#That my brain keeps supplying the idea of that being a sign of their fate

[artheresy]

If I was more articulate, you better believe I would be screaming at the idea of mixing "One soul in two bodies" with the heavily implied theory that Chuuya's original ability was Amplifying abilities via touch aka the exact inverse of Dazai's and applying that phrase to more outside of its original context, which was probably just purely about their trust and understanding of each other but HEAR ME OUT, and-

Sorry brainrot has gotten the better of me, mixing the inverse abilities and one soul in two bodies thing makes me go insane and foam at the mouth like some kind of rabid dog and I know I will never be able to properly articulate what I mean when I say this and what I want to emphasize but 😭😭😭 oh well this is what only two hours of sleep does to me I guess

[hislittleraincloud]

i know ur not ok, i wont ask if ur ok, but i hope ur ok :)

You're right though. Haven't been okay in a while.

Dunno what it could be, maybe it's that I've been dragging my feet with 8 because God, I hate this part of the story (not that my own chapter isn't already mostly written for its third part), or if it's the whole Junkie Cat Lady thing wearing me down (I had to drag in two pieces of her most characteristic furniture back into my cramped space: a mirror box end table and a leopard print Ottoman that the cats used to sleep on whenever I catsat them). Or, the fact that I've got nothing left besides my dogs and two are hella old and can just keel over at any given moment, given their age (17+). Yeah, my parents are still around but I think my mother's getting some sort of dementia (I can tell by talking to her), but that's what you get for neglecting the intellectual part of your brain in favor of being a nasty, narcissistic, manipulative cunt your whole life. Figures that would be her goddamn fate...to start to actually forget the shitty things she did to me when I was growing up.

Creatively, I've been writing other stupid crap aside from 8 and Jairo, things that could turn into mini-fic, but I dunno. Re: 8, it's like the more I watch this show, the more the glaring issues with the storyline (and this is barring ALL romantic shipping) POP out at me, nag the fuck out of me and just...ugh. I know, I've already fixed a couple of those throughout my published chapters (like Rowan's disappearing glasses), but looking at it from an objective standpoint, it's just...garbage storytelling with a lot of inconsistencies held together by the cute star of the show. Re: Jairo, I'm once again closer to publishing another Jairo than I am 8, but I just haven't had the energy.

I mentioned the other day that I had gotten new comments/praise for Under Virgin Circumstances over at AO3. And then last night, I had placed my phone into yanno, I had a story about something weird happening but I felt like I was rambling, so the short of that next thing was: Somehow, the Drive app that holds all of my Jairo documents was up and running on this phone even though I hadn't opened it in a couple of weeks.

I'm taking both of those as signs to go back to Benson for a little while. I'm not going to rush through something I care about just because of impatiences (not just the couple of fans it has, but my own...I get very impatient and frustrated with myself, it's disabling), but I really would like to publish something.

That's where I am, I guess. There, and also wanting to create more physical art. I could hardly afford it (finances have been strained ever since Cat Lady fiasco) but I got some cheap art supplies/paint and pencils for my birthday and have some ideas of what I'd like to be doing.

But I also got other needs and a brown furball that never leaves my side these days. I'm still really irritated when I think of that nurse's shitty joke...this little thing is my baby/kiddo. She acts like one. She chatters with me like a toddler when we're out on walks. (One time, she actually said what sounded like "Hello!" to some lady who said "Hi there, cutie!" on the lake and it creeped me out... I've never taught her to speak or anything. She has a weird voice...sounds like a monkey at times.) So, she's getting more of my time too, since I'm now lamenting that I didn't have enough time with her when she was tiny (the time went by SO FAST, she started growing out her limbs in barely two months 😭).

I guess I oughta keep on...keepin' on. I feel like Cairo keeps calling out to me, since all I've been seeing on my fyp has been HOD stuff, then all of a sudden there was that post I just reblogged on there. I should call her. 🫠

Anyway. Thanks for wonderin'. 💕✨

[tsukiyadori]

Translation Quality of Fukou-kun wa Kiss suru shika nai Episode 1 on Viki

Since I saw somebody asking about the translation quality of Fukou-kun wa Kiss suru shika nai - I took a little look.

(Just the Viki episode 1 though, since I don't have a subscription and that's the only free episode right now. No Idea about Gagaolala's since I also don't have a subscription there either. Couldn't find what fansubs were referenced on quick look, so also no idea about that one. If somebody wants to provide sub-files I can take a look at the lines, too.)

My brain also blanked out with the OP and the ED has been skipped. (Spare me that bland canned Jpop please...) So no idea about the lyrics.

TL;DR first: Viki's for that episode is… passable. I have seen no hair pulling super major botches that are just utterly wrong and plot/context/characterization breaking. That being said, definitely don't expect brilliancy, either.

Some things that picked my attention in order of appearance:

In the prologue when Kouta talks about his type he uses 子 (ko). That implies a girl. After he drops the act, he's using 人間 (ningen) which means human. This was quaint, because usually you would opt to 人 (hito, person) for something more neutral. No idea what this is supposed to imply or if at all. Translations are fine there, just a lost nuance.

I'm sure I'll meet some great friends -> I'm sure there will be wonderful new meetings/encounters 出会い (deai) is used, which is meeting/encounter. This can mean all sorts of things in that vein, but expressly also means you might have your fated mate meeting (運命の出会い, unmei no deai). So it's definitely implied he's hoping for a bit more. (But the context also supplies this information already, so nothing really lost.)

This introduction was all lies! -> By the way, this prologue just now was COMPLETELY all lies!

That got shortened and also looses out on the typography of the sign. There is this playfulness JP typography that never seems to translate well outside.

Dropping the sweet act, here's my actual introduction This one is actually a good localization. In the fake prologue he uses boku for I (usually more innocently boyish) which then is switched to ore (more rude, manly).

And I've finally come to this conclusion: I'm just meant to be unlucky -> I've arrived at the truth, I have an unlucky condition This is maybe a bit nitpicking. But it's less a conclusion but more like he found the root cause (the truth) and the way he describes his condition is using (体質, taishitsu), which is a physical condition. So basically he takes it in like an identified chronic illness he has no means to get rid of, and that's a mood that reflects across everything he says (to himself), which is full of bitter salty anger, envy or resignation. He also gets pretty venomous nasty often enough, with much ruder, colloquial speech (extension to the switch to ore) which I don't quite think the English captures with as much of a contrast to what he says out loud all that much. The actor's voice does tho, so it still has that vibe from there.

Kirari is a sound effect onomatopoeic word describing a twinkle. Which is why this is a bit of a wild nickname to have as an adult (and a guy).

Typo Izakoi instead of Izayoi once, so QC is probably not the tightest, but also not the worst since there was only one.

Shinomiya gets translated to Naoya, which means this one abides by Western name referencing of first names rather than keeping the Japanese one of referencing last names and its registers of intimacy it denotes. This is jarring by default if you hear Shinomiya, but read Naoya, but it's pretty standard a thing to happen with Japanese translations. What definitely is bad tho is that there is no consistency, because Kouta's acquaintances call him Fukuhara, which is his last name. (If this show ever starts making Kouta switch from Shinomiya to Naoya, and they make a big blushy drama out of it, which the Japanese love to do, probably expect this to make no sense in the translation.)

What a formidable guy -> What a dreadful/frightening guy

lady killer This is obviously a bit awkward with it being in a BL coming from a guy describing the effects on himself, but that one kind of has no short English word. Japanese uses 無自覚天然たらし (mujigaku tennen tarashi). mujigaku means unaware, tennen is a natural airhead (the one that breaks hearts like breathing and never notices) and tarashi means very (in a bit of a condescending manner) and amplifies this once more. (If there is a good Engilish expression, I'm all ears!)

I was hoping we could stay together always - let's stay together That is super awkward, but the translator probably tried their best to retain some levels of ambiguity for the misunderstanding. The word used is 付き合い (tsukiai), which can mean accompany but very much also means dating. The way Kouta asks it is literally how you'd ask somebody out for dating, and he does this even in a very typical girly shy manner (completely in contrast with his thoughts in more guyish informal register).

Other than that, the translation definitely doesn't feel like natural English, but also not like that Engrish you'd get from a Japanese native person usually. (My guess is it's intermediate-advanced proficiency, one of the typical pit traps in that stage is still to be too literal and have Japanese sentence structures invade your translation.) Refreshing for one doesn't sound like anything a native English speaker would say to describe a person. What is meant here is a person who is kind of upbeat and agreeable to their surroundings, or somebody who's good at smoothing things out with their way of talking. (But also not suave or so.) Maybe affable, amiable, pleasant? (But then I don't think Westerners ever mumble so fascinated about a person after they're gone, bar in a more sexually/romantically/idolizing coded fawning sense to begin with…?)

[caffeinatedbraincell]

A TOG fic inspired by this post by @fangirlshrewt97

Read on AO3

Joe walked into the front room and collapsed unceremoniously onto a dining chair. He propped his head up on his hands, carding through his still-damp hair to undo any tangles. Andy looked up from where she was haphazardly reclined on the couch.

“Get all the blood out okay?”

“Mhm,” Joe replied quietly. “There really wasn’t much. The poker rod was still hot, so it cauterized the wound almost instantly. Clean kill.”

In the kitchen, Nicky slammed a saucepan onto the stovetop with much more force than necessary. Joe flinched.

“You’ve really done it this time,” Andy confirmed, nonchalantly flipping through an old magazine. “Couldn’t have waited two minutes until Nile showed, huh?”

“Not you, too,” Joe groaned. Andy raised an eyebrow. “Alright, fine. I admit it. I fucked up. But I wasn’t thinking clearly. There were children in there, Andy! What was I supposed to do?”

Joe didn’t think it was possible to empty out a packet of pasta angrily, but there was really no other way to describe the aggression with which the rotini clattered into the empty pot. Nicky whirled around to add in the water, muttering under his breath.

“...idiota egoista…”

“Nicky, my love!” Joe called.

“What are you doing??” Andy hissed. “Can’t you tell he’s-”

“Amore mio, can I please get a glass of water?”

If looks could kill, Joe would surely be recovering from his second death of the day. Nicky shut off the tap, dug a glass out the dishwasher, and stalked deeper into the kitchen, out of Joe’s line of sight. He and Andy exchanged puzzled glances.

Moments later, Nicky reemerged. In his hand, he carried a glass full of ice cubes. He calmly set it down in front of Joe.

“Wait.”

Andy tactfully kept a straight face until Nicky had returned to the kitchen, but when Joe turned, she was shaking with laughter, hand clamped tightly to her mouth. Joe glared at her before sighing.

“It was worth a shot.”

Andy took a deep breath to sober up. “He is not truly angry with you, Joe,” she began. “You know this. He is hurt. He is scared. Give him time.”

“I didn’t mean to die. I miscalculated. I was so sure I would make it out of there alive.”

“The important thing is that you’re here now. Nile had your back.”

“A poker rod, Andy. How was I supposed to see that coming? I’d gotten all the kids out and disarmed the captors-”

“Disarmed?” Nicky spat with a harsh laugh, carrying a set of plates to the dining table. “It would have been too much for your noble, large-hearted sensibilities to kill them like they deserved, right?”

Just then, Nile walked into the room, holding up an old woolen jacket with a brass zipper. It was one Joe had scored during a Christmas sale in Ireland several decades ago. Before Booker’s exile, it had been a tradition of sorts for everyone to fight over it when staying in safehouses without heating.

“Joe?” she asked. “Can I wear this? It’s cold here.”

“Of course, Nile.”

“You know,” Andy interjected. “I think Nile and I can take over dinner prep. Being near the stove will warm her up.” Nicky drew a breath to protest. “My alfredo sauce is better than your marinara, Nicky, so don’t even start.”

Nicky clamped his mouth shut. Andy’s alfredo did sound good.

“Fine. I am going to rest. Alone.”

Nicky strode past the dining table without so much as a second glance, weaving up the stairs to the bedroom that he and Joe usually shared. Joe lowered his eyes.

“Well?” Andy demanded.

“Well, what?” Joe snapped. She narrowed her eyes. “Andy, I can’t talk to him right now. He’s so angry. I’ll just make him more mad.”

“You have known each other, loved each other, for over 900 years. Do you really think he’s up there fuming at you? Is that what your heart feels?”

Joe didn’t answer.

“Who are you really hurting by staying down here, Joe?”

Nicky, Joe’s brain supplied helpfully. He stood up. “Okay. Fine. I’m going.”

The bedroom door was open just a crack when he reached it. Joe entered, shuffling his feet and latching the door noisily behind him so as to not startle Nicky with his presence.

The love of his life sat on the far edge of their bed, facing the balcony. An eerie stillness had settled over Nicky’s body. Joe couldn’t even be sure he was breathing. He walked over to him, carefully keeping his gaze averted to avoid the coldness in Nicky’s eyes.

Joe knelt on the floor between Nicky’s legs. He reached for his hands, exhaling in relief when the latter did not pull away. Joe reverently dropped his lips to Nicky’s knuckles. He kissed them gently, repeatedly, the harsh, residual taste of gunpowder from the sniper kit assaulting his senses.

Nicky didn’t speak, didn’t move, and Joe didn’t dare raise his eyes to his beloved’s face. Instead, he pressed his nose against Nicky’s warm hands.

“Perdonami, Nicolo. Perdonami, per favore. I should not have gone in without backup. Mi dispiace amore, please Nicky. Perdonami, my life. You are right to be angry, but I-” Joe stopped, feeling tears well up in the corners of his eyes. Nicky didn’t move. “Per favore, Nicolo,” he tried, voice cracking. “Why do you test my courage with your silence? Say something, amore mio. I long to hear your voice, be it in anger or forgiveness. I-”

A single drop of water landed on Joe’s nose, and he jerked his gaze up in shock. Nicky turned away immediately, extracting one of his hands from Joe’s grip to swipe roughly at his eyes.

