but Virgil is close enough that he can pick out little details of his face. There are brown face scales scattered all over him, but they seem to cluster on his nose and his cheeks. Logan has wanted to touch them for a substantial amount of time, and he can’t stop himself from gently settling the tips of his fingers over Virgil’s cheek.

His face doesn’t feel like Logan was expecting. The scales don’t give texture to his face the way that Logan’s do; the skin is smooth and flat. There are little bumps all over, but the brown scales aren’t raised off the skin like Logan expected. He lets his fingers trail along Virgil’s face. His bone structure seems to be exceedingly similar to Logan’s, at least in regards to his head. Logan’s finger rests gently on the curve of bone under Virgil’s eye, and Virgil exhales warm breath onto his palm.

Logan wonders what it would be like to have this for longer than just his recovery period. He wonders what it would be like to wake up next to Virgil all the time, to get to run his hands over Virgil’s face and arms and chest and examine the differences between their anatomy. He wonders what it would be like to learn to walk without falling over, and he feels a sharp, unexpected twinge in his chest as he realizes that getting better at walking means no more closeness to Virgil.

His chest feels strange, like there’s a school of small fish swarming around and tickling his insides and making him feel all foamy, like the froth churned up by a windswept sea. He feels like he does when he’s underwater - free, weightless, mobile, limited by nothing except his own imagination. He feels unstoppable.

Virgil makes a sudden, sharp inhale, blinking his eyes open slowly. Logan thinks that, perhaps, he might not appreciate being studied unknowingly - he hadn’t appreciated Virgil doing it, before he understood what was happening, when all he knew was the loss of his pod aching like a scraped-out seashell. As Virgil wakes up, Logan shifts, turning his gaze to the rest of the room.

Virgil makes a sleepy grumbling noise, opening one eye. Logan chances another quick glance at him, and when his eye slides open Logan is struck by its beauty. He doesn’t get much of a chance to admire it, however, before Virgil is jolting backwards like Logan’s struck him with lightning. Logan is confused, reaching out and gently touching his shoulder. “Virgil?”

“Wassat?! Wait . . . L’gan?”

“It is me,” Logan says softly. “Are - are you upset with me?”

Virgil yawns, jaw dropping to his chest, revealing a flash of teeth and a soft pink tongue. (Logan wants to lick it. Why does Logan want to lick it? Why is Logan thinking about Virgil’s tongue licking his tongue - why is Logan thinking about Virgil - what in the Seven Oceans is happening to him.) “Wh - no, no, ‘m okay, I just - woke up, forgot I had you with me, got confused about another person in my bed.” Before Logan can start to feel bad, Virgil adds, “S’okay if it’s you, though,” and the foamy, floaty feeling is back.

“Did you sleep well?”

Virgil laughs, low and rumbling, and Logan can feel it in his fingers where he touches Virgil’s skin. “I never sleep well.” He sits up, and the fabric of his pajamas shifts to let Logan see stretches of soft, supple skin that he usually doesn’t. Logan wants to touch it. He very determinedly keeps his hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Gotta admit, though, last night was . . . better than usual.”

This appears to be the point where Virgil first notices their position - pressed together, arm slung over Logan, basically cuddling the way that Logan normally would with his pod. (No tangle with his pod has ever felt this . . . electric, this charged, this important to Logan before.) His face flares a brilliant red, and he shifts like he wants to move away but -

“I’m sorry,” Virgil says. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No!” Logan blurts out. Virgil blinks at him a little, and maybe he was a little overly enthusiastic, but - “I sleep in a tangle with Dad and Roman all the time. I have extreme difficulty sleeping without contact with someone else. It . . . helped me greatly.”

“Oh,” Virgil says, face turning redder still, smiling shyly. “That - makes me feel better. Thanks, Lo.”

Logan smiles, and Virgil smiles too, reaching up to gently move a piece of hair away from his face. Logan thinks that, as far as deaths go, his chest exploding (which seems to be getting more and more likely every fifteen seconds he spends in Virgil’s presence, only accelerated by all this skin-on-skin contact they’re having right now) seems to be the most pleasurable.

Virgil opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it was is interrupted by a Ping! noise from across the room. “What is that?” Logan asks. Virgil, sadly, untangles himself from Logan and the blankets, sliding out of bed and heading over to one of the other structures in the room (what did he call it last night? Dex?) and picking up a flat glowing rectangle.

“Is everything alright?”

“What? Yeah, yeah, I - Thomas sent me a text, it’s a little weird.”

“What is a text?”

“It’s a kind of human messaging system, it allows us to communicate when we’re far away from each other.”

“Like a pod call?” “Kind of? I’ll explain more later, I promise, I just - I gotta go down to the lab real quick.”

“I’ll come with -”

“No!” Virgil snaps. Logan flinches, and Virgil softens, crossing the room and gently touching his shoulder. “Hey, no, Logan, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just - this message, there’s something off. I think something might be wrong, and I don’t want to put you in any unnecessary danger. Just - wait here, okay? Wait in my room, where it’s safe. It’s probably nothing, he’s probably fine, but on the off chance that he’s not, I want you to stay hidden safely up here.”

Logan isn’t sure why this makes his face heat up slightly, but it does. “Okay. I accept your apology, and I . . . trust you.”

Virgil smiles, soft and heartwarming, and Logan is beginning to give more credence to his “chest explosion is fine, actually” theory. “Wait for me here, okay? I’ll be right back. I promise.”

He leaves, shutting the door firmly behind him, and the foamy feeling in Logan’s chest dissipates a little. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s something . . . off. If Logan didn’t know better, he’d think that he was sensing a predator approaching.

But that can’t be right, he isn’t underwater. His danger senses are likely just overreacting to his disappointment at Virgil’s absence.

. . . Right?

*~*~*~*~*

Thomas is beginning to regret letting Roman and Patton (specifically, Roman) out of the large tank before finishing his first coffee of the morning.

“I want some!” Roman complains.

“Do you even know what it is?” Thomas says. Roman pouts sulkily at him.

“. . . No,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. Thomas gives him the deadpan, no-nonsense, I-am-your-direct-superior-take-the-damn-samples-Virgil stare that he has perfected over the past few years. Roman wilts a little more, and Thomas feels slightly bad.

“It’s called coffee,” he says. “It’s a hot drink that lots of people have in the morning. Some people drink it plain, and some people add things to it to change the way it tastes. It helps me wake up more and get focused to start my day, and sometimes I drink it late at night to help keep me awake.”

Roman looks less like a kicked puppy and more like Logan, eyes wide and curious. “I want some!”

Thomas, taking a sip of his own two-seconds-of-cream-five-cubes-of-sugar coffee, nearly spits it out. He looks at Roman, eyes the very sharp, very detachable, very toxic spines covering his body, and says, “No.”

Roman’s demeanor changes entirely, switching from “curious toddler” to “toddler about to throw a temper tantrum” in a heartbeat. “Why not?!”

“Because when people drink coffee without being used to it, sometimes it makes them a little crazy.”

“I’m not crazy!”

“Do I need to recount to you how many times you’ve threatened me and my assistant since we met you?” Thomas says, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not giving you coffee until I know I can trust you not to stab me with your poisonous spines that cover your entire body and can be fired at people.”

Roman pouts more, dropping under the water and letting out a gratingly harmonious string of mer that Thomas is pretty sure translates to Roman bitching about the coffee situation to his dad. Based on the pattern of Patton’s response, he’s pretty sure Patton is laughing at Roman.

More sulky chalkboard-violin music, and then Roman resurfaces grumpily. “Dad agrees with you and says no consuming strange human foods.”

“Did he laugh at you?”

Roman squints suspiciously at him. “You can’t speak our language.”

“Yeah, but I know what it sounds like when a dad laughs at his kid.” Roman, continuing to pout, sinks back into the tank, presumably to sulk some more. Thomas takes another very long sip of coffee that is definitely too hot for his mouth and turns back to his desk.

Virgil should definitely be awake and in the lab at this point. The samples he’s supposed to be analyzing are sitting in their little tubes, each neatly labelled with locations and dates and times and what, specifically, Virgil is supposed to be looking for. Thomas considers going upstairs and waking up Virgil, who’s almost never been late for work in this way, but he decides against it. Virgil is upstairs with Logan, and Thomas knows that there’s something building between them. He’s not sure how advisable that something is, but he trusts Virgil to make his own decisions.

Besides, he could probably use some practice. His water sample analysis skills are pretty rusty, he’s had Virgil doing them for years. “Virgil, you owe me big time for what I’m doing for you.” He carefully shifts the samples over to his own desk, slides his earbuds in, picks up a pipette, and gets to work analyzing the bacterial and algal concentrations for any abnormalities.

Thomas accomplishes about forty-five minutes’ worth of work before Roman interrupts him by flicking water at him and soaking the back of his neck. “Hey!”

“I tried your name, but your little ear bug things were keeping you from hearing me,” Roman says smugly. Thomas, not for the first time, considers retreating to the closet and throwing beakers until he feels better.

“Can I help you?”

“Dad wants to go hunting and bring back breakfast, but we can’t leave without you.”

“Are you not going hunting?”

“I’m going to stay here and observe you,” Roman says.

Thomas blinks. “Do I . . . need observing?”

“How do I know you won’t sell us out to your little human friends the second you get a chance? If I’m here, I can stop you. Plus, what if you do something to Logan while we’re not here to protect him? No, no, I’m staying right where I am and you can’t make me leave.” His spines ripple; Thomas steps closer to a whiteboard in case he needs to duck.

“I’m not going to do that, and I don’t want you to stab me.”

“Still! I’m staying here! Also, Dad’s bigger than me, and he’s a better hunter cause he’s faster and he’s been hunting longer.

“Does he need something to help him carry all those fish?” Thomas asks. Roman opens his mouth like he’s going to say something snarky, pauses, and stops.

“I . . . usually we just eat what we catch when we catch it. We make a pile of prey and take turns guarding it while the other two hunt. Then we make a sacrifice to the Seven Mother Goddesses and eat what’s left.”

After some debate, Thomas is able to fashion a sling of sorts from some waterproof tarps and leftover anchor rope to tie around Patton’s body. “You can put the fish in this pouch and carry them back here. Will you be able to navigate your way back to the grotto?”

“He will,” Roman says. “Dad knows more about the ocean than any human possibly could.” Another discordant song from the tank, chastising, and Roman huffs. “Dad wants me to reassure you that he’ll be fine.”

Patton settles into the mobile tank easily, and Thomas gets him down to the grotto leading towards the sea. “When you come back, let out one of your pod calls and Virgil or I will come and collect you and your catch. Take as much time as you need, okay?”

Patton reaches up and gently pats Thomas’s arm with one large, damp hand, and Thomas takes that to mean an agreement. “Alright, off you go.” There’s a whoosh and a rush of water as it flows from the tank into the grotto in a clean arc, carrying Patton with it. Thomas waits for a moment, letting Patton disappear into the open ocean, before returning to the laboratory.

Roman, for the most part, ignores Thomas. He asks the occasional question, which Thomas tries to answer in a way that he’ll understand, and leans over the edge of his touch tank, eyes guarded. Every time Thomas sneaks a glance, when he thinks Roman isn’t looking, his expression is wide-eyed and wondrous, like Logan’s usually are, but the moment he realizes Thomas is watching him his entire face closes up like a clamshell.