“Nicolo.”

“Don’t.”

“I love you.”

“I know.” 

Nicky’s hand found the back of Joe’s head, tenderly massaging the base of his skull. Like a magnet, his fingers settled over the exact spot the poker rod had entered Joe’s head. There was no scar, Joe knew. No detectable sign to give away the location of the injury. But Nicky could feel it as surely as Joe could, as though it was his own body that had been struck. Joe shivered. The idea that Nicky experienced his death so somatically was deeply upsetting.

“Perdonami,” Joe begged.

“There is nothing to forgive, hayati. I am not angry at you.”

Joe glanced up in surprise. Nicky held his gaze, but he looked troubled.

“But I am angry, Yusuf. So, so angry. At myself, for not protecting you. I watched through the sniper scope as you were killed and I did nothing. I am angry at fate, at God, for this conditional immortality. I have seen you die 259 times and it has never once gotten even the tiniest bit easier.

“You follow your heart, Joe, and it does not mislead you. I know you did what was best for those kids. Of course, of course it’s not your fault that you were killed, my love. I am so sorry for ever implying that.”

“Nicky-”

“It hurts, Yusuf. This anger hurts. This fear hurts. It becomes too much, it spills over, and I take it out on you without meaning to.” Nicky leaned down and pressed his forehead against his beloved’s, his breath warm and familiar on Joe’s face. “Without you, I have nothing. I am nothing.”

Joe whimpered in protest, tilting his mouth up to reach Nicky’s. “You are everything.”

Nicky captured his lips in a searing kiss, and Joe tasted salt, causing his own eyes to sting anew. He wanted to plead with Nicky not to cry, because everything was fine, and nothing in the world was worth his tears. But his husband only tightened his hand in Joe’s curls, pressing more fully into his mouth, and Joe found himself much too far gone for words.

Eventually, Joe turned his face to the side, light-headed from the lack of oxygen. Nicky braced a hand against Joe's hip, pulling him off his knees and onto Nicky’s lap. Joe went willingly, burying his face in Nicky’s neck and breathing him in, relaxing under his soothing touch.

“I’m sorry I gave you ice instead of water.”

Joe chuckled wetly, holding on tighter to the love of his life. “I wasn’t actually thirsty. I just wanted you to talk to me.”

Nicky pressed a long kiss to his temple. “I am sorry for pushing you away.” He pulled back ever so slightly, carding a hand through Joe’s curls and watching his eyelids flutter closed. “But you still came to me. Did Andy send you up here?”

“Mhm. She said you weren’t really mad. That you needed me and I’d be hurting you if I stayed away.”

“That woman knows too much,” Nicolo smiled.

“Comes of being an eternal goddess. She could very well be omniscient.”

Joe let his head fall against Nicky’s chest, the rhythmic rise and fall lulling him to the edge of sleep. Nicky let him doze for a few minutes before speaking softly.

“My heart. How are you feeling? More sleepy or more hungry?”

“H’ngry,” Joe mumbled, half-asleep. He felt Nicky’s lips curve up in amusement as they brushed his forehead.

“Okay. Let’s go downstairs. Andy and Nile might be waiting for us.”

“Five more minutes?”

“Yusuf.”

[just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot]

An Unlikely Suspect

A Sanders Sides Among Us AU (Semi Janus Centric)

Pairings: Hinted Romantic Prinxiety, Romantic Logicality (might get clarified if I write a follow up), Platonic Virmile, Platonic Moceit, Familial Creativitwins, Platonic Moxiety Trigger Warnings: Character Death (Some semi descriptive), Gore, Light Body Horror descriptions , Remus being Remus, swearing Word Count: ~ 3600 

When an Imposter is found aboard the Skeld, life for the crew is turned upside down. Accusations, betrayals, and too many lies to count, can the crew survive the parasite’s attempt to take over?

[All characters belong to @thatsthat24 , I hope I did them justice ]

--

Life aboard the Skeld had never been easy. 

Even Janus couldn’t lie about that. The work days were long and never ending aboard the flying crapshack (seriously, was health and safety a joke to their superiors back on Earth?!) but no one was prepared for the Imposters.

The crew had treated them as a distant worry when the warning came through communications. The kind of warning that they regarded with a snort, perhaps a retort of “that sort of thing would never happen to us, it only happens to other people”. The same kind of blissful dismissiveness you’d expect when talking about the chances of dying on a rollercoaster, or being caught in the middle of a mass car pile up. 

Complacency, unearned comfort. No one spared more than a passing thought for the Imposters for months..

Then Dr. Emile Picani was found dead at his desk and suddenly the threat was all too real, all too quick. 

With a check of the medical records, once the crew found out one of the scans had come back as an Imposter, accusations had flown all too hastily in the beginning.

“Patton, you were in charge of manning the airlock! Didn’t you check the cargo properly?!”, Roman had accused him, alongside a couple of other crewmates. 

“B-But I did!! I swear!!”, the cyan-clad crewmate had protested, “I checked every single crate-!”

“Sounds sus, I say we make sure he never forgets to check the airlock ever again!”, Remus had all too cheerfully suggested. Thankfully their first in command, Logan, had stepped in to diffuse the argument, “Nonsense. We have very little evidence of any wrongdoing on Patton’s part. There’s only seven of us now, all crewmates will be crucial to our survival. Thus, no one will be taking action against him, or any other crewmate, without my strict approval. Is that clear?”

Aside from disgruntled remarks and some small accusations of favouritism, Logan was in charge, and the only crewmate able to prove his humanity since his medical scan was the only one left with the name undisturbed in haste, and thus was able to keep the crew in order, saving Patton from a horrific execution. 

For three days.

The implementation of a buddy system of sorts had been a flawless plan, allowing Logan to remain the only solo crewmate, checking in on each duo; Patton and Remy manning storage and the medbay, the twins handling waste disposal and electrical matters, and Virgil and Janus managing weapons and navigation systems. A smooth journey, only to be shattered by a blackout. 

Pandemonium had ensued almost immediately; halves of duos unwisely tried to head towards electrical, armed only with their tiny standard issue flashlights, leaving their other halves to try and find them or remain calm in the pitch blackness. Ten minutes felt like an eternity as Remus, with the aid of Janus, finally got the electrical wires properly repaired. The rest of the crew were quick to head towards electrical, hoping to account for everyone. However, a headcount carried the awful realisation that they were one short.

Logan.

Patton was the first to head for security, followed right after by the crew, only to find a gruesome scene. Logan Croft - what was left of him - lay motionless on the floor at the end of a blood trail that led towards the vent across the room. A distraught Patton stayed behind to guard the body alongside Virgil and Remy, while Janus and the twins tried to figure out where the imposter had come in from. Knowing that the vent system capped off certain sections, they only needed to check two other locations; electrical and medbay.

The former came up empty, so Janus led the group to the latter, kneeling down to check the vent and noticing a blood stain at the edge of the vent. A closer inspection revealed the print to be a hand, but the blood was too thick to leave identifiable fingerprints.

“So, the Imposter used the vent to travel here. And the only people who wouldn’t be out of place...”, Roman uttered under his breath. Janus could already hear him and his twin jumping to conclusions.

“Ah yes, jumping to conclusions is always the right answer, without exception.”

Janus hoped his sarcasm got through to them how bad of an idea it was.

“But Jan, look at this shit!”, Remus gestured between the vent and the area next door where Logan’s body was still lying, “There’s blood in the vent and the two fuckers who were in here are stuck with Virgil and the body!! For all we know, we could go back and two of ‘em could be dead-!”

“Alright, alright!”, Janus massaged his temples, thinking it over. 

“... Fine, Remus, call the emergency meeting.”

Without hesitation, Remus made a beeline for the cafeteria’s emergency button. As Janus waited for the teleporter to pick them up, he noticed Roman anxiously running a hand through his hair. “Nervous?”, Janus questioned with a sincerity reserved for tense situations like these.

The red-clad crewmate hummed worriedly, “Just… the thought of Virgil being left with them...”

Janus gave a fond but tired huff, about to reassure Roman when the teleporters built into their suits shifted them to the cafeteria. Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be anyone missing bar Logan, and the previously deceased Dr. Picani. Letting his mismatched eyes roam over towards the trio from security, Dee noticed that each was in a state of shock. Remy seemed to be keeping a stoic mask up but Janus knew those tremors in his palms that came from his reliance on caffeine, one he had been unable to indulge in as desired due to the rationing of supplies. Virgil gnawed his thumbnail while his arm jittered anxiously, probably aching for his anxiety medication more than ever. And Patton….

Patton looked devastated, emotionally and physically so. It was clear he’d been yanking on his hair in distress, and while it wasn’t immediately noticeable, his olivine cheeks bore tear tracks still. 

Janus found himself hoping, praying almost, that Patton could save his skin somehow.

“We found blood in the medbay vent,”, Roman began, snapping Janus out of his thoughts and back to reality. “Which means the Imposter must be Remy or Patton.”

Once kind green eyes tainted with distrust and distress fell on the poor cyan crewmate, “And considering everything up til now…. Patton, I hate to say it…. But you’re-”

“You’re looking pretty fucking sus, Padre!”, Remus finished for his twin. 

Janus could see Patton jolt, the hurt in his features at a once friendly nickname being used so callously felt far too cruel. The yellow crewmate prided himself on being able to see through a rouse, and Patton didn’t show any such signs of deceit, but…

“I-!! I’d never-!!”, Pat gasped, the pain clear, “I could never hurt Logan!! Or Emile, or ANY of you!! Please, I-!”

“Give it up, Pat, you alien bitch.”

Remy’s voice laden with venom and a notable shakiness cut through the words trying to scramble out of Patton’s mouth. “Like, it has to be you. You were in charge of the airlock. You were close enough to them to get at L and Emile. Worst of all, you were the only other person in medbay with me.”, Remy wrung his hands into his black jumpsuit frustratedly, “And when the lights came back on…. You weren’t in the room anymore!”

Patton shook his head, “No, Remy, I-!! I was in the hallway, I couldn’t see you-!”

“Popstar, come on...”, Virgil’s shaky voice came from across the table, “I… I don’t wanna believe it, but we… we have to face the facts here. Logan’s body didn’t show signs of a struggle, so he was probably comfortable with whoever did this. You fit that bill…. You even ran straight to Logan’s body, Pat!! Do you have any idea how suspicious that looks?!”

It all made sense, so much sense, but Janus’ brain still told him it was wrong. That something wasn’t right. 

“But!! But Logan liked being in security!! We all knew that-!!”

“But that still doesn’t explain any of the other evidence!!”, Remus chipped in, looking ready to condemn the poor man. Frantically, Patton looked to Janus. God, he’d never forget that look, the primal fear of death lingering behind terrified light blue. “Janus, please, you know I’m not lying, right?!”

What could Janus do but nod? He believed Patton. It wouldn’t do anything in the long run, but at least the poor man would know someone was on his side.

“I do believe you, Patton. This feels far too ludicrous to-” 

“Jan, you’re a fucking idiot if you believe that bullshit!”, Remus interrupted, “He’s just trying to manipulate you!!”

The conversation abruptly halted as Remus rounded the table, grabbing Patton’s arm, beginning to haul him towards the airlock. The cyan crewmate tried to protest, wriggling to free himself, but Roman and Remy both secured him, sealing his fate,

“PLEASE, PLEASE DON’T DO THIS-!!”

“Just stop, Pat, don’t make this-!”

“NO, LET ME GO, PLEASE, IT’S NOT ME, I SWEAR-!!”

“Shut up, you parasite bastard!!”

Patton struggled for his life against the twins’ strong hold while Remy readied the airlock’s inner door. Janus couldn’t bear to watch, “This is a mistake, you’re going to kill an innocent man, Roman-!”

“Stop, Janus!”, Roman snapped, “We… We can’t afford to turn a blind eye or more of us will die! It’s-! It’s the right thing to do-!”

“You know that’s a lie, do I even need to spell that one out for you-”

“Babes, with all do respect?”, Remy spoke up, opening the inner door and letting the twins toss Patton inside before shutting the door, “Shut the fuck up. Like, this is our chance to stop all this!”

The countdown as Remus set the airlock to open was harrowing, even for the demented twin. The group watched through the reinforced glass window as Patton slammed his fists into the door, his voice silenced by the sound proofing, but his desperation was so palpable no words were needed. For God’s sakes, a man was begging for his life! How could they let this happen? Janus felt Virgil turn away next to him, clearly unable to watch one of their closest friends die.

A surge of righteous justice threw Janus into action. Despite the alarmed voices of the others, he tried desperately to somehow undo the countdown. To somehow get the stupid control panel to cease the damned timer ticking away til Patton would meet his end in the vast nothingness of space. His efforts were for naught. Between the safety programming and the others prying him away, Janus was hauled back just in time to see the outer door open. The force tore Patton into the terrifying cosmic wasteland. 

Just like that, the crew lost Patton Hart. 

Janus felt his ears ring in the sudden silence, feeling like his head had been submerged in ice water. He could hear Virgil sobbing, muffled by what he assumed would be Roman’s shoulder or chest. In his peripheral view, he noted Remus’ green gloved hand clench and release in an effort to calm his nerves, surely. Remy sunk to his knees, not uttering a word edgeways. Human nature would kick in eventually, tell them in the end that they did what they could. That they’d eliminated a threat that took the form of their dear crewmate. But Janus knew. He knew this wasn’t the end, he’d just failed to save Patton’s life. 

Days passed; just two but to Janus and the others, it felt more like two centuries. They’d given Logan’s remains a decent cremation, using the ashes to mix with the plant food in O2. Logan had always wanted to help the planet, and now at least, in a way, he would do just that.

The schedules he’d set the others slowly crumbled. Remy avoided the med bay, “too many awful memories”, he’d said. The twins stuck together more so out of a shared lingering guilt, Janus theorised, still going about their manual tasks, though neither could bring themselves to sing a cheery tune or R-rated space sea shanty about banging an Eldritch Deity. Life aboard the Skeld felt as dead as their former crewmates these days.

Virgil caught up with Janus leaving Navigation; the anxious man had felt far more at ease sticking with his assigned duo partner than being alone. Janus couldn’t fault him. 

“... It’s fucked.”, the lankier man in purple had mumbled, “This whole situation is so, so fucked...”

Janus sighed exhaustedly, “That’s one way to put it, yes.”

The silence was uncomfortable. Neither man usually minded such a thing, but it felt unbearable now. So much so, Janus was thankful as Virgil spoke, “Why’d Dr. Picani have to die?...”.

Both of them were aware of why, but Janus assumed it was rhetorical, a theory confirmed as Virgil continued to mumble, “He was so nice, man. Never pressured me with my medical anxiety or anything, never made me sit through tests that’d freak me out. Helped make me feel secure but... Now nothing feels safe anymore...”

“Indeed, we lost a good man. Several good men.”, Janus felt Virgil cringe beside him, looking away.

“...... I didn’t….”, Virgil huffed, his eyes trained anywhere else but Janus’ face, “I never wanted to… to see Pat like that. He was my friend, Jan! Shit, he was like a father to me! He made me feel welcome when I transferred here but-!!”

A reassuring yellow gloved hand rested on Virgil’s shoulder, “I’m sure he knew, Virgil.”, Janus reassured him, “What’s done is, regrettably, done. Irreversible. We cannot get back those we’ve lost, but we can survive in their name. Let’s just hope that you were all right to stop me-”

Crunch.

The wet crisp crunch of something organic tore Janus from his thoughts. 

“... Did you hear that, Virgil?”

Frozen rigid, Virgil gave a shaky inhale, “I… I don’t think so-”

CRUNCH.

Janus didn’t bother to ask if Virgil heard it that time. He took off down the hallway, headed for the nearest room; Electrical. Virgil’s footsteps began to gain on his own, giving him the reassurance of backup when they reached the doorway. Damn. It was locked. The disgusting wet tearing sounds from inside made his stomach churn, “Virgil… on three.”

Virgil looked mortified at the idea, but he nodded, readying himself as he and Janus got ready to break in the doors. Thankfully for their shoulder joints, the doors opened. Not so thankfully, both men were treated to a horrendous sight. 

The twins had always playfully argued over which of them would come out on top.

It seemed now they had their answer.

Hunched over the remains of his brother was Roman Prince, his red suit absorbing the bloody remains splattered across it, leaving almost no trace. In his hands, Roman held various chunks of flesh torn from his own kin whose lifeless eyes were open wide in a twisted expression of surprise and betrayal. Roman himself had gone rigid, caught like a deer in the headlights, pitch black eyes darting between Janus and Virgil as they sunk back to their familiar emerald green.

“I-! This isn’t-!”

With Virgil unmoving beside him, Janus sprung to action, using their reporting device to activate the teleporter again. He cursed every extra second it took compared to the emergency button, watching as Roman managed to morph and clean himself up before they found themselves once again around the table. Remy’s eyes darted to the empty space Remus had once occupied, 

“.... No. Don’t you fucking tell me...” 

Virgil went to speak but Janus got there first, pointing a deadly determined finger towards Roman, “Roman’s the Imposter!”

Roman stiffened, “Wha-!?”

Janus wasn’t about to let him go free; he had a witness now, and a good chunk of evidence to condemn him with; “Virgil and I walked in on you eating your own goddamn twin! Everything else begins to make sense if it’s you too; the blackout especially, since you were working in electrical. You were also rather vocal with your accusations too, which would make sense considering it took the attention off of you!”

The defeated look in Roman’s dull eyes was the most delicious dessert in existence, seeing the monster look ready to confess, Janus gestured to Virgil, 

“Virgil can back me up, right?!”

Silence.

“.....Virgil? Back me up here-”

“Janus,”, Virgil’s voice was ghostly fearful, his eyes hidden behind the long purple dyed bangs he sported, “Stop lying.”

“.... What?..”, the shiver of fear, bone chilling fear, that rattled through Janus’ marrow and constricted his lungs was a harsh turn from his formerly confident demeanor.

“Roman and I saw you eat Remus, Jan...”

This wasn’t happening.

“We walked in on you tear… tearing him to shreds in electrical…!”

This wasn’t happening…

“Just like you did with poor Logan! And Emile!”

This couldn’t be happening…

“Playing like you were the one who wanted to save Patton when…!! When you were the one who-!!”

Janus’ head swam with nausea. His mismatched eyes finally locked on to Virgil’s, barely visible to Remy, but all too familiar to Janus…

“Disgusting, lying Imposters like you-!!”

Those pitch black eyes that betrayed his glee even as his broken tone relayed the false narrative. 

“Should rot in space!!”

Remy cast his gaze between Roman and Janus, landing on Roman, “Ro, babes, is that true?!”

Roman nodded, dumbfounded, “I-It’s true, he-”

“He tried to get us too,”, Virgil continued, faux shaky voice ringing in Janus’ ears.

Everything made terrifying sense now. 

Virgil, a new transfer from a sister ship, who had his own (likely fabricated) medbay scan on hand and who was too anxious to have Dr. Picani perform a second, making the crew think there was just one Imposter.

Virgil, who would think to tell Roman remove the names on the medical files, even if the red crewmate didn’t do a perfect job.

Virgil, who was close with Patton, and had begun to befriend Logan, earning his trust, leaving him one of the few people who Logan wouldn’t suspect approaching him in the dark.

Virgil, who was smart enough to drag Logan’s top half into the vents and leave a handprint in medbay to frame Patton further. All too willing to throw the poor man under the bus.

Virgil, who stuck close to the only person left smart enough to suspect their scheme, waiting for the right moment to strike when Janus sealed his own fate.

“..... You son of a bitch.”, Janus breathed in disbelief. His anger bubbled to the surface before he could stop it, “YOU SON OF A BITCH-!!!”

Roman and Remy’s arms wrapped themselves around Janus’ arms and body, holding him still while all he could do was writhe, “What do we do now, babes?”

Virgil answered Remy’s question with a firm, faux anxious reply, “The airlock..”

Janus’ heart stopped in his chest.

“We… We had to lose Patton that way so…. So it’s only fair the REAL Imposter goes that way too!!”

He didn’t go without a fight. Janus made damn sure of that. The alien bastards wouldn’t get the satisfaction of him going quietly. He clawed at Roman’s face, ignoring the parasite’s tightening grip on his arm to the point he thought perhaps it would break. He spat hellfire and vitriol at Virgil who watched from a distance, content to let the smirk he’d been hiding show now that Remy couldn’t see. 

Oh god, Remy. Janus tried desperately to appeal to the last true human left, 

“Remy, you HAVE to listen to me, they’re not human, both of them are-!”

But Remy didn’t listen, following Roman’s lead of tossing Janus once more into the airlock. Fortunately, Janus had been able to hold onto his helmet as the door closed, sealing his - and by extension, Remy’s - fates. Trapped and waiting for death, he locked eyes with Remy who looked as sincere and guilt ridden as expected. Is this how Patton felt? So helpless and scared to die? Janus felt almost guilty knowing his suit still had a full canister of oxygen left to last him…. Hours? Maybe a day? Then he’d be at the mercy of space the way Patton was without his helmet to protect him. 

As the countdown reached 15 seconds, Janus watched helplessly as Virgil gestured to give Remy a hug. The way Remy accepted the arms of death only for Virgil’s stomach to split and devour the poor man tore the last of Janus’ resolve to shreds. 

With the countdown reaching zero, Janus Dolion faced the two Imposters watching him with a smug sense of glee, flipping them both the double bird as the outer door opened... 

--

The Imposter couple watched Janus be sucked into the vacuum of space with a sick sense of victory. They’d done it; the Skeld was theirs and theirs alone. Of course, that was until a rescue ship could come for them and the cycle would start over again. The thought alone was intoxicating.

“... I’m sorry.”, Roman murmured from beside Virgil who’d already taken to fabricating injuries they could use to trick the rescue party. The purple suited alien snorted, wiping the last of Remy’s blood from his mouth, “What for, Prince Parasite?”

The crimson clad Imposter scoffed affectionately. 

“I nearly got us caught.”, Roman’s suit growled, “I was just… so hungry…!”

Virgil softly wrapped his arm around Roman, gently caressing his beautiful jawline with a softness no hostile alien parasite should be able to use. 

“It’s fine, you drama queen. We still did it,”, he grinned, shark toothed and infectious going by Roman’s own razor smile, “Now you just have to put those impressive acting skills to use once I call in a rescue ship.”

“Aww, you think my acting is impressive?”, Roman’s chest puffed up in pride.

Were they not standing right next to a pile of gore that has once been a fellow crewmate, Virgil figured the starry look in Roman’s blackened eyes would have been endearing. Adorable even. Instead, the Imposter rolled his eyes, they still had work to do after all. There’d be plenty of time to properly celebrate later..

“Shut up, Roman... ” --

Man that got dark fast...

I hope you guys still enjoyed it and that the reveal was nice and shocking~!

If you like this, I’ll write some supplimentary stuff, perhaps some fluff prequel snippets, and perhaps a little sequel? 

Idk yet, but I hope this was a good read.

Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account   @cateye-glasses   @fandomsofrandom @patton-cake @does-this-look-logicality-to-you @justalittlecorrupted @irritating-lady-knight @katlikethesword @ali_is_lazy 

[thiswasinevitableid]

82, Sternclay, NSFW if possible? Ty so much for all your great fics <3 -☀️

You’re welcome! I hope you enjoy the fill. It’s NSFW, and involves mating cycles, because my A03 stats suggest a lot of y’all like that.

82. you knock on my door at 2 in the morning because your very white cat got out and you need help trying to find them in the three feet of snow we have

He has no one but himself to blame. 

Stern is always so careful about shutting the doors in this cabin, as the old hinges and worn frames can send them swinging open when coupled with a strong wind. He thought he had that same care when he came in with more firewood from the basement, which can only be accessed through by going out of the house and then down to the locked door. 

Apparently not. At one, he went to check on Yeti and found the back door open and the faintest shape of feline paws leading into the darkness. 

They’ve got two feet of snow on the ground, with another foot forecasted to fall by morning. And Yeti is sleek and snow-white.

He’s wandered the perimeter of the house, left her favorite blanket out on the covered porch, and tried in vain to follow the tracks, filled in by the falling snow. He’s been outside for an hour now, with no sign of her. Not even the jingle of her collar in the cold air. He’s shivering, but he can’t stop the search; Yeti is out here, cold and scared and it’s all his fault. 

As he’s crunching through the snow, warm light spills onto the trees. His neighbors  (a loose term out here) house. He couldn’t stand waking Barclay up to help him, but if he’s already awake…

Stern raps on the door, and four seconds later it opens, his neighbor looking like a lumberjack centerfold given life, even in his sweatpants and brown sweater. 

“Joe? Is something wrong?”

“It’s Yeti, she got out without me noticing and I can’t find her, I’ve been out here an hour and there’s no sign. I, um, I know it’s a stretch but can you help me look for her? We can cover more ground that way.”

Barclay gives a small, worried smile as he nods, “Yeah, of course, lemme get enough on so that I don’t freeze and I’ll join you.” 

He waves Stern inside, passes him a box of tissues before disappearing upstairs. Here he’d hoped the tears from his brief panic and self-blame spiral hadn’t left evidence. He’s good in a crisis, has handled much more stressful incidents with grace and calm. But for some reason every time he musters up those emotions, gult rips them to shreds. Yeti is his to look after, he’s supposed to keep her safe, and one careless move has her out in the woods, in freezing weather, with predators, or thin ice, or, or, or-

His brain is excellent at generating contingency plans on the fly, but tonight it directs that ability to making him think about all the bad things his error could cause. 

“Okay, got my headlamp so I can keep my hands free. You got a light?”

Joe holds up his flashlight.

“C’mon, let’s go find the Yeti.” They set off side by side in the snow, “where do you want to look?”

“Fan out near the creek, I think. The snow isn’t as deep there, so she might have gone that way because it was easier to move.”

“She’s a climber, right? So how about this; we go on either side of the creek, you look on the ground and I’ll look in the trees?”

“That makes sense.” 

It’s slow going, both of them being meticulous, shining their lights on every branch or under every bush. Stern’s always appreciated how careful Barclay is; he assumes it comes with a profession where being messy slows you down, but the first time he saw his well-organized kitchen his heart did a little dance of delight. 

In the month and a half he’s lived here, the cook invites him over at least twice a week to try out a recipe. He works at Amnesty Lodge in the nearby town of Kepler, and spends some of his nights there. Still, he’s at his cabin often enough that Stern’s been able to invite him over some evenings. Though it’s odd he’s up so late on a work night.

“Do you not have to go in tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m taking this week off. I have some vacation time and when I get back it’ll be the holiday break rush until New Years. I got caught up in the latest Agent X novel and didn’t see how late it was until you knocked. How about you, staying up researching again?”

“Yes. I was trying to keep the fire going because it’s nice to work in that little living room but, um, going out to get the wood is how she got out. If I’d just gone to bed-”

“Whoah, hey, none of that.” Barclay stops, turning to face him, “shit happens, even when you’re careful. This isn’t your fault, Joe.”