Thomas wonders what it’ll take to get Roman to trust him, trust Virgil, trust any human. Granted, he doesn’t know Roman’s history with humans, but he and Patton are both fairly scarred, and Thomas might not know the whole story but he’d bet a not-insignificant amount of his monthly income that the giant starburst scar taking up the majority of Patton’s chest isn’t the result of a clash with a marine creature.

He works quietly, fielding the occasional question, keeping one ear on the grotto tunnel for Patton’s return. He’s not sure how long he expected Patton to be gone, but he hears movement in the grotto tunnel far sooner than he’d expected.

“Thomas, what’s -”

“Shhhh,” Thomas says. He stands up, pushing away from his desk, but before he can say anything else, there’s a flood of movement coming from the tunnel. Bodies pour into the lab, swift and strong and carrying weapons that they immediately train on Thomas and Roman.

“What is this?” Roman snaps, bristling. He sounds betrayed, like he thinks Thomas is behind this. Thomas picks up a heavy glass beaker, fully prepared to shatter it upside someone’s skull if necessary, but something heavy and hard strikes the back of his skull and he feels his knees crumple. Roman cries out, and Thomas struggles to push himself up. A hand fists itself in his hair and yanks him upright, sharply. Thomas exhales sharply through his teeth, but before he can start struggling, something cool and round rests against the back of his neck, shutting him up and shutting his brain down.

Roman is puffed up like a hedgehog, apparently fully prepared to defend Thomas despite his strong and inherent mistrust. Before he can begin to attack, Thomas hears the click-click-click of shoes on the hard stone floor. Whoever’s holding his head yanks him back again, and he is forced to watch as a woman walks into his laboratory.

(It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke - a sick, horrible, twisted joke.)

She has black heels, black tights, a black pencil skirt, a black blazer, and a blood-red blouse. Her hair is scraped back into a tight bun, pulled so taut it must hurt, and is held in place with a pitch black stick. She carries a - clipboard? tablet? Unclear - held against her chest, and there’s a sleek silver weapon in her right hand.

“The one from the video?” she asks.

“Affirmative, ma’am,” says the person holding Thomas’s head. The woman nods, lifting her weapon, and fires at Roman. Thomas tries to scream a warning, earning himself another painful yank from his captor, but the projectile lodges itself in Roman’s shoulder anyway.

It isn’t a bullet, but something that looks like a small syringe. Roman swats it out of his shoulder, swaying a little, but it doesn’t stop him from swiping at the - mercenary, they must be - who tries to grab him with his elbow spines. The woman frowns, lifts the weapon - some kind of tranquilizer gun? - and fires again.

Roman screams, inhuman and animal, and tears the newest dart from his arm, throwing himself out of his tank and clinging to the nearest mercenary. His teeth tear into the man’s shoulder, spines piercing through his camouflage clothing and flooding him with neurotoxin. The man collapses against the concrete, alive but unconscious, and Roman snarls at the next man as though daring him to approach. He sways, weakened but awake, and bares his teeth.

“Of course,” the woman says, tapping something on her tablet. “His naturally produced neurotoxin must be providing him with some level of natural resistance. Unexpected, but not a limitation.”

It takes three more tranquilizer darts before Roman finally slumps down into his tank, unconscious. The mercenaries look hesitant to approach him, but the woman reaches for her tablet and they scramble to action at once.

“No - no, stop, let him go, he’s not an animal for you to cart off to your lab -” Thomas starts. The man holding him knees him sharply in the back and he cries out, coughing.

They wrap Roman in thick leather bands, roughly shoving his spines flat and binding them against his skin so that he can’t attack them again. The woman nods, once, short and sharp, and they drag Roman away, letting his head bang mercilessly on the ground. Thomas catches a glimpse of a logo - emblazoned on the back of the jackets, on the back of the woman’s tablet, on the side of her tranquilizer gun - and commits it to memory. He’s going to need it, if he gets out of here alive.

“- your phone,” the woman says, and oh, when did she get in front of him.

“My what?”

His mouth runs dry as she places the tranquilizer gun under his chin, barrel pressing against his throat, and tips his chin up. “I said, give me your phone.”

Thomas blinks. “My - the desk. It’s on the desk.”

She sets her tablet down, picks up his phone, and shoves it in his face. “Open it.”

“I - wh -”

“Unlock your phone, Dr. Sanders. Must I repeat myself a third time?” She rolls her eyes. “Doctorates are wasted on people like you.”

Thomas numbly punches in his passcode, and she swipes through to his messages app, frowning before turning the screen towards his face to reveal a message thread with Virgil. “Is this your assistant?”

Thomas glares at her, he’s not going to give her what she wants, he’s not going to just give her Virgil but then the - gun, it must be a gun, what else would they be holding against his neck like this - pushes into him harder, and it’s probably bruising, and he can’t get himself killed here because then he definitely won’t be able to take care of Virgil and -

“Yes,” Thomas says, hating himself for giving in so easily. “What do you -”

She turns away from him, nails clicking against his phone screen as she sends a text message - to Virgil, presumably, and that makes his heart sink like a stone - before dropping it on the floor and stepping on it to shatter it. “I have a message for you.”

“A - what?”

“Did they really hit you that hard, or were you this stupid before we came here?” she says coldly, picking up the tablet again and tapping at the screen. Thomas groans as the man yanks him to his feet, shoving him onto his chair and pulling a roll of duct tape out of one of his multiple pants pockets. He tapes Thomas’s wrists and ankles to the chair, keeping his weapon trained on Thomas’s temple at all times, before pressing it roughly against his head and gripping his hair again.

The woman sets the tablet on his lab table, and the screen flickers to life, and then there’s a woman in front of a dark black backdrop, smiling at him like a cat who’s caught a canary. “Thomas Sanders. How long I’ve waited for this day.”

Thomas recognizes her. He knows he recognizes her. She used to be his classmate, before . . .

His head hurts, so badly that he can barely keep his eyes open, and the memory slips away. “You . . . why are you doing this?”

“Why? Because I am a real scientist, unlike you. You refuse to do what is necessary, what must be done for the progression of the species. The sacrifice of some worthless animals is necessary for humanity to reach its zenith. You would really hinder the entire human race for the preservation of lower life forms?”

“Wh - I -”

“You think that ‘preserving the ecosystem’ and ‘keeping animals alive’ makes you a good scientist, but it makes you weak. You are weak, Thomas Sanders, and if the world was left in the hands of people like you, the human race as we know it would die out in a few centuries. Fortunately, there are people like me, who understand what must be done.”

“Caring about other people and things - it doesn’t - it doesn’t make you weak,” Thomas says, chest heaving, and the woman just laughs.

“One of many logical fallacies to which you subscribe, Thomas. They really gave you a doctorate? Of course caring makes you weak. All emotions make you weak. They corrupt your data and make your experiments worthless. You must be ruthless. You must be willing to do whatever it takes to pursue your goals and achieve the height of success. But no.” She rolls her eyes, face hardening, twirling a pen in her fingers. “You insist on ethics and principles and letting emotions cloud your judgement, and that makes you a failure as a scientist. It makes you weak. Your attachments will be your downfall.”

Thomas’s eyes slide shut, head pounding, and the man behind him yanks at his hair so sharply that he knows some has been ripped out. He forces his eyes open in time to see a smile slide across the woman’s face like a knife, teeth gleaming white as sun-bleached bone.

“You won’t - get away with this,” Thomas manages. He grinds his teeth together and curls his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms to keep himself awake. “If you leave me alive -” Thomas, stop talking, why are you reminding her that she has the option to fucking kill you “- I will not rest until I find you. I’ll - you can’t -”

“You’ll what, Thomas? If you call the police, you’ll expose those creatures you’re so intent on protecting to the world. Are you really willing to take that chance?” Before Thomas can even begin formulating a response, she steamrolls him. “It doesn’t matter. Even if you were, I’m going to take some . . . insurance, shall we say.”

“Why not just kill me?” Thomas spits. Excellent idea, Doc, poke the murderous lady with a stick like a god damn hornet’s nest, the tiny Virgil in his brain hisses. Her smile, somehow, only widens, and that’s . . . that can’t be good, can it? Smiles are supposed to be good! They’re supposed to make you happy, but all Thomas feels is creeping dread and pain, so much pain, and -

Yeah. He’s . . . pretty sure he has a concussion.

“Because if I kill you, you get to take the easy way out. Your suffering will end. But unlike you, I don’t put limits on my science. I know how to cause you the maximum amount of pain.”

Thomas eyes the toxin gun, but the on-screen woman just laughs. “Not yet, Thomas. We need something from you, first.”

“You already took Roman,” Thomas says. “What more can you possibly take from me?”

“You named it? You’re even weaker than I thought.”

“He told me his name, he’s not an it, he’s not a thing for you to play with and - and I -”

There’s a strange sinking feeling in Thomas’s chest as the woman onscreen laughs. “I knew you were emotional, Thomas, but I can’t believe this! It looks like I’ll have more hanging over your head than you thought.”

“You -”

“Say, Tommy-boy, have you heard from your precious little assistant recently?”

Thomas’s entire body flushes ice-cold and then white-hot, immediately struggling against his duct tape bindings despite the man tearing at his hair and shoving the gun into his neck and snapping at him to shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up before I do something we’re both gonna regret -

“Don’t you touch him!” Thomas snaps. “If you hurt him, I swear to God -”

“You’re not in a position to be making demands, and if you don’t calm down, I’ll paint your boring little lab bright red.” Thomas freezes, holding his entire body tensed like electricity is running through his blood.

There are footsteps on the stairs. “Doc? I got your text, what’s -”

“Virgil, run!” Thomas chokes. Virgil comes around the corner, holding his phone, staring at the screen in confusion. He looks up, eyes widening in horror as he takes in the scene.

“You know what to do,” the woman onscreen says. The other woman lifts her tranquilizer gun, and Thomas is sure that he’s screaming, his mouth is open and sound is coming out but his blood is rushing through his ears and his heart is pounding like waves against a boat in rough sea and he can’t - he can’t -

Virgil turns to run, but the tranquilizer dart hits in him the back of the neck and he collapses like a sack of bricks. The woman lowers her gun and jerks her head at the two remaining conscious, unoccupied mercenaries, who step forward and grab Virgil.

“Let him go!” Thomas screams, and his throat feels raw and his chest feels raw and his wrists are rubbed raw and his soul feels hollow and raw, like he’s been scraped out with a jagged piece of metal and only an empty shell remains. Virgil’s head lolls against his chest as they drag him down the grotto tunnel, and Thomas struggles and screams and stares after them until Virgil is out of sight.

His face is damp, and his eyes are burning, and he isn’t sure if it’s blood from his head wound or tears or some strange, morbid mixture of both.

“The greatest torture of which I can conceive,” the woman onscreen says, and it takes him a moment to realize that oh, she’s talking to me, “is to leave you alive, knowing that your precious little protégé is with me, and that there is nothing you can do about it.” She leans forward, and any trace of a smile is gone. “If you try to come after me, I will kill him. If you call the authorities, I will kill him. I already found you, Thomas. Don’t think I’m not watching. If I catch so much as a whiff of you planning something, his blood will be on your hands. Do you understand me?”

Thomas, numb and shocked, can’t even respond. “Knock him out and bring the specimens back to me,” the woman onscreen says.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He doesn’t even feel the tranquilizer dart hit his neck, but he welcomes the sweeping darkness.