“I know. It still feels that way.” He starts forward again, feet freezing in spite of his snowboots (chosen for optimal weight to insulation ratio). Part of him wants to keep talking, because Barclay is interesting to talk to, his years playing “Lodge dad” giving him endless anecdotes and the ability to be honest without being cruel. 

It helps that his baritone voice makes Stern think of brown sugar; rich, complex, just the right kind of sweet. 

After a solid hour of searching, Stern is so cold he’s having trouble getting words out. Barclay sets a big hand on his shoulder, guiding them towards Sterns cabin.

“Joe, you’ve gotta take a break. Worried your lips are gonna go as blue as your eyes, and then tonight will really suck.”

“But I haven’t found her.”

“And you won’t if you freeze to death or get so chilled you can’t think straight. At least sleep for a few hours.”

Stern’s about to protest as they reach the door, but then his knees buckle and he slumps against a broad chest.

“I’ll do one more spin into the deeper woods on my way home, and leave some blankets out on the porch in case she makes her way to me. She’s smart, just like her owner; I think she’ll get home okay.”

“Right. Okay. We’ll be okay.” 

Barclay hesitates mid motion, then pulls Stern into a hug. Stern is not small, and at Six feet zero inches he’s used to being the tallest person in a room. Barclay always feels like he’s dwarfing him, though right now that’s the most comforting sensation in the world. 

“I’ll check by in the morning.”

“Thank you, for everything.” He mumbles into Barclay’s scarf.

“Any time, Joe.”

----------------------------------------

Barclay waits until Joe is inside and the upstairs light switches on to leave the back porch. God, it’s so fucking cold tonight. He doesn’t blame Yeti for getting curious, but she could’ve picked a less awful time to do it.

He’s glad the other man came to him for help; he hates the idea of Joe out here alone and stressed, searching carefully and kicking himself the whole time. He’s glad Joe took the suggestion to sleep. 

He’s glad the other man came to be his neighbor. 

Ironically, they’d met when Joe came over and asked to borrow a cup of sugar. The dark-haired man was short on what he needed to cook, and Barclay was happy to supply it. It’s not everyday a cute guy asked him for some sugar. 

They ran across each other in town, and Joe even came to eat at the Lodge, usually at off hours where Barclay had a chance to talk. That’s how he learned Joe was here to research a recent Bigfoot sighting. 

“I used to be in the FBI, investigating the same thing. Then I got so frustrated, no one really believed in the possibility of unknown creatures, and the few who did saw them as having some sort of use to the department of defense. Great idea, find something so rare it’s existence is unproven, and then lock it away or blow it up.” The sip of coffee is more aggressive than usual. 

“Won’t they get mad if you spill their secrets?” It was only half a joke. 

“I doubt it. They weren’t too interested in my theories when I worked there; odds are they’ll keep an eye on me a little while and then ignore me. Unless I find Bigfoot, of course, in which case they may want me back. I’m not interested, from now on I monster hunt in the name of science.”

Barclay hopes Stern never finds Bigfoot and stays in his cabin, writing and researching and consulting and coming over to Barclay’s for dinner twice a week. He has a whole menu in his mind titled, “foods for seducing Joe” that he’s going to whip out in the next few weeks, he swears it. 

He’s been swearing it for two weeks. 

Joe is sophisticated, smart, has really good taste in books and food, and Barclay feels so listened to when they talk. Barclay starts blushing whenever Joe smiles at him, which would be embarrassing except Joe does the same thing whenever Barclay drops his voice a little. Besides, he likes it when Joe smiles. 

Barclay would give anything to make Joe smile tonight. Which is why he’s tromping into the spot where they lost the last of Yeti’s footprints. He stands, listening for any sign of human life. 

Then he slips the woven bracelet off his hand, and his foot-prints almost double in size. 

It’s a bad idea, he’s not all that far from other houses or the road, but in this form his sense of smell is twice as strong and his night-vision a bit sharper. It’s also the reason he’s taking this week off work. Yes, he likes to rest up before the winter rush; but his heat, which comes ever fourteen years, is due in the next few days. He’s actually a little worried turning into his Sylph self will make his brain fuzzy enough to forget his mission. So he reminds himself, as he tromps through the growing blizzard, that he is doing this for the person he’d most like to impress in this world, and that does the trick. 

A whiff of the same, non-human scent he stole a noseful of when hugging Joe catches his attention. He follows it to a disused burrow, gets down on his belly, and finds reflective eyes blinking back at him. 

The animal hisses. 

“Man, please be Yeti and not a bobcat. Duck’s gonna fucking kill me if I harass the wildlife.” He reaches into the burrow and hears a telltale jingle. Yeti, surrendering to her fate, goes limp in his hold. When he puts her against his chest she chirps, curiously sniffing him. As soon as the bracelet is on she blinks once, then purrs as he bundles her into his coat. She’s cold and damp, but she’s in one piece. 

“C’mon cousin, let’s get you home.”

The lights are all still one, and the front door is wedged open the exact amount a cat would need to get inside. He steps in, kicks the wedge free and shuts the door. The fire is low, and there’s no sound of anyone moving around. 

“Joe? Whoa, careful Yeti, I know you wanna get warm but we should show him your okay.”

“Mew!” Yeti bites the fringe of his scarf. 

He tries again, “Joe, you still up? Got someone for you?”

A scuff and groan from the kitchen, “Huh? Oh, shit, I fell asleep, one second”

Yeti shifts her focus while Barclay is distracted. In one graceful leap she rips his bracelet away, lands, and bounds to the kitchen.

“Yeti! Thank the lord, there you are my little cryptid, I was so worried about you, don’t ever do that again, thank god you’re okay.” Joe’s voice goes muffled, as if he’s holding the cat to his face and talking into her fur. Barclay is frozen, not wanting to be seen but even less wanting to have Joe spot Bigfoot dashing into the trees. 

“What do you have--Yeti, it’s rude to take things from the man who saved you from being-” Joe rounds the corner, cat in his arms, and gasps. Yeti, uninterested in the unfolding drama, tumps to the floor and scampers upstairs. Joe’s hands fly over his mouth the instant she’s no longer in them. 

“Hey” Barclay waves.

“What the fuck?”

“I’m, uh, I’m Bigfoot.”

“What the fuck?” Joe isn’t moving, and Barclay decides now is his best chance. 

“I’m just, uh, gonna go get my bracelet back.”

“No, you’re going to explain everything.” 

“I really, really can’t, some of it isn’t mine to explain. I mean, uh, I can explain some bits later-” He creeps toward the stairs. Joe steps in front of him. 

“Barclay, this can’t wait. You, you’ve been him the whole time, my entire world view is simultaneously being proven and flipped over, would you please just talk to me?”

“Mew?” Yeti is halfway down the stairs, watching them with the bracelet still in her mouth. Without breaking eye contact, Joe reaches up and out, plucking it from her teeth.

“You’re not getting this back until you explain.”

“Babe, please, I promise we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“No, wait, what did you call me?”

“Uhhhh” Barclay lunges for the bracelet instead of answering. Stern twists out of the way, sprinting for the kitchen. Barclay gets an arm around his waist and yanks backwards, sending them both over the back of the couch. Joe elbows him and scrambles up. Barclay only just manages to block him from going up the stairs, stalks him back onto the rug and tackles him. It succeeds in bringing the man down and keeping him pinned. 

It also sends the bracelet flying onto the floor, where Yeti snatches it up and disappears up the staircase. 

Barclay realizes he’s growling, stops so that he won’t frighten Joe, only for it to start up again as a reflex.

“Barclay, I swear, if you hurt my cat-”

“I won’t, I, that’s what not that noise is for. Or, uh, I mean I’m pissed you played keep-away with something I need, but I also have some bad news about Sy--uh, Bigfoot biology. Uh, so, first thing: I have a heat, which is why I was trying to stay away from people. Second thing: my kind uses a very intense game of, uh, chase as part of courtship.”

Stern shifts his thigh, “That explains what I’m feeling.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Look, can you go get the bracelet and then we can, like, have some tea and talk about this? I’m sorry, I feel so bad for making you deal with this.” The growl rumbles up again. He gears up another apology when he notices Joe’s blue eyes getting wider.

“Is this, um, only because of your heat? I mean, if you tackled some passerby, would the same thing be happening?”

“No.” Barclay squeaks. 

“Then I’m not seeing how this is a bad thing, big guy.” He grinds his thigh up, making Barclay yip and pin him to the rug while touching as little of him as possible. 

“Joe, this doesn’t make me like, mindless or anything, but if you say you want this you are signing up for several days of as much fucking as I can manage.”

“I don’t have any deadlines.” Joe’s eyes remain fixed on Barclays crotch. 

“I’m serious, if you say stop I will, but if you don’t you won’t be able to get out of bed for days. And, uh, I can put my disguise back on, you don’t have to fuck me like this, I know it’s weird.”

“Barclay, I built my life’s work on weird.” Joe pets his arm.

“Yeah but not on fucking it.”

“How do you know? Lots of my time with the UP is classified.”

“Joe…” it’s a warning, the heat in  his brain suggesting a dozen things to do so the human can’t be touched by another cryptid ever again.

“I want you, Barclay. In both forms. As long as you promise we’ll talk after, I’m okay with doing this first.”

“I promise”

“Good, because otherwise I was going out to see if there’s another bigfoot in the area who was interested.” Joe smiles, moves to pull off his shirt. He doesn’t get to; Barclay snarls possessively and drops onto him, biting his neck and ripping his clothing into a flurry of fabric scraps. The human moans, gasps when Barclay makes short work of his own pants and reveals what’s waiting beneath. Barclay doesn’t give him time to process, shoves his legs as far apart as they’ll go, and finally sinks into him.

“JesusfuckingCHRIST, ohfuck, ohmyfuckinggodAH!”

His cock is more thick than long, splitting the human open while bottoming out on every thrust. Joe’s fingers knot into the rug, his words morph into sharp, ecstatic sounds. Every creature in the forest can probably hear him. 

Barclay clamps his hand down over the humans mouth, “shut up babe, don’t want anyone else in the woods getting any ideas about how good a fuck you are. You’re fucking mine.”

A muffled moan and, when he pulls his hand back, “Y-you really think I, fuck, I can keep quiet when you fuck me like this?”

“Thought they taught FBI agents discipline” he drags his claws across Joe’s chest, relishing the shaky, happy noise that gets him. 

“There’s discipline and, AAHnnn, there’s inhuman restraint.”

Barclay slams the hand down again and growls, pleased, when Joe’s posture turns submissive.

“Here’s the deal; you keep quiet and take it like a good mate, and after I cum in you, can be as loud as you fucking want, because anyone who gets near you’ll know belong to me. I mean” he jerks his hips, “they’ll be able to tell that from the fact I’m balls-deep in you too, babe.”

Joe nods, replaces Barclays hand with his own as the Sylph hooks his knees over his shoulders. The next minute goes in a heat haze, his brain and body united in the desire to cum in Joe, to claim him,  while the human stifles his screams and grows slicker with each thrust. 

He tips his head back with a howlgrowlpurr as he cums, leaving faint clawmarks in Joe’s legs as he holds them open to make sure he takes every bit.

“Lord almighty” Joe’s hand falls to the floor, “that, that was amazing, why on earth were you acting like this isn’t something I’d waaAAAAAntohgod.” He whimpers as Barclay starts up again, fucking his cum up into him.

“Shoulda known you’d like it; you’re perfect, Joe.”

A blush and a shy moan, and he leans down to kiss him gently.

“You are. You’re the perfect man, the perfect mate, and we are gonna have so much fucking fun together.”

“And fun fucking?” He looks pleased with the wordplay.

He snorts, “Glad to know that sense of humor sticks around when I’m filling you up, oh, ohfuckyeah” another orgasm hits, milder this time. 

“Are they near constant when you’re in heat?” Joe eyes the trail of cum sliding back down Barclay’s cock.

“No, just easy to have. So” he flips the human over, squeezing his ass appreciatively, “let’s try it from  behind this time; wanna find out how it feels to cum in you while I get you off.” He slips his hand over Joe’s thigh and between his legs, “and you better fucking do it too, of I’ll drag you outside and fuck you against a tree so anyone passing by can see how fucking eager you are for me.”

“Please, we’ve spent so much time outside tonight.”

He thinks as kisses along Joe’s shoulders, “You’re right. I’ll fuck you against the door instead.”

-------------------------------------

When Stern wakes up, snow is falling in the grey light and his clock reads 2:30 P.M. Downstairs there’s a homey clink of pots and pans, and the smell of coffee winds it’s way to him. 

He fell asleep around five, he thinks, when the cumulative exhaustion of his day overpowered the thrill of being with Barclay. Honestly, he’d have kept going, but Barclay was adamant he rest. So they finished with him fucking Stern’s slack, sleepy mouth, before the cryptid bundled him into bed and snuggled up to him with those deep, rumbling purrs that Stern now loves.

The bracelet is gone from the nightstand (Yeti didn’t eat it, thank god), so the chef must be making breakfast in his human form. Now would be a good time to go down and talk. 

“Mew” A weight lands on his chest as Yeti kneads the blankets, purring when he reaches you and rubs her head.

“You know, little monster, this almost makes the heart attack you gave me worth it.”

“Mew?” The cat stares hopefully out the windows. 

“Not a chance. I can’t take that stress again. Besides” he scoops her up, “we need to unbox that new toy I ordered. Barclay and I need some time to ourselves today.”