(Summary: Evil Scientist Lady has been spying on Thomas and she finds the entrance to the grotto where our mer friends have been hiding. She sends her assistant and several armed thugs to invade the lab, they drug Roman with tranquilizers and kidnap him. Thomas gets knocked around a lot and is mocked for being an ethical scientist and caring about people by Evil Scientist Lady and she gloats at him through Evil Facetime before kidnapping Virgil in the same way they did Roman, knocking Thomas unconscious, and leaving him tied to his lab chair. During this whole scene, Patton is out in the open ocean hunting and Logan is safely hidden in Virgil's room.)

[tiffdawg]

Could you pretty please do a head cannon where like you come home all sweaty from a workout and Javi is like all over you or something thanks 🥺❤️

Why yes, yes I can. This took a few days but it’s basically a whole ass fic whoops 🤷🏼‍♀️

Rating: E | Warnings: NSFW — explicit sexual content. Mild language. Domestic Javi. Afab reader. 18+ only.

Javier was a morning person by necessity. He used to wake up without so much as a second thought toward a cup of coffee, let alone breakfast, at home, but life with you had changed him — in so many ways.

Now, you shared something akin to a morning ritual.

Impressively, you were the first to rise most days, rolling out of bed before the sun to run, swim, bike or whatever form of exercise inspired you that day. He usually felt the bed dip as you got up but he snoozed on, only cracking a smile when you placed a good morning kiss on his cheek.

An hour or so later, he’d wake a few minutes before his alarm and meander into the kitchen

He’d set out a whatever was on hand for a small breakfast and start the coffee pot for when you returned before clicking on the old television set to watch the morning news report. When you arrived home, the two of you would chat over your mugs of coffee for a few cherished moments before he’d leave you for the day. Considering the demanding nature his job and his commitment to his work, it was time cherished.

But sometimes, rituals, like rules, were meant to be broken.

That morning, as Javier stood in front of a nearly empty fridge — luckily tomorrow you’d drag him to the open air market as you did every Sunday — yawning as he decided what to piece together and call a meal, you bounced into the apartment, wide awake and energized for the day.

He glanced over his shoulder to throw a greeting your way but ended up doing a double take.

You leaned back against the sink as you took a long drink of cool water. Your skin was flushed, practically glistening. The old crewneck you were wearing earlier was tied around your waist, leaving you in a matching bra and bike shorts set. The tight spandex left little to his imagination — not that he needed to imagine anything.

He watched you gulp down the glass and his eyes followed the stray water droplet that ran down your neck and disappeared between your cleavage.

Javier swallowed hard.

With a hand on either side of you, he caged you against the counter and his lips found your pulse point, still beating a rapid rhythm.

“Get off me,” you said with a noise that was something between a squeal and a laugh. “I’m all hot and sweaty.”

“I know,” he murmured against your skin, tongue darting out where the water had trailed down your throat, “I like you like this.”

He found that sweet spot just below your ear and you relaxed against him, sighing as his teeth gently grazed your flesh. “I love you but you’re— you’re going to be late for work.” That snapped you out of it and he let you push him away.

“Shame.”

You told him about the things you saw that morning — a group of happy kids playing tromp before school, a new cafe opening a few blocks over, an old man that looked just like his dog — as he poured two steaming mugs of coffee. Colombia looked different to you and he savored every opportunity to see the country through your eyes.

But the moment was over much sooner than he liked. He turned on the shower, letting the water heat up as he stripped himself of his nightclothes. He was just about to step in when there was a gentle knock on the bathroom door. You called his name with a laugh.

“¿Si, mi corazón?” he answered as he opened the door.

“Apparently I’m hot and sweaty and stuck in my bra,” you mock pouted.

Javier chuckled as he gestured for you to perch on the edge of the counter. After a bit of a struggle — you weren’t kidding when you said you were stuck — he pulled it up and over your head, freeing you of the contraption.

You’d almost certainly meant it as a chaste kiss of gratitude, but he couldn’t help himself. Stepping in between your legs, he deepened your kiss and pulled you to him. As he explored your mouth, eager hands roamed your body, finding you soft and warm and perfectly pliant in his hold.

But when he cupped your breasts, weighing them in his hands and tweaking both of your perky nipples between two fingers, and you moaned deliciously into his mouth, he knew he had you.

“Gonna give me what I want?” he rasped.

“You’re going to be—” you tried to interject.

“Don’t fucking care,” he said in between heated kisses. “Want you. Fucking need you.” He sounded desperate but he didn’t care about that either. You already knew what you did to him.

“Well then,” you panted as you slipped a hand between your sweaty bodies and wrapped your fingers around his hardening length, encouraging him even more, “why don’t I join you in the shower this morning?”

“God, I love you,” he replied. He pressed a quick kiss to your devilish grin before pulling you off the counter and into the shower with him.

He was nearly an hour late for work, but it was more than worth Steve’s incessant teasing all day.

[sheyshocked]

I posted 21,434 times in 2022

That's 448 more posts than 2021!

42 posts created (0%)

21,392 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@dizzypinwheel

@cyberlifebois

@xixuan

@connor-sent-by-cyberlife

@get-me-a-coffee-dipshit

I tagged 21,194 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#dbh - 14,228 posts

#detroit become human - 10,798 posts

#dbh connor - 6,925 posts

#team fortress 2 - 3,865 posts

#tf2 - 3,851 posts

#dbh gavin reed - 3,636 posts

#dbh rk900 - 3,512 posts

#detroit become human - 3,434 posts

#dbh hank anderson - 2,906 posts

#dbh markus - 1,980 posts

Longest Tag: 93 characters

#*remembers my uni experience* wish i had teachers who don't belittle you for asking questions

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Fic Masterpost (2022)

Organized by year 2020 | 2021 | 2022

Updated! (12th October - new Team Fortress 2 multichapter fic - Baby It’s All Just Chemistry)

Detroit: Become Human

Simon/Markus

One-shots

Can you deviate twice? - Some people never wisen. Unfortunately, Simon seems to be one of them. But who knew you could deviate for love twice? Fluff, Simarkus Week 2022, 1,006 words.

I Would Love You In Any Form You Would Take -  With a simple tweak of the preconstruction software, androids should be able to get glimpses of "alternate realities". While Markus is intrigued by the prospect, Simon is definitively not. Fluff, crack treated seriously, Simarkus Week 2022, 3,161 words.

Not the Best Place for a Love Confession - Markus talks about his new budding relationship with Simon during an interview. Simon’s reaction surprises him. Fluff, slightly sexist language, Simarkus Week 2022, 1,781 words.

When the Wind Blows - What Markus didn't know when he pressed that button was that even androids can't survive prolonged contact with radiation. Angst, post nuclear ending, character death, Simarkus Week 2022, 1,445 words.

Daniel/Leo Manfred

The Day Leo Had Woken up With Cat Ears - Leo is struck by a strange curse that makes him grow cat ears. Now he must find a way to somehow break it to his boyfriend. Humor, fluff, crack, 623 words.

Team Fortress 2

Scout/OC

Multichapters

Baby It’s All Just Chemistry - Months after the RED team assembled and its members started getting used to one another, they receive some shocking news. They are about to get a new teammate soon. AU, tenth class, humor, slice of life. Minor Heavy/Medic and RED!Demoman/BLU!Soldier. Chapters 1/?, 

Spy/Scout’s Mother

À la Claire Fontaine - Before a battle, Scout is trying to work off excess energy, which keeps annoying Spy to no end. When he has enough and throws a knife at him, Scout settles down for a while, only to start humming a familiar song. It brings back some memories Spy thought he would forget. Light angst, Dad Spy,  2,607 words.

Genfic

One-shots

Your Ray of Sunshine - Nothing goes your way these last few days, your team is losing one match after the other, and you feel awful because of it. But then Scout shows up and makes you feel just a little bit better. Hurt/comfort, Reader insert, (Gender-neutral) Reader & Scout, Platonic relationships, 742 words.

24 notes - Posted March 6, 2022

#4

Not the Best Place for a Love Confession

Summary: During an interview with a reporter who has a bad habit of saying the most offensive thing possible at the moment, Markus talks about his new budding relationship with Simon and teaches the public that just because he’s the respected leader of the revolution, his partner doesn’t have to be some fainting maiden waiting for him to come home. Simon’s reaction surprises him. Second day of Simarkus Week 2022, prompt Confession.

Ship: Simon/Markus (Detroit: Become Human)

Warnings: (Slightly) Sexist Language

Tags: Fluff, Public Love Confessions, Making Out, Markus Loves Simon (Detroit: Become Human), Switch Simon (Detroit: Become Human), Switch Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Interviews, Markus Being Sassy, Secret Relationship

Wordcount: 1,781

A/N: Look, it’s my event, my rules. And when I say I’m gonna post fics for Simarkus Week a month late, then so be it (anyone can do that, btw, so if you still wanna join, go crazy). Anyway, hope you enjoy reading!

You can also read it on ao3!

Only a few things were sure to make Markus’ blood boil in rage. Injustice was one of them. Ignorance the other. But pretentious interviews with reporters who couldn’t give a damn about their cause and were only looking for a sensation happened to be high on the list, too. The people there were as bad as the gabbers at the Museum of Modern Art, if not worse.

Unfortunately, just like those cocktail parties Carl used to despise so much, these events were a necessary evil from time to time, so Markus forced himself to smile as he answered questions that were borderline offensive.

The acceptance of androids as a new living species was still quite a novelty, and most people meant no harm, just didn’t know how to communicate with them after everything that happened. That’s why he was here. To make them see that they were no different from them. If only some of the remarks didn’t feel like they were pulling his teeth out! At least the reporter, Joyce, always made an effort to correct herself when he let her know what she was saying was getting out of hand. But still...

“So... there is word on the street that someone had managed to capture the heart of the famous deviant leader! Is there any truth to it?”

Markus froze in shock. How did they know? His eyes wandered in the general direction where he assumed his friends and Simon were waiting for him to finish the interview, keeping their fingers crossed for him. Sadly, the studio lights were shining right into his eyes, so he couldn’t make out their expressions. They were probably as shocked as he was.

“This is bullshit,” North stated via their wireless connection. “Don’t reply, Markus. They are just digging for dirt. What you do with Simon in privacy is no one's business.”

Josh was next to chime in. “For once, I have to agree. They should focus on the things that matter, not this.”

Although Markus agreed with them wholeheartedly, he was still waiting for the one person who had the biggest say in this. Simon. The thing between them was still too fragile, and he didn’t want to squander it by making him uncomfortable.

“What do you think I should say, Simon? I don’t want to keep you a secret, but I won’t put you in the spotlight if you don’t wish so.”

At first, he was met with silence on the other end. Simon was obviously as torn at this as him. Then he responded, voice wavering: “I don’t think it would do us any good at this point to give any names. Maybe keep the details? Other than that, I’m fine with whatever you decide would be the best.” He went silent for a moment, before admitting: “Don’t wanna keep you a secret too.”

Markus nodded out of instinct, before turning back at the reporter. Thank god their communication was fast as a bolt of lightning, otherwise, the awkward pause might get even worse. “I hope you do realize this is a very personal question, Joyce. But yes. You could say that.”

“Oooh, lucky them, then! There’s no shortage of people who would jump at the opportunity to date someone like you.”

Were they now? He didn’t know and, honestly, he did not care. They weren’t his beautiful, radiant Simon. “I’m sure there are some fans or admirers, and I appreciate the attention,” not really, “even though I think people should focus more on what I say rather than on how I look.” He glanced down at the ground, suddenly abashed, before he picked up where he ended. “Back during the revolution, there was no time for romance. We all fought to survive. Now I found what I’ve been missing and I’m happy. It’s a tremendous success that our kind can finally experience love without having to fear the reaction of people around us.”

The crowd, mostly present androids, cheered at that. He overheard even one loud “aww” from backstage. Joyce giggled. It was a weird cacophony of sounds. One he was still getting used to, months after giving speeches. “You sound smitten with that mysterious person! I’m sure our viewers are dying to know whether it was a human or another android who rocked your world.”

That gave him pause. Simon said to keep it as ambiguous as possible. “Android. Former domestic assistant. And that’s all I will say.”

There were dozens of models that were considered domestic, both male and female. Small chance they would immediately figure out it was a PL600 with sky blue eyes and a gentle smile. And if they did? Well, people speculate all the time. They didn’t have to confirm it. Or they could. It was up to them to decide whether they would make it official, once they got more comfortable with the situation.

“Ah, I see. So you swept them off their feet and now they keep the house warm while you are here, changing the world.”

What. The. Hell.

At first, he thought – hoped – he heard her wrong. But no. She did say that. His heart picked up speed and he could feel his cheeks heating up as he fought the urge to scream: Just because I’m the leader doesn’t mean my partner has to be some submissive, meek flower who stays at home and takes care of the household!

Out of instinct, his eyes wandered to where he thought Simon stood. He could imagine his sad expression as he took the insult and said nothing, keeping it all bottled up. No way. Markus can’t let this slide.

“We are no longer slaves of our programming, Joyce,” he had to try very hard to keep his voice calm. “We can choose to be anyone we want to be now, and my partner chose to fight for our cause side by side with me ever since the beginning. Never passes a day when I wouldn’t admire their dedication, strength, and voice of reason. So stop belittling their worth just because of their past.”

The whole studio went silent. Joyce in particular looked like she wished the ground would swallow her whole. Although she had a lot of makeup on, he could see her face was getting a radiant shade of red. Good. Maybe she will think next time before she spouts something like this.

See the full post

25 notes - Posted March 27, 2022

#3

À la Claire Fontaine

Summary: Before a battle, Scout is trying to work off excess energy, which keeps annoying Spy to no end. When he has enough and throws a knife at him, Scout settles down for a while, only to start humming a familiar song. It brings back some memories Spy thought he would forget.

Fandom: Team Fortress 2

Ship: Spy/Scout’s mother (familial Spy & Scout)

Warnings: Panic Attacks

Tags: Light Angst, Scout Doesn't Know Spy Is Scout's Parent (Team Fortress 2), Spy Tries to be a Parent (Team Fortress 2), Father-Son Relationship, Scout Has ADHD (Team Fortress 2), Soft Spy (Team Fortress 2), Flashbacks, Spy loves Scout's Mother, Smoking, POV Spy (Team Fortress 2), Spy Being an Asshole (Team Fortress 2)

Wordcount: 2,607

A/N: Inspired by this adorable picture by @wachtelspinat and by French lullaby À la claire fontaine (obviously).

You can also read it on ao3!

Ten minutes until the next match starts. Well, nine minutes and thirty-five seconds now, to be precise. Just enough for his last cigarette of the day, Spy concluded and pulled out a lighter. That… fire-loving abomination sitting on the other side of the locker room visibly perked up at the faint flickering light – he cut it off before it could move. It was on their side, but as far as he was concerned, better be safe than sorry.

The entire team RED was spending its final moments before the bloodbath the only way they knew. Heavy fussed over Sasha, his much-beloved weapon, Demoman had just opened his second – or was it third? – bottle of Scrumpy and was drunkenly offering it to anyone in the immediate vicinity, and Spy? All he wanted was to have a smoke in peace before the fighting started.

Just another ordinary day in the gutter.

Scout sat on the bench right opposite him and, as usual, had a really hard time trying to stay still. His excitement before matches always had this nervous edge, no matter how many times his guts got scattered across the sands of New Mexico. He couldn’t stop fidgeting, his leg bouncing up and down nearly constantly. At first, it was a mere nuisance. Easy to block out with other white noise. Another thirty seconds in, and it made him grit his teeth.

Much like the Scout himself, Spy assumed.

Bah, he’s worse than an eight-year-old child with a bad case of rabies. Can’t slow down to save his life, he rolled his eyes. So much so for having some peace before work. But then again, with this unruly bunch of misfits and criminals, what could have he expected?

Then, as if the noise of a foot slapping against the ground every few seconds wasn’t bad enough, it became accompanied by an even more nerve-wrenching sound.

Scout, completely oblivious to the fact that he was driving one of his coworkers mad with his antics, fished a package of chewing gum out of one of his pockets. Took two at once and started chomping. Loudly. And when Spy said loudly, he meant obnoxiously loudly. That kind of loud that made him regret that he couldn’t send the other mercenary straight back to respawn without having to explain himself to the Administrator later on.

If she were there at the moment, she would have understood, he noted with a huff of annoyance.

But even his patience had its limits. And frankly, he has had enough.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat, letting Scout know that he was walking on thin ice. But the buck-teethed youth had absolutely no sense for subtlety, so it flew right over his head. He tilted his head to the side, blew a bubblegum bubble with another loud click of his tongue… and Spy just snapped.

The butterfly knife was in his hand in an instant and before anyone could have even noticed, he threw it. It pierced the wall right next to Scout’s head, popping the pink bubble out. The entire locker room went silent as all heads turned in their direction.

Scout blinked owlishly as he tried to figure out what had just happened. Then his face went ruddy with anger. “Woah, woah, what the heck, dude?! You could have killed me!”

“Oh, please, if I was really aiming for your head, I wouldn’t have missed,” he replied in a snarky tone as he got up to retrieve his knife. It was stuck at least an inch and a half in the wall. Hm. Good to know he wasn’t losing his touch. “Now, would you kindly shut up so I could have some rest?”

Scout huffed out an annoyed breath, but since he didn’t want to start a fight so shortly before having to enter the field, he sat straight and for the first time in his life did as he was told. Smart boy.

Ah, finally. A moment of respite, Spy closed his eyes with a smirk on his face.

He thought this would be the end of it, which only proved he didn’t know Scout nearly well enough. Because as soon as he relaxed, the humming started. And Spy just froze, the lit cigarette fell from his fingers and scattered ash all over the floor.

He… knew that tune. It might be butchered by Scout’s voice, sure, and like in all the other aspects of his life, the boy was rushing too much, but Spy would still recognize this song even with his ears cut off.

À la claire fontaine.

Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. His heart was hammering against his ribs, which grew too constricted for their own good. It felt like he was dying. No, now that he thought about it, dying didn’t feel nearly as bad. At least not after the first dozen times. This, this was a pure nightmare.

Well, what should he do? Dieu, he needed another cigarette, maybe two, to wrestle his nerves under control again. But his fingers shook so bad, that someone might take notice. And he couldn’t let others see him like this.

See the full post

33 notes - Posted September 4, 2022

#2

Simarkus Week 2022

Hello and welcome to the Simarkus Week 2022!

This event was last organized in 2020 on Twitter by the Simarkus Army, but since I haven’t seen any news about it, I decided to make my own to honor this fandom tradition.

The rules will stay mostly the same, the prompts will be revealed later this week, so stay tuned! And if you have any questions in the meantime, feel free to ask!

The banner was made by @disterra​, go check out her other works as well!

46 notes - Posted January 5, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Simarkus Week 2022 Prompt Reveal and Rules

Aaaand as promised, here is the prompt list for Simarkus Week 2022! Thanks again @disterra​​ for making these lovely graphics for this event! In case the picture won’t load right, I’ll list the prompts (and rules) down below.

Prompts:

February 16 – Valentine’s day / Deviation day

February 17 – Confession / Anniversary

February 18 – Interfacing / Compatible hearts

February 19 – Past / Future

February 20 – At the brink of the war / After a peaceful protest

February 21 – In any (alternate) universe / In canon universe

February 22 – How it starts / How it ends

Rules:

1. Don’t forget to tag all your contributions for this event as #simarkusweek2022. You can also tag me (@sheyshocked).

2. Any kind of content (fanart, fanfiction, edits, cosplay, gifs, etc.) is encouraged.

3. The prompts are there just to give you some inspiration – feel free to interpret them as you will. You can use both of them in one work, or just one, it’s entirely up to you.

4. You can write or draw anything you want, use dark themes or explicit content, but please tag everything properly.

5. Any interpretation of the ship, whether romantic or platonic, is most welcome.

6. No ship bashing or harassment!

7. Other ships are welcome as well, as long as the focus is on Simarkus.

8. You can always post your work belated.

9. Reblogs to bring attention to this event would be appreciated!

Thank you for your support! I’m gonna look forward to what you come up with!

60 notes - Posted January 8, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[thran-duils]

Am I On the Screen? (P.1)

Title: Am I On the Screen? (Part One) Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader Summary: Hugh is a prick and the reader gets herself into trouble with him with her attitude. Hugh has the perfect plan to keep her in line though. Words: 2,116 Warnings: S M U T, language, dub-con, blackmail, masturbation, online sex Author’s Notes: If something like this has been done already, welp, I suck.

Part Two || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Are you, are you filming me? Am I, am I on the screen? 'Cause it feels like your watching me 'Cause it feels like they’re watching me Am I on the screen?

-- Are You Filming Me? // twst

Marta’s laugh faltered and she cleared her throat, her eyes averting from the doorway quickly. You turned your head to look over your shoulder and saw what had made her stop laughing. Hugh. He sure had a way of sucking the air out of a room, especially with that glower he was pointing in the two of your direction.

“Hugh,” you greeted him civilly, turning the shrimp over in the pan. “Are you hungry?”

“Not for anything that you are making,” Hugh responded rudely, walking past you towards the fridge.

You shot Marta a vexed look and she rose her eyebrows, shaking her head slightly.

“Well, there’s some take out on the second shelf in the fridge that I can assure you I had nothing to do with. I just picked it up for my lunch. If you want, I’ll trade you that for a plate of what I’m making,” you said, unable to help yourself.

Hugh stopped, his hand on the handle of the fridge. Unamused, he stared at you for a few moments before saying, “You should watch your mouth, Y/N.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you quipped, turning the stove off, and moving to arrange Harlan’s plate.

You could feel Hugh’s glare burning into your back and you smirked to yourself at having gotten under his skin even just a little bit. The prick deserved to be knocked down a couple pegs.

<><><>

Gym bag slung over your shoulder, you slammed your car door closed and locked it. On the way up to your townhouse door, you unlocked your mailbox and grabbed the papers inside. You were looking forward to your shower, thinking of the sweet relief you would get from the hot water.

Upon opening your front door, you almost stepped onto an envelope that had been slid underneath the door. You closed the door and turned around, placing your bag down along with the other mail on the entrance table. You swooped down and picked up the unmarked envelope, confused why it had not just been slipped into your mailbox.

“What…” you muttered, staring down at the photos.

Bile rose in your throat realizing what it was. They were screenshots of you from your OnlyFans account during one of your live events. And you quickly noticed it was not from just one; there were a handful of them, you in different lingerie, different toys. A note was with the pictures.

I want you to say my name when you’re riding that large, pretty, purple dildo tonight.

Who sent you this and why? There was no name attached to it. And how the hell did they know where you lived? A chill crept down your spine, thinking of all the true crime documentaries that you had binged and all the women who were kidnapped and murdered, their bodies never found.