[junhaoshua]

say my name like it’s something sacred

summary:  everyone is born with black words written on their wrist, the first words their soulmate would say to them, and the words turn red when you hear them. you’ve heard your words a dozen times, but they only turn red after you knock into a boy then run away. how are you going to find him again?

genre: fluff, soulmate au

word count: 2,506

A/N: happy birthday to the lovely chey of @soonhoonsol​!!!! she gave me two prompts: Soonyoung and World Toilet Day for her birthday fic. Chey, you’re wonderful and I’m so happy we’re friends, and I hope you like my take on your ideas ~ 

Everyone was born with black words written on their wrist, the first words their soulmate would say to them.

For some people, their words were delightfully straightforward. “Hi, my name’s so-and-so,” their soulmate’s name disclosed right there.

Some people had phrases that were so out there or so easy to misunderstand. One of your friends had the words “You actually like the devils?” on her wrist. She’d spent her teenage years hanging around screenings of soccer matches, only to hear those words from the older brother of kids she was babysitting.

And then there were phrases like yours. “Hey, it’s fine - are you okay?” Generic words, the type that you might hear a thousand times in your lifetime.

When you were younger, you’d checked your wrist every time you heard those words, hoping that this was your soulmate. The one who would make the black letters turn as red as the string of fate that tied you together. The one whose mark would appear below the words immediately after.

But it never came. The black writing still adorned your otherwise bare wrist.

---

“Alright, let’s have a ten-minute break before you start your groupwork,” your Visual Communications professor announces, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

Your two friends in the class, Mingyu and Minghao, roll their tables over to join you in the corner. “Finally, I feel like my brain’s going to short-circuit,” Gyu groans, tipping his chair to stretch out his long, long body and nearly overbalancing.

Hao grabs his hand before he can fall, glancing at you with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “Mingyu,” he says, and even though there’s exasperation in his voice, he still says his name like it’s something sacred. It’s utterly romantic.

“Sorry, Haohao,” the older boy says with a grin.

You laugh at their couple-ness. “I’m going to stretch my legs, watch my stuff?”

“See you!”

You grab your water bottle and head out of the freezing room, appreciating the warmth of the outdoors. The water cooler’s at the end of the corridor, which will give you some time to bask in the sun.

As you approach the water cooler, bright yellow tape catches your eye. OUT OF ORDER, a handwritten sign says. Ugh. This is going to take a while.

Second floor cooler broken, you text your best friend Hansol as you head towards the stairs. His class is just a few doors away from yours, and you don’t want him to make a wasted trip.

He replies instantly. They said water supply in this wing has been cut for now? Burst pipe downstairs. Prof just announced.

You send him a frowning emoji and a sigh, before pocketing your phone and picking up the pace. 

It’s quite a walk from the east wing to the central block, and you let out a sigh of relief as a working water cooler finally comes into sight, taking a long drink of cold water before filling up your bottle. 

If you hurry, maybe you can make it back in time. So you turn to go, trying to screw the lid back on as you go -

- forgetting that the water cooler is right outside the toilet, which means that you only see the boy exiting the washroom when you run right into him.

Your open water bottle splashes on him, drenching his white t-shirt, and you fall on your butt. Hard. “Sorry! I’m so sorry!” you exclaim in mortification.

“Hey, it’s fine - are you okay?” he asks, reaching down to help you up, and for a moment his soaked t-shirt is in front of your eyes. Partially hidden by his black-and-orange jacket, but still, that’s a fine chest.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you grab your water bottle, averting your eyes. “I’m fine - I’m sorry!” you squeak, not daring to look the dark-haired boy in the eye.

Before he can say anything else, you turn tail and run back to your class.

You’re panting by the time you slip into your seat across Gyu and Hao. “Sorry for keeping you guys waiting.”

“It’s okay,” Minghao murmurs distractedly, tapping away at his phone. Gyu hums, and you notice he’s frantically texting too.

You turn your laptop on and pull up the files while waiting for them to finish. This isn’t really like them. Something must have happened.

Finally Gyu puts down his phone. “Sorry about that, one of our friends - oh my god you’ve met your soulmate!” he screeches, making most of the class turn to look in your direction.

“Keep your voice down,” Minghao chides him with a smack to the back of the head.

You slowly look down at where the long sleeve of your sweater has slipped down. The words are red. Red. And there’s a cartoony little sketch of an animal head on your wrist - the stripes suggest tiger, but the chubby cheeks and little ears look like a hamster.

“Where did you go? When did you meet him? Why didn’t you say anything?” Mingyu peppers you with questions in an excited whisper.

“I didn’t realise it,” you hiss back, as what just happened slowly hits you. “God - I ran into him, right outside the toilet - my soulmate’s gonna think I’m a huge klutz -”

“Outside the toilet?” Gyu parrots, his eyes wide. “That sounds like -”

Minghao slaps a hand over Gyu’s mouth. “Like you were really fated to meet, even at such an - interesting location. And he’s your soulmate. I’m sure he’s overjoyed to meet you at last.”

“But I didn’t even get a good look at his face,” you groan, covering your face with your hands. “He was kinda lean - black hair, striped jacket - but that could be anyone, how on earth am I going to find him - go to the Soulmate Registry saying oh hey can you ask if anyone bumped into a girl outside a toilet and got water splashed on them? Yeah, that’s my soulmate -”

Gyu looks like he wants to screech again, but Hao shoots him a glare. “If fate brought you to meet each other the first time, fate’ll make sure you meet again,” the boy says, giving you a gentle pat on the hand. “I met Gyu on his last day working at the bubble tea shop, and I thought I’d never find him once school started, but we ended up being introduced by our friends.”

You bury your face in your hands. “Can we get to work now?”

Thankfully, they drop the subject, and the rest of the time is spent working on your project.

“Gyu, you were supposed to ask her something,” Hao reminds him, as class ends and you all start packing up to go.

Mingyu snaps his fingers. “Right, I nearly forgot. You know the showcase that’s coming up?”

You nod. It’s part of being a college specialising in the arts. Every semester, they hold a huge event for the students to showcase their talent - art, fashion, photography, music, dance, et cetera. “You’re going for it?”

“A group of us are, actually. The rap crew, Hao’s dance crew, and Woozi’s vocal group - you know him, right?” 

Minghao facepalms at the question, and you let out a giggle. “You mean Hansol’s soulmate?” As if it was possible to forget the person your best friend was destined to spend his life with. The short, fiery older boy was a perfect counter to Hansol’s easygoing attitude.

Gyu lets out a bark of laughter as you head out the door together. “God, my brain isn’t working today. We’re going to audition for the showcase together, as one big group. And we were thinking that our application would look a lot cooler if we had a nice video - kinda like a trailer, something to show us off, three talented groups -” Hao coughs at the casual boast “-coming together.”

You nod slowly. “It’ll be a lot more interesting than taping your performance.”

“Great!” Gyu claps his hands. “So Hansol recommended you to the group as the best person for the job, and we’d love if you could help us make it!”

“What?” you yelp in shock. “I’m not that fantastic - Why can’t you or Hao do it?”

Minghao shrugs. “I’ve seen your work, you’re pretty good. And we can’t exactly film ourselves while performing, not if we want nice angles and closeups. You’d be a great help.” 

Warmth blossoms in your chest at the compliment, but you still have reservations. “But - I don’t know your theme, your concept -”

Gyu waves a hand. “That’s no issue, you can come down and watch us practice and help to think of a concept. Please?”

It’s impossible to refuse those huge puppy eyes. You let out a sigh. “I’ll come watch, and think it over, and decide whether or not I feel up to the job after that, alright?”

“Yes!” Gyu shrieks, making everyone look over at you again. “I mean - yes, that’s fantastic, we’re going to have a practice later and you can meet -”

“The rest of the group,” Minghao cuts in. “We’ll let them know you’re coming, it’s right after your last class with Hansol.”

---

After class, you pull Hansol aside. “Okay, spill.”

Your best friend blinks at you with wide eyes. “About what?”

“Gyu was practically bouncing when I agreed to watch you guys practice, and you’ve been shooting me looks throughout class. You’re up to something.”

He flushes. “It’s just… we haven’t let anyone else in to see us perform before.”

You eye Hansol. Part of growing up together is knowing exactly when the other person is hiding something. And everything about his too-wide smile is screaming I have a secret. He’s always been an atrocious liar. “Are all the others okay with it?”

“Yeah! Yeah, they are.”

You hum. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“It’s - no, not right now.”

You eye him for a moment longer, but he looks at you with the same fixed smile. Never mind.

“So… I hear you met your soulmate,” he says after a few moments of silence.

“I should’ve known those two wouldn’t keep it a secret.”

He grins. “It’s going to make a great story to tell people, you know. How many people can say they literally fell for their soulmate?”

“Outside a toilet,” you say, flushing at the memory. “And aren’t you getting a little ahead when I don’t even know his name?”

“Yeah, so all you need is to know his name,” Hansol says, shrugging. “You’re soulmates, the rest will sort itself out.”

“What if I’m not what he wants from a soulmate? What if he’s not what I want?”

Hansol glances over at you. “What do you want?”

You sigh, thinking back to your childhood imaginings, to what you’ve always imagined your perfect other half would be like. “Funny. Bright - I don’t mean like smart, though that’s nice, I mean his energy? Loud and enthusiastic, but someone who’s okay with just sitting back and being chill too, or it would be tiring trying to keep up with him. And he’s got to be kind, and wholesome, and gentle - someone comforting, someone good...”

Hansol’s grin has been slowly growing as you talk. “I’m sure he’s going to be all of that. He’s your soulmate, he’s going to be perfect for you. And you’ll be perfect for him.”

“But -”

“No buts, I know my soulmate, you don’t, I’m the expert here.”

...he’s got a point there, not that you want to admit it. So you change the subject to something useful. “Tell me more about the performance?”

By now, you’ve reached the door of the studio, and he pushes it open with a grin. “Why don’t you see it for yourself?”

“Hansol got you to come along!” Seokmin cheers as you come in, leaping up.

You laugh and give him a hug. “Just to watch. I haven’t promised anything yet.”

“You will,” Jeonghan says knowingly as you settle down on the floor, offering you a bag of snacks. “You won’t be able to trust anyone else to make a video that captures our magnificence adequately.”

You burst out laughing, but it’s true. You know all the people in this room, and you can already imagine how to show them off. Seokmin had been your friend since middle school, and you’d been there when he met his soulmate in the new transfer student, Seungkwan. The four of you had been inseparable since. And you’d known everyone in the rap crew since high school. The leader, Seungcheol, was one of the lucky few blessed with two soulmates, who just so happened to be the last two members of Jihoon’s vocal group - Jeonghan and Jisoo.

And that’s when it hits you. “What about the dance crew?” Minghao and Jun are conspicuously absent, and you’re fairly sure there are a couple of others you’ve never met before.

“On their way, Hoshi wanted to run the choreo by them one last time before meeting us,” Seungkwan tells you, taking a sip of his iced Americano.

“Hoshi?” you echo. “I don’t think I know him?”

Jeonghan smirks. “Oh, you’ll recognise him when you see him, I’m sure -”

“He’s their leader and choreographer, you must have seen him at last year’s showcase,” Jisoo chimes in.

“I was sick, remember? So I wasn’t there to support you guys.”

Wonwoo gives a little oh. “Well, that explains - but there’s him, and Hao and Jun, and their other choreographer Dino, he’s your age.” His gaze softens when he mentions his soulmate’s name, and you can’t help but hope your soulmate will look like that when he talks about you.

“Hoshi and Dino,” you repeat, the names echoing oddly in your mind. 

“Their real names are Soonyoung and Chan,” Jihoon clarifies. “Those two, one wants to rock the stage like a dinosaur, the other one thinks he’s a tiger -” he stops when Hansol nudges him.

Just at that moment, the door opens.

“Are you sure you can do it?” the one in front asks as he comes in, waving his hands around. “It’s going to look flashy, but if you get injured -” He’s walking backwards, slim and black-haired, wearing a jacket with black and orange stripes.

Your breath catches in your throat.

“I can do it,” Minghao says, exasperation in his tone. “It’ll make a great ending.”

“And you need to watch where you’re going,” Jun says, gently taking the boy by the arms and turning him around, giving you a broad wink over his head as he does so.

The boy stops short the moment he sees you, and when you lay eyes on his face, you know.

“Soonyoung?” you ask, caught between hope and yearning.

“That’s me,” he whispers. “Hi, soulmate.”

You tell him your name and he repeats it, the word falling from his lips like it’s something sacred. “I’ve been searching for you my whole life,” he murmurs, and at that moment, you feel something missing in your heart click into place.

Because you’ve finally found the person who’s perfect for you, and you’re perfect for him, too.

[savannah-lim]

Putting The Sass In Assassin || Savannah & Norma

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @savannah-lim & @normallee  CONTENT: Knives, Death, Gun Use SUMMARY: Savannah tries to help Norma escape a bounty hunter and everything is perfectly normal   

Norma believed it was customary to feel exhausted at the end of the work day, her co-workers constantly complained about it. However, she rarely felt that way. This was likely due to the fact that Bottomless Booty was an endless supply of chaos. Usually. Tonight had been so slow, though, that nothing of interest happened. There wasn’t even one uncomfortable happy birthday song. There was a bench nearby on her walk home and she took a seat, holding her head in her hands, trying to find the strength to get back home. She felt so drained, like she could collapse any minute. Using her powers would be a risk, a fatal one. But not using them would be just as dangerous. She sighed. Bounty hunters were a nuisance, but they could be dealt with. Starvation was something she couldn’t fight or run from if she accepted her fate. There was only one solution. Norma peeled herself off the bench and walked over towards the car stopped at the red light. She knocked on the window and the driver rolled it down. Before he could say anything at all, Norma reached out and touched his shoulder. “You want to run this light,” she said, and then pulled her hand away. The man nodded and sped off, slamming into the car in front of him. The chaos was glorious. The anger, the confusion, the strife. She could drink it up all night. But she didn’t have long. She knew it wouldn’t be long until someone was after her, like the alarm signalling her location was set off. But she needed more. Just a little more.

Then a knife went whizzing past her ear. Norma squealed and turned around to try and find what direction it was coming from. A tall, thin, but strong woman was running in her direction. Norma turned and started running away. As fast as possible. She didn’t stop. Not until she ran into someone face first. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I--” Norma was about to keep running when she realized she knew this stranger. They were not a stranger at all. “Savannah! Hello! Please assist me. We need to run now. Lets go!” she said, grabbing her arm and dragging her along with her away from the bounty hunter. Savannah had helped her against those flying monkeys, surely she could do so again. 

Savannah had almost spilled her coffee all over herself when she'd heard the skidding wheels of the car speeding away, the sickening sound of metal as it crashed. She threw what was left of her cup into the trash can, beginning to sprint in the direction of the noise. She didn't get very far though before she ran face-first into Norma. Savannah didn't know what she was about to say to Norma, but Norma cut her off with a strangeness to her desperation before Savannah could even say a word. "Wh--what? There was a--" But she never got to finish her sentence before another knife rushed through the air, making a warning whistling sound as it moved and almost giving Savannah a fresh haircut.

"Run, got it!" Who the hell was throwing knives in the middle of the street? She needed to get somewhere safe with Norma before calling it in, so she grabbed the other woman, putting feet to concrete and ducking round the corner. She didn't want to lead them anywhere there might be people crowding. Not another headless horseman situation. She turned a corner, hopping a barrier into a parking lot. At least they could use the cars as cover. "What's going on?" she gasped in a whisper. "Did you see who it was?"

It was very nice that Savannah didn’t ask questions and simply decided to help Norma. Well, she asked some questions, but overall it was very convenient that she was one of the trusting humans. Maybe the other woman might even survive this ordeal. It would be a shame to have to throw her into the line of fire in order to survive. Norma hoped it wouldn’t come to that but bounty hunters were ruthless. She assumed that much was obvious but Savannah appeared to be confused. That was unfortunate, Norma had thought that she was quite smart. Perhaps she was incorrect. “Oh, that’s a bounty hunter. There’s a bounty on me and they’re attempting to murder me and collect the bounty. Do you need me to explain further?” she said between heavy breaths as they ran. They ducked behind the car and Norma did her best to peek below the car for any feet headed their way. It was very difficult to tell. “No, I didn’t. Who was it?” she asked. “Do you know them? It would be very helpful if you did.” Another knife went flying and Norma’s hands shot up to cover her ears at the deafening sound of the car window shattering. Norma glanced around and saw an alleyway between two buildings and tugged at Savannah’s sleeve before darting that way. “That ladder! We should use it!” She was too short to reach it herself, but with a boost, maybe they could climb up the strange metal ladder on the side of the building. “I would greatly appreciate your help in this matter before I’m dead, thank you.”

They didn't have time to talk, and yet, somehow Savannah always seemed to need to talk to Norma anyway. Her brain simply couldn't stop asking questions. Norma just demanded so many of them. "Why is there a bounty hunter after you?!" And why was Norma so accepting of the fact? Savannah didn't think she'd seen Norma display much of an emotion at all since she'd met her. "If you know them we can identify them, arrest them--never mind." Savannah's first priority had been to get Norma out of the street, somewhere with plenty of cover for them, but there was also lots of glass, and if her time around Regan had taught her anything, it was that glass shattered. "Careful!" She ducked as the car window sprayed tiny particles everywhere as it broke. 

Savannah pulled her gun, firing off a few warning shots, breaking a couple of car windows herself as she aimed at the assailant. She'd ducked for cover herself though, and that gave them time. "Move, let's go," she instructed, covering Norma as they made their way to the ladder. She fired off a round every time she saw the slightest bit of movement, until they reached the wall where the ladder hung. "Go, go, go. I'll give you a boost." She hoisted Norma up, then fired her gun again, buying her some more time. Another knife hit the wall near Norma’s leg. "There should be a catch at the top to release the rest of it for me." There was no way that 5'4" of Savannah would get up there on her own, but at least she had the gun.

“Because I used my pow--” Norma bit down on her tongue. Figuratively. She did not want to bite her tongue off. It would take an annoyingly long time to heal and she did not have that much time at present. “There are certain reasons that I’m aware of but cannot change at the moment so I hope that suffices for n--” Another knife came flying towards them and cut Norma’s sentence short. She had to commend this bounty hunter, they were very skilled with knives. And carried many with them at all times. 

Norma waited for the boost and when it came, she was still shocked at how high she was being thrown up towards the ladder. After letting out a bit of a shout, she pulled herself up to the next rung. It took a bit of struggling to get there, Norma was not much of an action sort of valkyrie. Thankfully, Savannah was excellent back up and used her firearm very liberally against their assailant. She rolled herself up on the top and took a second to catch her breath, screeching as another knife ricocheted off the metal railing. Yes, right, she had to work fast. “The catch and what?” she asked her companion. Neither of those words meant anything. But she was meant to release something. Likely to extend the ladder. This was not catching a fish, she knew that much. Her face scrunched up as she examined the edge of the ladder until she saw something that looked like it was meant to be manipulated and pulled the lever. The ladder dropped down and she shouted, “it worked!” She waited a second to see that Savannah made it up to the ladder rungs without issue. “Let’s go! Roof!” she said and started climbing up the stairs and ladders higher and higher. Her plan did not extend beyond the roof but she hoped her companion had more ideas. 

“Too many syllables,” Savannah said harshly as they had to duck another knife that came flying at them, hurrying Norma along and firing a few more protective shots, reloading behind the car. Reasons. Savannah would need to hear about those later, but for now she was a little preoccupied with not being turned into a pin cushion. “A clip, a lever, something to release the rest of the ladder!” Savannah’s patience was thin, as was to be expected when under fire, but thankfully, Norma released the ladder and Savannah took the opportunity to climb it like her life depended on it; because it did. A blade rushed past her leg. She felt the wind ruffle her pant leg as it whizzed through the air. Savannah climbed through the hole, catching her breath. There was no time to waste. “Here!” There was a pile of debris; metal panels and disused parking ticket machines, pieces of fencing that had been torn down from the edge of the roof last time it had been replaced, Savannah started dragging some of the lighter pieces over to guard against any flying knives, encouraging Norma to help her with the rest. 

Once they were on the roof, Norma took the random items that Savannah handed her. The thing in her hand appeared to be an old sign or something of the sort. “What am I meant to do with this?” she asked, holding it out in front of her, half ready to toss it aside. “I don’t think I need to point the way for this hunt--” The sound of clanging close behind them cut her off. Without informing the other woman, she took off running as far away as possible. Unfortunately, that was simply as far as the edge of the roof. Which was not very far at all. “Protect me!” she shouted and ducked behind the other woman. “You know how to fight! I think. You held your ground before please do so further!” A head peaked up from the edge of the roof and the assassin climbed up to face them. She had her knives ready and began to throw them. Norma screamed, keeping herself behind the other woman, holding the makeshift metal shield in front of her. The killer advanced and Norma took a step back, closer to the edge. Her balance was nothing remarkable and she found herself stumbling backwards and thought she might fall over. That would be unfortunate. She hated waking up from the near dead.

“Cover it! Cover the hole!” Savannah got kind of abrupt when she was in task-oriented mode, especially when someone’s life was in danger. Double-especially if that life was hers. She piled as much garbage on top of the hole where the ladder was as possible, but it barely seemed to slow the woman down. She heard her breaking through and cursed, running with Norma. “God damnit.” Yes, she knew how to fight. At least decently, but she wasn’t sure it would do any good against someone who seemed to have a limitless supply of throwing knives. She lifted her gun, staring at the assassin with an unyielding gaze. “Hey, asshole, I may not have my badge on me right now, but killing an FBI agent is gonna look real fucking bad for you. What do you want with my friend?”

The assassin simply stared past her, locking eyes with Norma. “Death,” she said, and pulled one final knife, throwing it right past Savannah and directly into Norma’s chest.

“NO!” Savannah yelled. She could have shot the killer. Probably should have. Instead, she dropped to Norma’s side where the metal sheet had fallen haphazardly to the floor. She shoved it aside to get a better look at the damage. “Hey! Stay with me!” 

Norma didn’t have time to put her makeshift shield back up, she barely had time to find her balance. The knife flew and plunged straight into her chest. She groaned at the pain and clutched at the handle of the weapon. She always hated this. The pain and the dying momentarily. It was all very inconvenient. She considered just pulling the knife out and walking away, but she had to get the bounty hunter to go away. She sighed dramatically and placed the back of her hand across her forehead in a manner she had seen on the television and fell back to the ground to play dead. It wasn’t terribly difficult as the pain was rather intense. “Pull. The knife. Out. When she. Leaves,” she sputtered and whispered as she lay back. “Make her think… dead.” Norma hoped that would be enough for both of them to comprehend. She really didn’t want to wake up in the morgue. Again. 

Savannah stared at Norma in a panic as she lay dying before her eyes. There was nothing to fake. The confusion and fear was all real. She didn’t know how to react as she heard Norma’s whispers, so she just busied herself with fussing around for her phone as if to call 911. She still might, depending how this went. Luckily, the assassin seemed to want nothing to do with Savannah, deeming a kill that hadn’t got a bounty attached to it unworthy of pursuit, and she disappeared into the building presumably to walk back down through the parking garage. Once it was clear, Savannah did what Norma had said, hands trembling as she removed the knife. “Norma?!” she called. “Hey, I took the knife out. Can you hear me?!” This was ridiculous. Her bloody hands reached for her phone to call for help, just as breath sprang back into Norma’s body and she awoke again before her eyes. “Great,” she sighed, her words a mix of relieved and exasperated. “Another White Crest miracle.” And that was the kindest way of putting it.

The world came back into focus as Norma gasped for air. Her vision slowly came back into focus and there was… Oh thank the gods it was Savannah leaning over her and not the bounty hunter. “Thanks,” she said through coughs as she tried to hold her wound closed. It wouldn’t kill her but it definitely felt like she should be dead. Norma hated this part of nearly dying every time. “Ambulance. If you could,” she said with little explanation. She very much hoped this human wouldn’t ask for any. “Miracle. Yes. It is.” That would certainly suffice. “I’m very glad. I ran into you. Friend.” What a good day to make a friend, too. Maybe this town wasn’t so bad after all. 

[babywarg]

Drpepperony with Stephen thinking Tony and Pepper are just using him to spice up their sex life, but they're actually in love with him. The dumbass just keeps leaving before they can tell him and barely stays around unless it's for sex

Hello, anon! May I point you to this excellent fic by White_Sparrow: Stay over if you can, which I believe suits this lovely prompt better? In the meantime, I shamelessly go off-tangent and hope anon likes it anyway, angst and sap and all 💖

Idea came to me while listening to an old fave: “Addictive” by Faithless.

Dependence

Pepper didn’t need to say she was worried about him.

Tony was, too.

So when she proposed that they talk to him, Tony offered no resistance.

“The trouble is getting him to stick around,” Tony pointed out. “Remember that time we tried to trick him into staying for breakfast?”

“I think he stopped taking our calls for days after that, too,” Pepper thoughtfully replied.

Tony made a small sound of assent. “Of course, Wong just said he was busy, so we can’t be sure…”

“He’s avoiding us for a reason, Tony.” Pepper sounded absolutely sure about this. “I just want to find out what. And if it’s a good reason…we can let him go, right?”

The words “let him go” got to him in a bad way. Like a punch to the gut. A wrenching. It hadn’t even happened yet, but it already brought on pain.

Maybe Pepper could let him go easily. As for himself…he wasn't too sure.

He laid a hand on Pepper’s shoulder. As if sensing the turmoil in his touch, Pepper leaned into it.

“I know,” she murmured, in reply to the unsaid. “I’ll miss him a lot, too. But if it’s what he needs, we have no choice.”

 ***

“There’s nothing going on with me.”

Stephen sounded genuinely puzzled. Not to mention a bit irritated. He seemed to be determined to make himself unlikeable, so Tony and Pepper would let him go right away.

…but it was really hard for them to find reason to hate on someone they’d already seen stark naked and begging, skin slick with sweat, mouth hanging open as he skirted the edge of climax.

Tony had to mentally clamp down on his arousal. Was it going to happen every time? The sorcerer would say something deliberately inflammatory, and he would flash back to so many vulnerable moments?

Well, Tony said to himself, maybe that wasn’t so bad.

“If that’s it, I can go, right?”

“No,” Pepper said sternly. Stephen frowned at her. “Stephen…we just want to know why you’re avoiding us.”

“I’m not avoiding you,” Stephen argued.

“Yeah? My five unanswered calls since Monday say otherwise,” Tony argued back. “Look - we’re adults. We should just be able to talk about stuff.”

For a moment it looked like Stephen was going to get angry. But he shut his eyes instead, let out a long, slow breath.

“I agree. Let’s be adults about this.” He straightened up in his chair, far from relaxed. “I’ll just lay it out: I have an addictive personality. I’m sensing the warning signs of addiction in myself. So I’m staying away from triggers.”

Tony and Pepper looked at each other, alarmed.

“Triggers?” Tony echoed. “From us?”

“Stephen,” Pepper began in a somber, almost pleading tone, “if there’s anything we’re doing that triggers you in any way, you can let us know. We’ll do our best to avoid it.”