Unnerved, you tore the photos and the note up, rushing towards the kitchen. You shoved the ruined remains in the trash, shoving them as far down as you could. Stepping back, your eyes were glued to the trashcan, anxiety creeping. What if you had a stalker?

You bit your lip, trying to think of all the ways you could protect yourself if you were approached on the street or god forbid, someone broke into your home.

The clock caught your attention, and you swore, realizing you had been standing there for fifteen minutes worrying and had cut into your shower time. You still needed to get to work. Trying to ignore the nagging anxiety, you rushed to get ready.

<><><>

Throughout the day, your mind had continuously returned to the note and the pictures. You could not go to the police to file a report or anything, they would think you were being over dramatic. Plus, you were not keen on sharing your account and really, no one had done anything illegal. Still, you were frightened.

At the end of the day when dinner was finished and you had breakfast set up for the morning for Marta to get ready for Harlan when she got there in the morning, you stopped at the bathroom on the way out the door to relieve yourself before the drive home. When you opened the door, you jumped seeing Hugh standing there, just waiting, looking very much a predator.

Hugh rested his hand on the doorframe, leaning in and effectively blocking your way out of the bathroom.

“Do you need something?” you asked, your tone short. On top of the anxiety you already had, you did not want to deal with this dickhead. When had he shown up anyway?

His smile did not reach his eyes as his eyes wandered down, unabashedly soaking you in. Your mouth set into a thin line. If he was trying to unnerve you by being a pompous ass, he was going to have to try harder than throwing you a lewd look.

“Did you get my gift?” Hugh asked nonchalantly. Your brow stitched, confused. He leaned in closer, a malicious glint in his eyes. “I’d prefer it if you reverse cowgirl’d it while you’re saying my name.”

Your breath froze in your chest and he knew the moment that it clicked for you, an arrogant smile painted on his lips.

“You… bastard,” you got out, before trying to move past him.

He blocked your way again and you clenched your jaw, fury thrumming underneath your skin at the smug look on his face.

“Does my grandfather not pay you enough? I would imagine he does but maybe you’ve got more expensive tastes than you give off,” Hugh ridiculed you. He rose his brows and whispered, “Or maybe you just like knowing there are people getting off to that perfectly round ass.” You tried to get around him again and he chuckled, blocking your way once more. “Did I hit a nerve, babydoll?”

He gripped your jaw and you tried to jerk away but he clamped down harder, stopping you from doing so. “I’ve been watching you for a while. You put on quite the show. I just can’t seem to bring myself to actually bury myself inside you though. I’ve certainly thought about it… showing up at your place and making you wrap those beautiful lips around my cock. But I beat off to whores, not fuck them. Keeps me clean.”

You slapped his hand away, angry tears stinging at your eyes. “Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

“Not until you tell me you’re gonna do like I asked.”

Scoffing, you told him as calmly as you could, “I don’t do it for free.”

“Oh, you aren’t,” Hugh assured you. “I already pay to subscribe, remember? But trust me, your job is on the line. What if I showed my grandfather what his cook is doing afterhours? Do you think he would want to keep a slut employed and tied to his name? That is a lot of money on the table and so you aren’t doing it for free. And don’t even think about quitting because I’ll find out where you work. And I have no problem sending the photos there too. So… you’re kind of stuck with me, pumpkin.”

He gripped your chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to nod as he mimicked a higher pitched voice, “’Yes, Hugh, I’ll beg for you’.” In his regular voice, he practically purred, “C’mon, Y/N. Say it nice and clear for daddy.”

You had no choice. You knew he would make good on his threats; he was not one to mess around about people not following his orders.

Strained, you told him, “Yes, I’ll do it.”

He cupped his hand to his ear, “’I’ll do it…’”

You grated, “Daddy.”

“Perfect. You’re a peach,” Hugh told you grinning. He leaned back, dropping his arm. As soon as you saw the exit, you made to rush past him. At the last second, he reached out, grasping your arm and stopping your momentum. “Oh, and by the way… that purple heart plug too. Just to match.”

He gave you one last self-satisfied smirk before letting go of you and you took off, feeling his eyes burn into the back of your head.

<><><>

Legs spread in front of the camera, you tweaked your nipple through your black lace bra. You had put your garter and thigh highs on to match but were panty less. You had already stripped and done some oral play, something the commenters could not seem to ever get enough of.

You uttered his name for the first time, “I want Hugh.”

Your finger running tantalizingly slow down your slit, staring into the camera. You hated how much it sounded like ‘you’, meaning anyone could be hearing it thinking nothing of it. But you knew Hugh was getting off on knowing you were saying his name.

Pressing your fingers in, you spread your lips, showing yourself off to the camera. A new slew of messages popped up, encouraging you to play with your clit.

“I’m sure you wish it was you,” you breathed, well versed on dirty talk during your live feeds. “I’m sure your fingers would be so much better…” You slipped a finger in. “Your fingers instead filling me up. Getting me ready for that big cock of yours.”

You were good and wet now, comments coming in lusting after the glisten on your lips. Remembering what he asked, your fingers left your sex and you got up, moving the camera to the ground and angled upwards. Grabbing the dildo, you wet the bottom of it, suctioning it to the hardwood floor. For good measure, you added a healthy amount of lube to the dildo, making sure the camera could see your hand massaging it, a sly smirk on your face.

None of this would be out of the ordinary if it was not for the fact you knew Hugh was watching. You could not get the image of him sitting behind his screen, his hand stroking himself watching you abide to his whims.

Spreading your cheeks, you showed off the plug and heard the chime of new messages being sent. You could not help but smile, knowing that was a treat for the viewers. The head of the dildo entered you and you moaned softly. You started slow, adjusting to the girth, moving inch by inch down the length. Gradually, you increased the depth and speed, encouraging whoever was watching to think about their own dicks fucking you like this.

“I want Hugh to fuck me,” you gasped, riding the dildo quickly, your fingers stroking your clit. You were getting close and you leaned completely into it, your mind a haze. “I want Hugh to fuck me so bad. Hugh can cum inside me, fill me up. I’ll take every inch, daddy. Please fuck me. I’m your dirty girl.” Your hand was moving erratically and a few more strokes sent you tumbling over the edge. You gasped, seeing stars, clenching around the dildo.

You sat there for a couple moments, relishing in your high.

As your mind cleared, your cheeks burned thinking about all the things you had said lost to your passion. The thought of Hugh’s hand covered in his cum, head thrown back at your complete submission to his request flashed through your mind. Thankfully, your face was away from the camera and you swallowed, trying to calm yourself down. And also thankfully, your red face could be attributed to that mind blowing orgasm you just gave yourself.

The dildo was wet when you came up off of it and you picked up the camera, taking it with you to sit it back down in front of your station.

Your eyes met the camera again and you gave it a sensual smile, your eyes flicking to all the new comments, positive encouragement ringing throughout them. Your hand slipped down to your cunt and you brought your fingers up to your lips, sucking on them gently.

“I think I’m gonna take a shower. I’ll think about your hands washing me down,” you told the camera before blowing it a kiss. “Good night.”

As soon as the camera was off, your hands shook as you brought them back to your lap.

That had been a great orgasm. And you hated it.

Your phone buzzed and you whipped your head around to look at it over on your bed. Standing up, you picked it up, staring down at the text. You did not have the number saved but you knew damn well who it was and how he had gotten it in the first place.