“Damn right we will,” Tony supplied. “So what is it? Sex? Drink? Food? Casual conversation? I gotta say, if you ask me, we haven’t been having nearly enough of any of that - ”

“Please don’t make light of this,” Stephen said, almost too softly to hear. He ran a hand over the lower half of his face in frustration.

“I’m not making light of it,” Tony answered. To emphasize, he leaned forward and laid a reassuring hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “You’re talking to a man who knows all about addictions. And the fallout from them. I’m sorry I’m…not as refined as Pep. But I hope you know we both mean it when we say we want to help.”

Stephen took his time answering. It seemed to Tony all the while that Stephen was shrinking from his touch - was all but shrugging his hand off his shoulder.

In the end, however, Stephen took his hand, and pressed it to his lips.

“How can you possibly help,” he asked, without looking either Tony or Pepper in the eye, “when it’s the two of you I’m addicted to?”

On the other side of Stephen, Pepper reached out and quickly took his hand and Tony’s in both of her own. She knew it was not a good time to talk, and Tony trusted her instinct, shut up duly.

“You remember,” Stephen continued, encouraged by the silence. “That first time, in the penthouse of Stark Tower…I said yes only after you said it was one less regret.”

One less what-if. Yes. Tony remembered. He still occasionally gloated to Pepper about managing that one.

“Even now I’m wondering if I regret saying yes.” He finally looked up, met Tony’s eyes. He squeezed Pepper’s hand tightly. “I can’t sleep. I can barely eat. I can’t get either of you out of my head. When I succeed in not thinking of one of you, I get to thinking of the other. And when fate is feeling especially vengeful, I’m bombarded with thoughts of you both.”

Pepper laid her other hand on Stephen’s arm, and Stephen seemed to tense up from that, too.

Touch-starved was the word that came to Tony’s mind. He noticed it that first time in the penthouse. He would notice it again now, even as Stephen seemed to want to avoid being touched.

Triggers, he’d said.

“And you think this is addiction?” Pepper gently asked.

“It can’t be anything else.” The reply sounded absolute. “I recognized the signs some weeks back. When I woke up in the middle of the night embraced by you both. And my only thought was, I could do with a lifetime of this.”

Tony knew the feeling well. He had it several times a day. Whenever both Pepper and Stephen were around.

The thought of it as an addiction…amused him.

And made him realize that Stephen’s lack of experience with the feeling made him prone to misunderstanding it.

He glanced over at Pepper, and knew she was thinking the same thing. They’d discussed how Stephen seemed to be out of touch with his own emotions, a couple of times before.

“If we keep it to sex, and make it occasional, I can manage it,” Stephen said, sounding almost desperate. “If it doesn’t go further…”

“But let’s say, hypothetically,” Tony interrupted, “let’s say it’s not an addiction. Why shouldn’t it go further?”

Stephen shot a questioning look at him. He reached out and touched Stephen’s cheek.

“My point is, you may be confusing addiction with something else.” He gave that cheek the lightest of slaps, before withdrawing his hand. “Which you are highly likely to do, because you are an idiot.”

“Still a doctor,” Stephen protested, his offense genuine. “I did take up the workings of the human body and brain in school.”

“I’m no doctor, but I can come up with a couple of other diagnoses,” Pepper offered. “Fear of rejection. Fear of intimacy. Fear of loss. In a word: fear. Something that has less to do with the human body, and more to do with human emotion. You know…” She ran a hand through his hair. “…that part of you that you seem to like ignoring.”

At that instant, Stephen seemed to have forgotten that being touched made him nervous. He relaxed under Pepper’s fingertips.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered to him. “We’ll take care of that, if you’ll let us.”

He looked at her - confused, but calmer. “What are you…proposing, exactly?”

“Just that we want to get to know you better,” she answered, smiling. “We want to know more than what you like in bed.”

“And we want you to get to know us better, too.” Tony hooked his arm around Stephen’s, grasped his hand tightly. “You’re already a part of our lives, Stephen. We want to be a part of your life, too. And if in the long run, it doesn’t work out -” He winked at Stephen. “- it’s at least one less regret, right?”

Stephen gripped Tony’s hand, and his shaking was undeniable. For only a second.

Then his grip relaxed, and he breathed a sigh of relief, for what felt like the first time in a long time.

[gumnut-logic]

We’ll Be Home For Christmas 1.1

Title: We’ll be home for Christmas

Day One – A Tale of a Fateful Trip – Part 1 (Prologue)

Author: Gumnut

8 Dec 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: The boys can’t fly home for Christmas, so they have to find another way.

Word count: 3490

Spoilers & warnings: language and so, so much fluff. Science!Gordon. Minor various ships, mostly background.

Timeline: Christmas Season 3, I have also kinda ignored the main storyline of Season 3. The boys needed a break, so I gave them one. Post season 3B, before Season 3C cos we haven’t seen it yet.

Author’s note: For @scattergraph

This is my 2019 TAG Secret Santa fic and it is a big one ::headdesk:: I hope you enjoy it. I know I have thoroughly enjoyed researching a gorgeous corner of this planet.

Many thanks to @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for cheering me on and their wonderful support through this craziness. And to @onereyofstarlight for geeking out with me over the setting.

And as always, thank you all for creating such a fantastic fandom. Thundernerds rock! I hope you all have a wonderful festive season. Thank you all so much for everything.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

 Day One: A Tale of a Fateful Trip

Virgil was miserable.

Pain was minimal as long as he didn’t move too much. He didn’t really even need any of the painkillers that he was given to take with him at the hospital. It was just that he knew his brothers were tired, and despite the attractions of the beautiful city of Auckland, all they really wanted to do was go home.

His brothers could quite easily do just that. The ‘birds were at the local GDF base, it would be a matter of minutes and they would be home. But Virgil wasn’t allowed off the ground, they wouldn’t risk him and they wouldn’t leave him behind, no matter how many times he told them to do just that.

The glare Scott raked him with the last time he suggested it had been scathing.

Didn’t make him feel any better.

Grandma, of course, sensed his sadness and was known to slip up behind the couch he was chained to and wrap her arms around him. She kissed his hair and mumbled reassuring words in his ear.

He was ever so grateful, but he was still miserable.

Balled up cartridge paper lay about his feet. His pencil just wouldn’t create anything of value. Creating gave him a boost, and he desperately wanted to feel something positive, so he persisted, but the pile of balled up paper at his feet just got bigger and in the end he threw the pad and pencil aside, wincing when the pencil hit the table and likely destroyed the lead inside.

With a groan he levered his feet onto the couch and curled up into a flinching ball of misery.

His brain conveniently listed off all the positives about his life, everything he should be thankful for and all the reasons he shouldn’t be feeling sorry for himself. That just made him angry and annoyed that he was so pathetic.

God, he hated this.

He wasn’t really that ill. Just had some small difficulty moving and couldn’t fly to go home.

His family was suffering and it was all his damn fault.

“Hey, Virg?” The voice was soft, but it was definitely Scott testing to see if he was awake.

“What?” So he was grumpy, big deal.

“You’re awake.”

Well, yeah. He didn’t answer that.

Scott edged into his line of sight. Maybe his brother sensed his foul mood.

Of course, that thought just made him feel worse. The word ‘burden’ came to mind.

He closed his eyes, took a second, and then forced himself once again upright. Familiar hands reached into help, gently holding his shoulders until he was steady. “I’m fine.”

Scott shifted the detritus over on the coffee table and sat down in front of Virgil, his long frame folding neatly and a lot smoother than Virgil had any hope of achieving at the moment. “How would you like to go home?”

Virgil looked up at him. “How? I can’t fly.”

“Flight is only one way to get to Tracy Island.” He smiled. “We have a very versatile aquanaut on our team.”

Virgil stared at him. “Thunderbird Four? It’s just as pressurised as Two. Carries the same risks.”

The smile softened. “No, Virgil, Gordon can pilot more than a submarine. He’s bought us a boat.”

“A boat?”

“Actually, technically it is a yacht and a luxury one at that.” Gordon’s grin was broad and eager as he entered the room. “All aboard for Tracy Island, bro. She’s got all the perks and enough under the hood to get us there in time for Christmas.”

Virgil stared at him. Then stared at Scott. “Really?”

Scott’s smile was a sight. “I really don’t know why we didn’t think of it earlier.”

“Because all you pilot types live in the clouds.” Gordon strode up to his eldest brother and dug him one in the ribs before turning to Virgil. “So, what do you say, Virg? Up for a little cruise? Should take us about three days. Kayo and Grandma have gone Christmas shopping and will likely haul half of New Zealand’s food supply back in Two. Scott’s already stashed One and Tracy Two can stay until we need to pick her up.” Gordon had obviously worked out all the details. His brother was literally bouncing where he stood. But then it wasn’t often the aquanaut got to ferry his family around.

Virgil stared at his brothers. “Us three?”

Scott’s smile became a grin. “No, us five. All of us.”

“Five bachelors cruising on the open sea.” Gordon waved his hand across the room as if peering into a far horizon.

Virgil arched an eyebrow at him. All of them. All five brothers. Together. On a boat. For three days. His gaze turned to Scott. “You sure you want to do this?”

There was something in his brother’s blue eyes. “I’m sure.”

Virgil straightened where he sat. Surprisingly, he felt lighter, more positive. Could be the energy radiating off Gordon. His brother was always a bucket of sunshine in the rain. “Okay. When do we leave?”

“Yes.” Gordon actually fist pumped the air. Virgil couldn’t help but grin. “Now, big bro, pack your bags, we are going now.”

Virgil’s eyes widened. “Now?” That explained why he had been alone all morning.

But Scott had already started moving, Virgil’s meagre pile of supplies being shoved into the overnight bag that had sufficed for his hospital stay. “Well, we want to be home for Christmas, so we have to get going.”

Virgil moved to stand up.

Gordon stepped in front of him. “Hey, no, you stay there. This is a full service operation, Virg. We’ve got this.”

Another arched eyebrow was an answer to that, but Gordon was as good as his word and before Virgil could think twice, he was in a car, luggage in the trunk and on his way to the docks.

-o-o-o-

Scott was tired. It had been a long...well, everything. International Rescue never stopped, Tracy Industries never stopped and apparently, his brothers never stopped.

Virgil had scared him.

Okay, so nowadays appendicitis was a mild inconvenience, but in the past it was a killer and a painful and sudden one at that. Perhaps it was because it was something innocuous, something not related to a rescue and so out of the blue that it knocked Scott around so badly. But what worried him more was that his brother had ignored the warning signs of serious illness in favour of International Rescue. It wasn’t the first time and he wasn’t the only one of the brothers to do such a thing. Hell, Scott himself had done it. Lives had been saved despite injury and illness many times. But perhaps this was a louder warning. Perhaps they should be taking better care of themselves.

Grandma’s scathing words had driven it home. The Tracys were taking this Christmas off. They were due the time, they were tired, Virgil was ill. Any of those three on their own were cause for concern. All three together forced their matriarch to lay down the law.

Scott knew his place.

And she was right.

But their dilemma was a frustrating one. None of his brothers, particularly John, could fully relax away from home. There were celebrity issues to begin with, and this forced idleness rankled badly.

So, when Gordon suggested they go home via sea, Scott jumped on the idea wondering why he hadn’t thought of it earlier. Three days on the ocean. They would still be idle, but they would be away from restrictions, out beneath the blue sky and they could be home for Christmas.

And how long had it been since all five of them had been together like that? Had it happened since they were children on one of Dad’s road trips?

Scott swallowed as the car with himself, Virgil and Gordon made its way down to the docks. The sight of the ocean lifted his spirits more than he would ever admit to his aquanaut brother.

The vehicle slipped through a security checkpoint and into a private area.

“Isn’t she a beauty?” Gordon was bouncing again, this time in his seat. The aquanaut was going to have the time of his life over this little trip. Scott couldn’t help but smile at his happiness.

And yes, the boat was a gorgeous craft, even to a flyboy like himself. She had clean lines and looked fast sitting still. White with a streak of yellow down her length...no doubt, very recently applied along with the name on her bow, A Little Lightning.

She was large, but not huge. Just big enough for five tired brothers to live in comfort and fly fast over the waves.

Gordon was spouting off her specs to a politely interested Virgil. Scott tilted his head to one side...no, that spark in his engineer brother’s eyes spoke of genuine curiosity. Scott smirked just a little. Might need to watch Virg for the first couple of days to keep him out of the engine. He could pull it apart and put it back together once they were home and he was better.

Scott lent his brother a hand to get out of the car. He was still walking slowly, careful of his incisions, but he was a touch straighter than a couple days ago and he was off medication - though that was no surprise. Getting him to take any medication at any time was a challenge.

“She’s beautiful, Gordon. How did you find her so fast?”

Their brother grinned. “I have friends, Virg. You know, those people you can share a drink with from time to time.”

Virgil’s flat eyed glare was more fond than exasperated. “How much money did you throw at these friends?”

A shrug was all the answer he gave. “It’s worth it.”

“Give me a number and I’ll throw it your way.” Virgil was sincerity itself.

“Forget it, bro. Not required.” The hand waved in Virgil’s direction was entirely dismissive. “Just have a look, Virg. This girl has speed!” And the discussion devolved into specs again as the two of them walked towards the pier.

Hmm, apparently, Scott was cabin boy today.

To be honest, he didn’t care.

Loading himself with luggage, he followed their slow progress onto the dock.

-o-o-o-

John wasn’t much of a sailor, but when Gordon suggested the trip, he jumped on it.

Out in the middle of the ocean he could see the stars unhindered, it would be quiet except for the wind, water and their boat and, to be honest, it would be good to just be with his brothers uninterrupted.

And besides, on Earth, the ocean was the closest he could get to the weightless freedom of space.