I’m gonna break my rule. Don’t shower. Keep that pussy glistening for me.

~~~

Tags: @coconutqueen21

[wisteria-lodge]

lion primary (bird model) + slightly burnt lion secondary

Hi there! I’m a fan of your sorting posts, and of your kind and insightful way of supporting people in finding out more about themselves. So naturally I’d be very interested in your take about my own sorting, if you’re game! :)

I won’t talk much about my Secondary, because now that I’m starting to unburn my Lion seems very clear to me, even when my explosion-prone Badger model still tries to get in the way of that clarity sometimes. The more interesting riddle is my Primary. So far I’m operating under the working theory that I am a Lion with a very strong Bird model - or is it the other way ‘round?

The supposed dichotomy between “thinking” and “feeling” in many of the more binary personality models has always bugged me, so it’s no wonder this is the area where whenever I feel like I’ve decided on who I am (for now) a new question mark pops up (so much fun!).

If ‘thinking’ and ‘feeling’ doesn’t work for you as terminology, it might help to think of Lion as leading with subconscious reasoning, and Bird as leading with conscious reasoning.

Instead of trying to formulate a cohesive text, which would have gotten even longer, I’m putting together an associative list of thoughts and stories that kept turning up while I was trying to figure out my Primary.

A very Lion primary way to solve a problem, not gonna lie ;)

- I think I got my Bird model from my father, who made quite an effort to teach me to look at things from all angles. As a child, whenever I got in a fight with this friend I had, he would sit me down and ask me to put myself in my friend’s shoes. It was hard, because a lot of the time my friend was being unfair to me and I actually could have used some support, someone to tell me that it was not okay to treat me this way. But I’m still immeasurably grateful for my father’s lessons, through which I’ve learned to understand peoples’ motivations and gained an understanding for the complexities of every conflict. He also taught me to doubt, to look closer, to not just believe the first thing I see, or want to see. To this day I still consider my ability to pin down the relevant factors of a situation before I make judgments one of my strengths.

That definitely sounds like a very strong, beloved Bird model.

- Whenever I had to write an essay at school or uni, I first had to come up with some aspect about the subject that I really cared about, even could be passionate about. (I am passionate about many things, so it was usually possible to find some connection to that.) Then I would use the essay to discuss this aspect in great detail, ending with a polemic flourish. I had the time of my life doing that; meanwhile the text would structure itself magically in relation to the issue I had chosen to focus on. Whenever I tried to write without such a focus, I’d get bored, stressed and the text would be of a much lower quality.

- Something similar happened in oral exams at uni: Only when I got the opportunity to bring a discussion paper (a few pointed statements regarding the exam topic) which I could then debate, I was able to recollect all the important details I needed for that. If I just had to report on the topic or answer questions, I often got confused, to the point of drawing a complete blank.

Linking things to emotion and passion - thinking with emotion and passion, basically - is a Lion primary thing. Especially if doing that makes you feel safe & comfortable & effective & happy.

- Even as a teenager I was very interested in philosophy, ethics and moral decision making.

I love teaching philosophy to teenagers. It’s the perfect time for it, they are so into it, and if it were up to me I would absolutely make it a required class.

I picked up certain philosophical ideas and concepts that I liked and integrated them in my belief system (yes, I know how very Bird that sounds).

I had my mind blown by Genealogy of Morals in high school, and I still won’t shut about Eichmann in Jerusalem. But what was so staggering to me in high school was… here are these ways of thinking that are possible and allowed. The fact that here they are in words in front of me made me a great deal more expansive.

Now that I think about it — I don’t remember adjusting my beliefs as in any way traumatic back then. The shift from a belief in the Christian God to Mother Goddess to my very own brand of agnostic paganism was smooth, natural.

Now that I think about it… I would describe myself as a mythic relativist (which is a term I just made up.) Systems of belief are metaphors, and they’re metaphors trying to describe and say something large and beautiful about what it means to be human, and what it means to live a good life. And since we are all human, they are all attempting to describe the same central, indescribable thing in different ways.

I feel this very deeply, but it took me a long while to be able to articulate it.

I constantly reevaluate, and I adapt.

You stop reevaluating and adapting, might as well be dead.

Still, there are some basics I’ve kept with me that just make too much sense to me to give up, and some that perhaps I keep because I just really like them and I’m kind of attached to them.

… somebody’s thinking with Pathos :)

- I’m a constructivist at heart, so that makes it much easier to tweak the content of my beliefs while staying true to the principle that we (socially) construct our reality, and (my take on this): that I choose what kind of world I want to live in, and according to that I make choices which are the most likely to create that world.

- At uni I attended a seminar about the development of moral judgment and action. What I remember most clearly about it is how much it bugged me that the other students didn’t seem to understand that morality always depends on the perspective. Even though I had definite moral convictions that I was ready to fight for, at the same time it seemed obvious to me that theoretically there could be a justification for every kind of moral guideline; it depended on your principles and the world you wanted to live in.

A human after my own heart.

I wanted to understand these different perspectives, not talk about empty categories like “right and wrong” or “good and evil” that meant nothing to me. I still feel that way.

Absolutely. I don’t use alignments when I DM Dungeons & Dragons. I mean, I can list evil *things* but that’s not the same thing as defining *being evil.* I want to know WHY these people did these evil things.

It just seems so impractical and complicated to base a conversation on those broad categories that don’t have any definition people can agree on instead of referring either to defined principles (in order to explain what good/ bad is *for you*) or consequences of certain actions, and whether you want them/ accept them/ don’t want them.

Oh that’s a fun discussion. Asking a highschooler to define “evil.”

(and then they have to figure out what moral systems Jigsaw, Pinhead, the Joker, and Bane all subscribe to.)

- Between “the Revolutionary” and “the Grail Knight”, I would love to be the former, but I’m clearly the latter. I’m someone who questions, not someone who knows.

Take my archetypes with a grain of salt, they are supposed to describe characters. (Who are different from people - but still useful, because they are attempts to describe us.) I actually want to write more about the differences I see between the way fictional secondaries are written and the way real-life secondaries work.

And just “knowing”... is dangerous. That’s how Exploded Lions happen. 

There are a lot of causes I find worthy to fight for, but I haven’t committed to any one, which so far I’ve attributed to my Burned Secondary (How do I do things?).

Sounds about right.

If I’m honest, though, it feels a bit strange to really, really fight for anything. I’d rather contribute to the cause by keeping an eye on whether we stay aligned to our values on every level of the fight, not by storming sightlessly in front of some army. (I got polemic again, didn’t I? ;))

So after all this Bird talk, why do I think that I’m a Lion?

… that was the Bird segment?

- I trust my intuition. It has never steered me wrong, with one exception: My Primary burned for a time when I first understood the concept of privilege and internalized bias, which was coincidentally at a time when I also went through a lot of changes in my personal life. Like many people unaware of their own privilege, I had thought of myself as “one of the good ones”. I learned that even with the best intentions I could cause great harm without even noticing it. This then also happened to me in a relationship, when I was already confused, hurt and more than a bit burned. It seemed like I couldn’t trust my intuition anymore, but I also couldn’t figure out intellectually what to believe, because I felt mentally overwhelmed by all those new concepts, all of which put my previous convictions into question. Which Primary burned then?

Been there, done that, it’s brutal. It sounds to me like a Lion dramatically changing direction - that’s what I mean when I say that it *hurts* when a Lion changes their mind. Birds see their past selves that thought wrong as almost different people. “I wasn’t aware of my privilege then, now I am, and can take steps doing forward.” But if you’re a lion it’s like… I *should* have been aware, and the fact that I wasn’t says something terrible about my moral/emotional calibration, and THAT has to be put right.

- I felt like everything I had learned about the world and myself didn’t count anymore. My concepts and my strategies didn’t serve me anymore. So I started to rebuild everything from scratch, this time with less pride and more practicality.

Yeah. That’s some Lion recalibration. With a Bird Model, to help.

- Anyway, I trust my intuition. It contains my experiences, instinct and all my accumulated unconscious observations of the situation, and it’s very reliable. Usually I use it as an important source of information which I try to back up with data/ understanding, but when push came to shove and the apparent facts would contradict what my intuition told me, I would be unable to set my gut feeling aside. I wouldn’t follow it blindly, of course. But I would never just go against it either. If the voices of my unconscious and conscious mind don’t align, I keep poking at the issue until they do. If I absolutely cannot come to a satisfying conclusion, I go with my gut. Since I know it usually knows what it’s doing, I’ll find out the reasons for my feelings later. (Weird, says my inner bird who is busy compiling these examples.)

I’LL FIND THE REASON FOR MY FEELINGS LATER. What a perfect way of articulating what is perhaps the central experience of being a Lion primary.

- Probably I’m just both, you know. Some interesting lion/bird-chimaera. I like it.

I read you as a pretty clear Lion Primary, Bird primary model. But as always, the decision is very personal.

- I have a weird way of processing information: I read/ hear it, work to understand it, work to connect it to existing knowledge in my mind, then my beliefs, my existing knowledge and my feelings about it all wind around each other, grow into each other, some dissolve together, becoming a swamp which then nourishes the plants of new ideas and connections that grow from it.

You grok it. And that’s not weird.

I often can’t remember where certain knowledge came from. I can’t take it out of a memory shelf and tell you about it. I usually remember that I’ve read a certain book and whether I liked it / it influenced me, but I won’t exactly remember what was in it, even if it was important to me. Because all that information is already processed/ digested/ transformed into something new. It’s much easier to access my memory swamp intuitively than consciously.

and you seriously had like… any doubt that you were a Lion.

In intellectual discussions I tend to get stuck because I just can’t remember enough of the details (for my satisfaction), just my conclusions about the topic and how I feel about it.

I’m inclined to think that not accessing the details is either a secondary thing, or an entirely unrelated processing thing.

What do you make of all this? I’m very curious!

:)

[On an unrelated note, I’d like to specify the compliment I made at the beginning of this post. I’m really impressed with your ability to pick up on what people need, not just what they say they want. As a counselor this is a skill I try to hone, so I know how difficult it is to not get too distracted by the story people tell and miss the more subtle cues. You have a powerful combination of perceptiveness, insight and so much kindness, which you use to effectively support people who have questions, are in distress or confused. You don’t generalize. You don’t judge. You see the people who talk to you.  I love that you’re a teacher, because I can see you’re using the influence that gives you in a way that contributes to making the world a better place. Fellow Idealist, I’d like to give you a High Five for that, if I may. :)))]

I’m not sure I’ve ever been given a better compliment. Thank you.

[qlala]

pleeease can we have more teacher barry au? or kidfic? my crops are dying

Alright, sorry for the slight delay on this one, but please know that you're a menace and I kept thinking about it and then I wrote this for you all in one sitting.

It's both teacher!Barry (though still set in the canon universe!) and coldflash kidfic. <3 I just put it up as a prequel to "good cop, bad cop" on ao3, since I guess it technically is that? Although, if you guys have opinions about what order the series should be in, I'd interested to hear it!

“Barry?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve got something in your hair.”

Barry hid a wry grin, and glanced over at Len—at least, glanced as far in his direction as he could manage. Two small hands were holding his head still, though Henry did let go of one handful of Barry’s hair to reach out when Len stepped around the coffee table and stood in front of them.

“Alright, kid.” Len bent down and hoisted Henry off Barry’s shoulders, and both of them ignored Barry’s indignant yelp when Henry didn’t quite remember to let go of Barry with his other hand in time. “I like the hair too, but he’s gotta move his head to”—Len propped Henry on his hip and reached out to steal the top page from the stack of papers in front of Barry—“grade pop quizzes.”

“Those are midterms.” Barry stretched, then tipped his head to one side with a muffled crack.

“Then you’re going easy on them.” Len took advantage of his distraction to hand the paper to Henry, who scrunched it in his hand with a broad smile.

[read on ao3, or continue reading below the cut]

“Len!” Barry recovered the paper in a sweep of yellow lightning, and Len traced his trajectory from the fading after-image even as Barry tried to smooth out the test on the arm of the couch.

“So feet on the coffee table are allowed when the Flash does it?”

“Language,” Barry reminded him, without looking up.

Henry, ever the trooper, was taking the loss of his prize in stride, and Len rewarded him by bending his knees to let him reach for the next paper in the stack.

“Leonard.”

“He’s working on his reading.”

“He’s eighteen months old.”

Len read the upside-down paper Henry was offering to him. “Another year for whoever’s test this was, they might be at his level.”

Barry got the same ruffled look he always did when he was torn between defending his students and agreeing with every hyperbolic praise Len had for their son. Eventually, he landed on, “You’re not helping.”

“I disagree.” Len accepted the paper from Henry, turned it right-side up, and finished skimming it. “You’ve got a typo in question three. That’s why they’re all putting ‘hydrogen.’”

Barry yanked the exam back, despite having a stack of identical ones on the table in front of him. His eyes went wide as he looked over it at Flash speed, and then he said a word that made Len cover one of Henry’s ears with his free hand and tut.

“You shape the minds of the next generation with that mouth?”

Barry wasn’t listening, too busy dragging his hand down his face, his fingers ending up in an annoyed fist over his mouth.

“Can you please,” he said slowly, evenly, with the couples-shrink-approved, conflict-management voice that always made Len smirk, “give Henry his snack.”

“With pleasure.”

Barry leveled him a glare, but it was without heat, and he tilted his chin up in a clear request for a kiss when Len passed behind the couch again.

Len obliged. He could feel some of the stress drain out of Barry’s shoulders when he drew his fingertips over the edge of Barry’s jaw with the hand not still supporting Henry.

“Hi,” Barry murmured when Len pulled back, at least a full minute later than he’d intended. “Missed you.”

“I was gone an hour.”

Barry’s answering smile was crooked, with an unabashed dimple that Len refrained from tracing his thumb over; he had a reputation to protect. “You know, you could just say it back sometimes.”

“Fine.” Len smirked as he tweaked a cowlick that Henry had left in Barry’s hair. Then he met Barry’s gaze, all false sincerity, and drawled, “Hi.”

Barry rolled his eyes. He couldn’t hide the wry smile even when he turned his head away for a second, though, and he gave Len a playful glare. “You know I meant—“

“Hi!”

For a second, neither of them moved. Then Barry reeled back with something like panic in his eyes, alarmingly contagious, based on the way Len’s heart tripped into fourth gear. “Did he just—“

Len hoisted Henry up to sit on the edge of the couch, and they both stared at him. He ignored them both for a few moments, small hand squishing the cushion before he watched it slowly expand back to its original shape. Then he noticed their eyes on him, and looked up with a beatific smile. “Hi!”

Barry was off the couch in a bolt of lightning, then back a heartbeat later with his phone out, talking so fast he was nearly incomprehensible. “Twice, Joe, I swear, he looked right at us—“

Len got a glimpse of Detective West’s patient expression on the phone screen as Barry waved it toward Henry. “Barr, you said that the last three times. I told you, kids talk when they’re ready. Iris didn’t say a word until she was—“

Barry turned the phone and held the screen out to Henry. Len bit back a reflexive objection; they’d agreed, no screens until he was five (and it’d be eighteen if Len had his way).

Henry reached out for the phone, all Barry’s reckless confidence when confronted with anything new.

Tinny over the speakerphone, West’s voice said, weary but unflaggingly affectionate, “Hi, Henry.”

Barry let Henry have the phone—and that time, Len did shoot him a look—and Henry flattened a tiny palm over West’s face on the screen. Then he tilted his head thoughtfully, lifted his hand, and chirped a delighted, “Hi!”

Barry swept him up with a rush of static that made Henry shriek with laughter, phone forgotten in an instant. Barry deposited them both at Len’s side with a breathless grin, and Len didn’t quite manage to disguise his own smile as a smirk when they looked up at him in unison. West’s voice was still coming from somewhere nearby, but Barry could fish the phone out from between the cushions later. For now, Barry was getting suspiciously bright-eyed, and Len lifted Henry out his arms before Barry could set the kid off crying, too.

“Who had ‘hi?’” he asked. He ruffled Henry’s hair, already overdue for a cut, dark and curling up at the ends. Henry only allowed it a moment before he started to fuss, his snack clearly not forgotten despite the excitement.

“Iris,” Barry hiccuped. He wiped the heel of his hand over both cheeks, then said, “She had ‘hi’ and ‘bye.’ She’s gonna be insufferable.”

“She’s gonna be rich,” Len countered. “Mick put ten grand on ‘Flash.’”

Barry shook his head on a laugh. “You did explain to him that we’re specifically not letting people say that in front of him? Given the whole”—he gestured, with a glimmer of lightning that distracted Henry into a fresh smile—”child’s grasp of a secret identity?”

“And deprive the pool of his ill-gotten gains?” He passed Henry back to Barry and tapped him on the tip of his nose. “Never.”

“She’s just gonna put it in a college fund.”

Len hummed, and didn’t mention the account he’d already placed a quarter mil into at the credit union downtown.

Barry’s eyes narrowed all the same. “What was that?”

“What was what, dear?” Len leaned hard on the pet name, flat and sarcastic, but he knew even before Barry straightened up that it wouldn’t work.

“That ‘hmmm.’ That was an I’m-not-telling-you-something ‘hmmm.’”

Len was saved by the bell, literally.

Someone leaned hard on the buzzer to the front door. A second later—and utterly predictably, given the number of metas in the family Len had married into—Wally West phased through the door, bouncing on his toes and looking around the room before he even finished setting Iris on her feet.

“Joe says Iris won,” he said.

Barry tore his suspicious gaze away from Len to blink over at the new arrivals. “Joe knew about the pool?”

“People on six different earths knew about the pool, Barr,” Iris said. She leaned on Wally as she toed out of her work heels. “Now, give me my favorite nephew. Can you say, ‘journalism school,’ Henry?”

Barry let her scoop Henry out of his arms, his brow still furrowed. “Wait, six different earths? How much was in the pool?”

He sounded a hair indignant, and Len took the opportunity to snake an arm around his waist and pull him back against his chest.

“Say the word,” he murmured against Barry’s ear, smiling when he felt him shiver. “I’ll get you triple by dinner.”

He felt Barry’s heart speed up where his back was pressed against him, and Len nipped the shell of his ear to cement his victory.

“No felonies,” Barry reminded him, but his voice was breathless, and he didn’t disentangle himself from Len’s arms.

“Mm, forgot again,” Len lied. “How about we send Iris and Wally to show Henry’s first word to Joe in person, and I make it up to you?”

A blush was climbing steadily up Barry’s neck, and he’d already shown his hand when he said, “The midterms. Progress reports go out Friday, I have to—“

“Telling me the fastest man alive can’t grade a stack of ninth grade chemistry tests before third period tomorrow?”

“They’re for my AP class,” Barry gasped, and he caught Len’s hand where he’d been tracing his fingers down Barry’s stomach. But he cleared his throat, then said, “Iris? Maybe you wanna bring Henry to the station? It would make Joe’s day.”

Iris gave him a knowing look, but her eyes were warm when she shared her smile with Len. “Mm. I bet it’ll make someone’s day.”

“Singh’s, probably,” Wally said, where he’d been drawing increasingly elaborate flowers of static out of the speed force for Henry’s fickle amusement. Then he glanced up. “Oh. Oh, you meant—yeah. Alright. I’ll grab the diaper bag. And congrats, you guys. On the first word, not the—“

Iris patted his arm and interrupted with, “The station, Wally?”

Wally ducked his head on a nod and gave them both a sheepish grin.

“Make sure your father doesn’t arrest my sister,” Len said. “She’ll show up as soon as she gets the intel out of Cisco.”

“No promises,” Iris said. “But I’ll give him the heads up. Bye, boys.”

The after-image of Wally’s lightning hadn’t even dissipated when Barry dropped his back against Len’s shoulder, one foot tapping rapidly. “Are we bad parents?”

Len nosed at the corner of Barry’s jaw and slid his fingers under the hem of his shirt. “No.”

“Maybe we should—should’ve, uh, reinforced it, more. He might get—confused. He said ‘hi,’ but we—oh my god, did we even say ‘bye?’ Len—“

Len spun Barry and pushed him back against the couch, then kissed him to distract him from looking anxiously at the front door. “You’re overthinking this.”

“I’m overthinking this,” Barry agreed. “No, I’m not. Len, his snack—“

“There are snacks at the station. Joe has a drawer full of Cheerios.”

Barry slid a hand through his hair, gave one last jittery look toward the door, and then slumped back against the couch with a laugh. “You’re better at this than me.”

“Already did it once,” Len said, smoothing the worry out of Barry’s brow with the pad of his thumb. “And look how Lisa turned out.”

It didn’t land the way Len had aimed it to. Barry gave him a warm smile instead of an alarmed look, and Len had to tick his gaze away for a break from the earnestness in that expression.

“Yeah,” Barry said. “Yeah, okay. Now maybe we could, uh, stop saying our family members’ names for a little while?”

Len rolled his eyes, but he allowed Barry a brief smile as he hooked his fingers in the front of his belt. “I thought you’d never ask.”

*

*

[❤️ Link to Ao3 ❤️]

[kuroos-moon]

「vi. Deal pt. 2」

warning/s: angst (just a lil bit)

a/note: for this smau, like my previous one, there will be numerous chapters wherein they aren’t text chains or necessarily smaus just like this chapter and the prologue. If that’s not to ur liking, or for any reason at all, pls feel free to tell me u wanna be removed from the taglist 🖤

He skeptically looks out through his window, and just like you had texted him a minute ago, there were no more reporters outside. Finally, he thought, not really expecting you to be telling the truth. Honestly, why do you mess with him so much? 

Also, he’s been wondering ever since your reunion if you deliberately went to the gym for him or if that was pure coincidence and you’re spontaneously messing up his life right now. The moment he opens his door, he’s adamant on avoiding you because he just knew the person you were now is adamant on driving him insane by doing things like popping out of nowhere to pester him. 

Speaking of which, what the hell are you doing in front of his doorstep? “Sakusa Kiyoomi!” You brightly smile, eyes lighting up at the very sight of him. “Nope.” He pulls the door close but you put a hand to stop him. He tugs on it, making you chuckle, but you stubbornly refuse to let him shut you out. 

“Get out.” He snaps. “I’m not even inside, Sakusa Kiyoomi.” 

Seriously? Saying his full name like that only ticks him off. “Don’t call me that.” He tugs harsher on his doorknob but you successfully grip the door with both hands now. 

“Shall I call you love then?” You tease despite finding it extremely hard to keep the door open. It may now have dawned on to him that this was pointless as he lets go, though he’ll never admit that he’s actually afraid of accidentally shutting the door on your fingers—he knows he easily could. 

“What do you want?” He sighs. “We need to talk.” 

“About what?” How you left me? How you had the audacity to walk back in my life like you didn’t trample all over me before? 

“Our relationship,” you grin. He chokes. “Our what now?” Laughter erupts from your throat, and it was bittersweet. You’re so carefree and mesmerizing—your eyes angelic and genuinely alight. But more than that, you’re ruthless and despicable, he knows that all too well. 

“Won’t you invite me in? It’s cold y’know,” you place your hands inside your pockets. “Then freeze,” he narrows his eyes. He absolutely hates you, here he was slightly worrying he’ll go soft and easy on you because one could never control the heart yet you so easily reminded him of why you were the bane to his existence.  

“Yup, figured walking in your home wasn’t gonna happen,” you mutter to yourself with a small smile. He hates it. Don’t act like you know him, because at some point you did, but you don’t deserve to have him etched in your memory. 

“Tell me what you want so we could get this over with.” 

“Right. Yes sir. Yes love,” you chuckle, not even minding that he remains unamused. “My manager has already arranged a live interview this afternoon.” 

“You should’ve started with that. So, you’re here to ask me what you should say?” He asks, unintentionally looking down on your hands you’ve rubbed together for friction. It was indeed cold, you brought this upon yourself though. 

“No, I’m here to make a deal with you. My statement for my interview later on depends on your response.” 

He rolls his eyes, leaning his shoulder on the doorframe because talking to you definitely tired him out; sucked his soul out of him. “And by this lovely deal, what exactly are you proposing? Not that you have a leverage over me now or anything.” 

You smile, stepping closer to him but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Instead, his feet remained planted to the ground, self-aware of how much his heart was racing right now and the only thing—albeit pathetic—he could do was glare at you. 

“Befriend me for a month, that’s it.” That didn’t sound half as bad compared to how devilish you’ve been these past few days. “Go on,” he mutters, stepping back and away from you. “You can’t block my number and you have to reply to my texts.” 

“Aren’t you ashamed of how pathetic and selfish you are right now?” He lowly says. You look up at him in surprise, there was faint hurt and vulnerability in his voice that wasn’t there before and you can’t help but feel guilty for it. 

“I like you, I don’t know why, I just do.” Pain visits him like an old friend. Casual, embracing, and mind-numbingly heartbreaking. You look up at his eyes and could tell right away the discomfort in them, but it wasn’t just discomfort, there was agony too—perhaps. You could never be too sure, you think, looking down on both your shoes. 

“I don’t know why you’re so hellbent on avoiding me, it felt like you hated me the first day we met, and I didn’t like the way you hated me for no apparent reason, much so because I happen to like you.” You’re rarely ever serious or this openly truthful with anyone other than your friends, it was only normal that it embarrassed you. But this didn’t feel exactly foreign either. It felt like he understood you somehow—your words and the thoughts you haven’t exactly expressed. 

“I hated you the first time we met?” He repeats and you look at him, surprised at the surreal softness in his voice. “When… was the first time we met, y/n?” 

That’s the first time he’s said your name. It made your cheeks flush warm and your eyes widen a fraction. This moment was temporary and fleeting, it was easy to see, because he certainly doesn’t call your name like that so naturally and so right—he certainly doesn’t look at you with the absence of resentment as he normally would. 

“Three days ago, outside your gym,” you respond unsurely. As if you’ve reminded him of something utterly annoying, he had closed off himself once more, his eyes unreadable and brooding as they stared back at you. 

“And this is why I hate you,” he chuckles humorlessly. You’re still pretending you didn’t know him, as if those years together were something you could so easily erase. “I don’t care what you say in that damned interview. Saying yes to that excessively self-centered deal of yours would lose me my self-respect, you know that.” 

He finally steps out the door, closing it behind him as he walks past you and all the way to his car. He hopes this would be the last time he sees you; he desperately hopes so. The last thing he needs is a repeat of the emotional wreck he’s been when he was at the lowest point of his life after you so selfishly left him behind.  

“Sakusa Kiyoomi!” You call off, and he stops in his tracks, clenching his teeth. You’re clearly overestimating his patience. “I don’t know how befriending me would lose you your self-respect. Hell, I am so irritated at you right now, hard-to-understand-breathtaking-stupid volleyball player!” You grit your teeth, he scoffs, finding your impudence unbelievably out of this world. 

He wanted to bring up your past, to shove it right in your face that you had no right to be angry with his hostility considering everything you’ve done. But he can’t, it’s foolish to bring up history you insist you’ve forgotten. “You better watch my interview later on.” 

“Oh?” He mockingly says, turning to look at you, “just what are you going to say?” He admits it is out of character for him to banter off with you like this, if you were someone else, he’s long gone inside his car. Maybe this was his way of saying goodbye to you for good, allowing himself to talk to you like this before moving forward with his life that’s anti-you. 

“I’m telling them we’re the bestest of friends but we might marry!” You stick your tongue out at him before running off, you don’t even notice him freeze up. His heart fell to his stomach, he unconsciously held in a breath. No, he didn’t just hold in a breath, it’s getting harder and harder for him to breathe. 

There it is again, his old, life-long friend. Crippling pain, anxiety, and resentment bundling up and turning into one heavy-ass anchor, pulling him deeper down than he’s been before. The stability he’s built and worked on by religiously avoiding you for years all went down the drain with those silly words of yours. 

Just what kind of ridicule or twisted teasing are you pulling off? 

“Wow, I’m surprised you guys put up with Oomi.” He hears your voice, lips tugging upward a little before he realizes what you had just said. Finally entering the gym, he sees you sitting in a circle along with his teammates. 

He narrows his eyes at the back of your head. You should be in your winter uniform by now, he bets you forgot. One thing he hated about being a year older than you is that he goes to a different school now that he’s in highschool while you’re still on your last year of middle school, you just can’t seem to take care of yourself enough. 

“Yup, Oomi’s really great, he’s the best, I guess that’s why you accept how cold he is sometimes huh,” you snicker, your enjoyment short-lived when you’re engulfed in a jacket and Sakusa’s scent. “Stop giving me backhanded compliments just because you think I’m not around,” he bitterly tells you though there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“Oomi!” You rise up to your feet immediately and flung yourself at him. He catches you with no hesitation of course, guessing that you’re here again because you missed him. The rest of his teammates except Komori are surprised. 

“Sakusa-kun, didn’t know you had a middle school girlfriend.” 

“Ew, she’s not my girlfriend.” He bites back a smile though when you punch his shoulder. “What’s with the ew? Not that I like Oomi that much—he’s an ass,” you send him a pointed look, “but we’re the bestest of friends,” you grin. 

“And we might marry someday, right Oomi?” 

His face falls. “Can you not make me cringe like for a week or two, thanks.” 

You scowl, “oh, so what, you don’t wanna marry me?” At this point, he blushes, you’re always so blunt and shameless, you could at least tweak it down a bit. He only scoffs, walking past you to pick up a ball from the ground, “didn’t say anything like that.” 

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Smau Masterlist

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[pirate-kwazii]

Watching Ring Of Fire now so here’s more of my thoughts

Is that a fence in the water

Is everyone groaning about the sea urchin and crab or yawning? I can’t tell

Okay I’ve had the Vegimals song stuck in my head for awhile now

Kwazii’s alarm clock shoots tennis balls at him- same

And Dashi starts the day with yoga

Tweaks fell asleep playing video games mood

Shellington what the fUCK

Tf is that- is that lava?!?

Oh ring of fire like the volcanoes- I feel stupid now

They’re doing their role call out of order

What the fuck Kwazii why did you eat 17 kelp cakes

Is the only thing you eat is seaweed

VIDEO TRAINING VIDEO TRAINING

*terrible accordion playing* *everyone winces*

How many cousins do you have peso?!?!

Kwazii: I’m going out and FAST!!!!

Captain: *eyebrow raise*

Kwazii: I mean I’m checking the engine

MORE GUPS?!?!

“Don’t push the Z button” Kwazii is definitely going to press it I bet all 3 of my dollars

Wait why did Peso and Barnacles need a Gup if they were taking the octopod?!

How much time does Tweak have to keep making all these gups?!

Aw Kwazii loves that Gup so much

WHAT IS BARNACLES WEARING WHAT THE HELL NO

Kwazii’s copying it omg-

Shellington and Dashi are such nerd friends it’s actually adorable

Tremors those are probably important

Ring-shape? Like the ring of fire-

Oh no comms are down

A TSUNAMI?!?!

Mateys you should’ve stayed at the Octopod

Kwazii saved Tweak’s life and now it’s flooding

Why don’t they know about the Ring of Fire if they LIVE in the ocean

Oh no the comms are down they can’t reach them!!!!

Damn at least no one is alone...

Of course the Chinstrap Penguins live on a volcano

Well at least Shellington and Dashi are alright and above water so there’s a lower chance of drowning

“How does he know I’m an octonaut?” Maybe it’s because you’re wearing the octonauts colors and the logo all over it

Wow itd be faster to push the stupid thing

Last time you guys followed the screaming sound there was a tsunami

Well at least you found the whales you wanted to find

“I’ve always wanted to see a whale but not like this!” I’d sure hope so Shellington

Of course the volcano erupts

Tweak Kwazii are ya okay?!

THEY DONT HAVE AIR TANKS ON THEM OH NO

TWEAK!!!

Now is not the time to copy Barnacles- holy shit it worked

She just noticed that?!

Shit you guys are stuck

Kwazii beggars can’t be choosers

Why is that the only way to get across Tweak

No Tweak pay attention

ITS ON FIRE

I really hope you guys can hold your breath

She’s pulling a Ladybug and the things she looks at glow now

Improvised fire extinguisher

WHY IS EVERYTHING ON FIRE ARENT YOU UNDERWATER

Eww they landed in seaweed and a banana peel

Why does everyone end in the garbage disposal- sorry compost

Oh he almost fell in-

*opens door and floods room* Guess we’re swimming after all

Tunip leave him it’s natural selection

Grouber just sits and eats during a panic- same

“Lesson Nine- dealing with disasters” what

Why is the background of those videos so bad

I mean it’s rad but also bad

Tunip: *hands the Vegimals a bunch of shovels* good luck

Mateys how did that dirt pile work-

*quickly unplants all the seaweed*

*vacuums the animals*

LEAVE THE SEAWEED YOU HAVE ENOUGH

“You gotta save us!” Why didn’t you get their attention sooner?

Why do none of them notice the volcanoes that they live on/near

We’ve seen the rafts it won’t work

How the hell did you think of that

Is that even possible

They only leave Inkling in charge when legit no one else is there

Kwazii and Tweak: *mimic pirates, rabbits and Barnacles*

Peso and Barnacles: *mimic penguins*

How was the lava that aLMOST COOKED YOUR EGGS NOT A WARNING SIGN

Wow Inkling is not good at this I see why he’s never in charge

Even Kwazii and the Vegimals have managed the octopod better than that

Why is there is Disco Ball

Why does it always switch to the training videos

“Dashi’s so good at this” yeah it’s almost like it’s her JOB

There was a BUTTON FOR THAT EXACT REASON AND YOU DIDNT THINK TO PRESS IT FIRST?!?!?!

Took you long enough jeez

What is they fall off of the “slide”

“Mothers and babies first” anyone else can perish

Well that egg is dead

Oh never mind he got it

WHY DIDNT YOU TWO GET ON THE SIDE TOO TWEAK WOULD UNDERSTAND

I mean she and Kwazii are trying not to be set on fire so I’m sure she’d get it

“I just hope everyone else is okay” well shellington and Dashi are stuck on a volcano that’s exploding trying to get a beached whale out on a very slow Gup, the Vegimals are trying to evacuate the garden, and Tweak and Kwazii are trying to get out of the burning and flooding repair area so no I don’t think anyone else is okay

“This isn’t working” no really Dashi

Oh the crabs know Kwazii that explains so much

Another Training Video?!

The crew all look so nervous when they appear in a training videos

Oh now Dashi and Shellington are mimicking Tweak

Poor Shellington he’s clumsy

“I have to say I.. really like that plan” yea cuz it’s the one that doesn’t involve you burning in the lava

Shellingtons getting a workout in oof

He’s about to fall into the lava

Now the crabs about to fall into the water

Oh god he’s screwed

Crab jump on the whale- now he’s flying

Shellington get out of the lava!!!

Alright some people are safe

Oh never mind the other volcanoes are erupting too

That water level is dangerously high are they gonna be okay

Kwazii don’t phrase it like that it sounds like you’ll die

KWAZII!!!!!

Oh god oh no his tail

Mimicking Barnacles saved the day

TWEAK!!! KWAZII!!!

Oh they are alright thank god

They’re gonna be traumatized from this- *angst time*

“And how will we get up there” Kwazii making good points again

Kwazii with a grappling hook is a terrifying idea please get one

And now they find out the comms are down

Kwazii trying to be helpful

WHY DOES SHE HAVE AN EMERGENCY CARROT STASH

KWAZII GOT ONE TOO

Another video but this ones useless-

TWEAK YOU TURNED OFF THE POWER

They sounded the octo alert together!!!

Babies

EVERYONES OKAY!!!!

OF COURSE THERES ANOTHER ONE

Kwazii and Tweak: ya we’re good

Also them: *trying to not to drown or burn*

They are all gonna connect to each other like Voltron aren’t they

KWAZII DID PRESS IT IM NOT LOSING MY $3 TODAY!!!

Tweak: I got a plan

*crashes through the hatch*

Kwazii: *excited cat sounds*

Yeah they’re going together naturally

“Mega Gup Z” epic naming skills Tweak

“Seat swap” “wait a minute- WHOA”

“It’s completely covered in sea creatures” there’s no way you get all of them

Oh good some are swimming away

“Sit tight” they can’t really do anything else Captain

Do we know where they go after being S U C C E D into the mega Gup z?

And now rocks are everywhere

Kwazii’s excited cat noises are giving me life

Couldn’t the crabs walk away?

Oh no they’re getting stuck in the volcano-

Oh they’re good thank Neptune

Dashi: yea it’s bout to erupt we gotta go

Peso: I saw something inside there we gotta go look

Does Peso want them to die

Of course the animals sound snobby

“Why ever would we do that” CUZ ITS ERUPTING i swear all the creatures have the IQ of a walnut

“I didn’t even make a button for it” bruh

Yeah just like Voltron

Kwazii: *even more excited cat noises cuz he gets to destroy things*

Why do you all name the moves with the word “mantis” in front of them?

They all share one braincell and Barnacles and Peso have it 90% of the time

Tweak gets the other 10%

Everyone else runs on pure chaotic energy

“Tweak Status Report!” Tweak: WE ARE FUCKED

Let Tweak say “Fuck” 2k21

Kwazii: *e x c i t e d c a t n o i s e s*

*throws sea creatures at whale*

*blows up into five gups in massive explosion in front of erupting volcano*

Is all that sea urchin thinks about is food

“You know what I’d like? Dinner” “you know what pal, that sounds great”

“Have the eruptions stopped” “yea but that’s not what I called about”

Is Inkling trying to be more than that guy who sits in his library all day?

Yea it’s not hatching because of the bandage all around it

Please say the egg doesn’t die

Oh it’s alive good

Octonauts: remember that island that got destroyed by a volcano? Would you like to live on an island that volcano created?

Penguins: not really

Octonauts: too bad

Vegitoa? Wow

ITS THAT STUPID SONG AGAIN LAST TIME IT WAS IT MY HEAD FOR TWO WEEKS

“It still felt like we were working as a team” maybe cuz you were all copying each other the whole time

“You really, really need to update those training videos” yeah fair enough

Of course the Vegimals still remember the dance

I see what the hype was about that was a fantastic movie mateys... though everyone’s probably gonna have some problems after that