So the astronaut was happy to help prep the boat. Being a resident of Tracy Island required at least some marine knowledge for safety’s sake and it felt good to exercise it for a change.

Alan was a little less enthusiastic until John mentioned a new video game recently released in beta. He had meant to mention it to his littlest brother some weeks ago, but life got in the way. Years ago, the two of them used to tackle each other in various games and they hadn’t done so in ages. John had contributed to this game at the request of a couple of associates from college. It was a high level space simulator matched with an adventure storyline. It should have a good enough mix of reality and fantasy to keep the hi-octane teenager amused in those moments of too much quiet.

Gordon had already allocated some time to some extra-curricular activities around the Kermadec Island group south of Tracy Island, so there would be plenty of the softer sciences to go around somewhere in their second day of the voyage.

John smiled at Gordon’s reaction to the term ‘softer sciences’. He hadn’t known his younger brother actually knew the definition of the word he used. Then again usage didn’t always prove understanding. A few more words in Swedish at a later date should clarify that situation.

As he placed the last of their food supplies into refrigeration, he heard the first distant rumble of a familiar voice, followed by the excited chatter of his aquanaut brother.

His smile widened and he made his way out onto the deck. Virgil had an arm tight against his belly, but his expression was excited as Gordon rabbited on about the engine specifications of his new boat.

Well, John, Alan and Scott had contributed to the cost of the boat, but it really was Gordon’s regardless. None of them really cared about it other than it getting them and their brothers home safely. Gordon was the one who loved a good ocean-going vessel and this was definitely a brilliant contender.

John rolled his eyes at Virgil as he offered him a hand getting onboard and his brother grinned at him. A few solid steps and the engineer got his feet securely on the boat. His brown eyes caught John’s and he suddenly found himself caught in one of his bear hugs. Perhaps not as rigorous as usual, but just as warm.

John couldn’t help, but hug back.

“Hey, where’s mine? This was my idea, after all.”

Virgil laughed and wrapped his arms around Gordon. “Thanks, fishy.” It was brief, but all three men were grinning as the two brothers separated.

“Well, that’s sweet and all, but some of us have to work for a living.” John smirked as Scott arrived at the water’s edge draped in luggage. A quick leap onto the dock and he helped him shed bags and the odd suitcase and with Gordon’s help, lug them onto the yacht.

Virgil was hugging Alan, who had emerged from the cabin.

John nudged Scott. Under his breath, “He okay?”

“Seems happy enough about the boat.” A sigh. “Looked miserable enough to sink it before I told him.”

“Let’s hope it cheers him up.”

“Let’s hope it cheers us all up. It’s Christmas, for crying out loud.” Scott grabbed the bag with Virgil’s art equipment, which had been added to without the artist’s knowledge and clambered onto the boat and headed in the direction of the cabin assigned to Virgil.

Gordon had dragged Virgil up to what he called ‘The Bridge’, what Scott called ‘The Cockpit’ and what was blatantly and obviously the control centre of the yacht - it would be flyboys versus fish for the entire voyage, no doubt. Said fish could be heard still babbling excitedly to his engineer brother.

John made a note to rescue the invalid if necessary.

Between John and Scott, they unloaded the last pieces of luggage and sent the driver on his way with a generous tip. John ran the supplies list through his head. Gordon had managed all the permits and regulations an international voyage by sea required and there were quite a few. There was less red tape in space.

Of course, when your daughter is an AI, the red tape moves just that little faster. And yes, he did smile to himself. He couldn’t help it.

-o-o-o-

A Little Lightning left dock just after the tide turned midafternoon. It would have been better to leave early in the morning, but time was what it was and they set out when they could. It had been decided that between the autopilot and four out of five brothers and no, Virgil, you are not piloting this ship, so forget it, they could make up the time overnight.

“It’s a boat, Scott.”

“Semantics, Gordon.”

“Reality, Scott.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Are we going to hear this discussion the entire way?” He had stashed himself in a comfortable seat at the back of the ‘bridge’. He had a great view of Waitemata Harbour as they cruised slowly past the CBD of Auckland itself. The weather was fantastic and the sea calm as glass. The forecast said the same for the next three days and the only stormy hints were in his brothers’ eyes.

“Regardless of the type of craft, Virgil, you aren’t able to drive a car at the moment, much less pilot a boat.” Emphasis was put on the word ‘boat’ as his eldest brother glared like a petulant child at his aquanaut brother.

“Fine. I’ll be chauffeured.”

Gordon snorted as he directed the yacht between past an incoming liner. “Now you know how it feels.”

“Know what feels?”

“Not being allowed to drive.”

Virgil glared at his brother, but couldn’t think of an adequate retort.

Alan snickered.

“Shut up, Alan.” Okay, so perhaps Gordon had a point. “She’s my ‘bird, Gordon.”

“It’s okay, Virg. We understand, don’t we, guys.” Gordon grinned back at him. John smiled. Alan rolled his eyes.

Scott shrugged. “I don’t have a problem. Virgil doesn’t hesitate to let me fly Thunderbird Two.”

“You’re hardly ever on Two.”

“So? Virgil doesn’t have a problem with me flying Two, do you Virg?”

Four pairs of eyes stared at him in challenge, but not all from the same perspective.

“Er...”

“You think Scott is a better pilot that the rest of us?” Alan was always the direct one.

Virgil opened his mouth, but his eldest brother beat him to it. “I am a better pilot than all of you.”

“What?!” It was an offended scoff from the two youngest.

“Though I will admit that you each have your specialities with your ‘birds. Virgil is much better with Two than I am, for example.”

“And you are totally pathetic in Four, let me tell you.” Gordon was staring out across the bow, but there was still a smirk on his face.

“Excuse me?”

“Who buried my girl in sea sludge recently?”

“That was unavoidable.”

Gordon spun on the spot. “What?! You’re still claiming you had no choice? I gave you recommendations on comms, you ignored them and look what happened, oh mighty pilot. You may be the greatest in the air, but you suck underwater, Scott, face it.”

“And I can run rings around you in Three, trust me on that.” Alan folded his arms and stuck his nose in the air.

“Hey!” Virgil shouted and cut off the discussion. “What the hell? You’re all damn good and fine pilots, no matter the craft. So, I’m a control freak with my girl. You’re all the same. When was the last time I piloted any of your craft? I’m fully trained and fully capable as any of you are, but she is my ‘bird and while I’m alive and kicking, I will fly her. That is no reflection on your capability, only on mine. And for god’s sake, get over it.”

Okay, so he got a little angry. It wasn’t his best attempt at diffusing an argument, ever, but the dumb ass looks directed at him were at least silent ones.

“Now stop fighting and let us enjoy this trip.” He blinked. “And Gordon, you might want to avoid that oncoming container ship.”

The aquanaut jumped and the yacht swerved as he shifted her quickly to the left to give way to the massive cargo carrier bearing down on them. The sharp dirge of the ship’s horn emphasised her captain’s ire at their deviation into his vessel’s path.

“Sorry!”

It was a vain apologetic gesture of his little brother’s part. It did put an effective end to their argument nonetheless.

There were many islands at the mouth of Auckland’s main harbour and it was extremely scenic, particularly the volcanoes.

Virgil was intimately familiar with volcanic structures and had visited several as part of IR, he understood their power and had witnessed it first hand, but the artist in him never failed to be caught by their symmetry and their mystery. They still caught his imagination and stunned him.

As they accelerated around the islands and out into the bay proper, the sea opened out into a beautifully flat expanse of watery blue. They were still surrounded on all sides by distant patches of green. Another little volcanic island reared up and they cruised past. A couple of dolphins danced along in the wake at their bow. John helped Virgil climb up the stairs to the railing at the front of the boat. He twinged several times, but ignored it despite the frown of Scott following up behind him.

It was worth it to stand up the front, the wind in his hair, a brother either side of him. The last of the islands passed by and the ocean opened up in front of them.

Dolphins continued to keep them company.

Both Scott and John kept a grip on an arm each, wary of him stressing himself in any way. Virgil turned his face into the wind and closed his eyes, letting the sensations fill his mind.

“Better?” It was a whisper from Scott, barely heard above the rush of air over his ears.

Virgil smiled.

“Better.”

-o-o-o-

End Day One, Part One.

Day One, Part Two

[that-otome-potato]

My Brother’s Keeper

Theo has spoken to me because of this beautiful post by the lovely and talented @dear-mrs-otome. I always enjoy your character analysis', especially when they inspire writing!  I suggest everyone who sees this read it and everything else she's written because it's all so amazing, I have no more words.

Other that those and what I'm about to post of course... <<

Anyways!

Theo/MC A dollop of angst and a dash of fluff with a hint at relations off screen at the end. Enjoy!

(@masamunesmistress and @calicocrest)

What was he thinking?

Of course she would be interested in Vincent.  Who wouldn't?  He was smart, passionate, talented, kind... He was everything Theo wasn't.

Theo sat outside a shop in Paris while ______ looked through its wares. What shop it was, he couldn't say - just that she had begged him to go with her and he couldn't tell her no.

He sighed, feeling the cool breeze of the approaching season change lift his short hazel locks, the ends brushing his ears softly.  He had overheard ______ just now, talking to the shop owner about his brother and it felt like his heart was being squeezed painfully.  She hadn't said his name, per say, but he knew she was talking about Vincent just by the excitement and the words she had used.  

But he wasn't unhappy about it.  No, if it meant his brother was happy because of her - there were signs that there was something going on between them - they both had his blessings.  He would watch over them until they both lost her to time.

At least a hundred years lay ahead for the brothers, fifty of which would be watching his brother love ______. Then the rest of the years would, hopefully, be of Vincent reliving all the memories he would make with her. 

Theo rubbed the space over his heart to assuage the ache, to no avail.  The pressure he felt likely wouldn't pass within ______'s lifetime, only getting worse until the end of his own.

He loved ______, too.

He'd known it for some time now, but he never said anything because he knew that his bother cared for her as well, and he would always put Vincent's feelings before his own in all things.  Without question.

But that didn't mean it made spending time with her and Vincent any easier.  Especially when he found himself alone with ______.

She was as bright as Vincent's sunflowers, in both brains and how she lit up any room she entered. Just as beautiful as any of his brother's paintings.  He was in awe that such a creature existed in any time and that she had found her way into Le Comte's manor filled with vampires. Yet her light refused to dim and he felt drawn to it, like a moth to a flame.

He'd lost count of how many times he had caught himself searching her out, reaching out to run his hand through her long hair, to trail his calloused fingertips across her gentle jawline.  Always pulling back from actually touching her, feeling her warmth against fingers cold as death.  He refused to taint her with his touch.

So he would settle with simple observation and watching over her and his elder brother with fond affection.

"Okay, Theo! Are you ready to move on?"

He turned his head at the sound of her voice, feeling it caress his ears like and feeling as sweet as maple syrup, to see her standing next to him with a bag in-hand and a smile on her face.

'I could never move on,' his brain supplied silently, carrying on from his line of thought while he waited.  "Of course.  Where are you dragging me next, hondje?"

The pressure on his heart increased at the sight of her smile, the sun shining a little brighter in his eyes when ______ directed it towards him.  "We've been shopping for a while now.  I thought it would be nice to go to a confectionery for a snack and some tea?  I mean, unless you would rather we didn't.  In that case, we can..."

"Tea is fine." He said, louder than necessary, speaking over ______ to keep her from rambling.

After their stop at the confectionery, they continued their shopping trip and talked about nothing in particular, but he had never felt so at peace.  He wanted to spend more time with ______, wanted to steal her away, keep her all to himself.

An image of Vincent and ______ from just that morning flashed past his vision and he flinched, making him curse at himself under his breath in his native tongue.  No touching.

"Theo? What's wrong?"

Her melodious voice brought his attention back to the present and he turned his head slightly to show she had his attention.  "What do you mean?  Nothing's wrong."

"But you've been sighing and growling all day."

"It's just your overactive imagination, hondje."

"If you say so.  If this is too much trouble, I don't want to force you to stay.  I am a big girl after all.  I can take care of myself."

"You aren't forcing me to do anything.  As if a weakling like you even could."  'It's me that's being forceful.  Forcing my presence on you because I can't bring myself to stay away.'

The air changed slightly at the words he spoke aloud.  Theo could tell that he had hurt her feelings.  He knew she was just trying to be kind.

"Friends spend time together, you know.  They worry about each other when they're hurting or upset.  I can tell you're upset about something and I'm sad you won't confide in me. Especially after all the times I have in you."

Theo stopped next to a shop down one of the smaller side streets that had already closed for the night and turned to ______.  When he looked at her, he saw an expectant look on her face as if urging him to answer. He couldn’t help but wonder what look she saw on his face. 

He cast his gaze down and frowned, trying to avoid her beautiful gaze and said, "It's not that simple, hondje.  I don't open myself to others, not even my brother.  Even considering you a friend, I cannot burden you with all that is on my mind."

"Why not?  How hard can it be?  How often have you been my closest confidant by now?"

"More often than I likely should have been.  Vincent would be better to talk to than me."

"You say that, like always, but you're the one I want to talk to.  Vince has nothing to do with it.  Why do you feel like you can't talk to me?"

"Never mind. Let's get back to the mansion.  It's getting dark." Theo turned to move back down the street, but stopped at the feeling of a small, strong hand keeping him in place. "Let go.”

"Not until you tell me what's wrong, Theo.  I'm really worried about you.  I care about you and want to make sure you're happy."

Using her grip on him, he suddenly pushed ______ against the wall of the little shop, causing the store front windows to rattle.  He wanted her to care for him, he did.  But caring for someone like him took away from his brother and he couldn't do that.  If he knew scaring her would work, he would have done that the moment he realized his feelings for the human woman.

In the time it took her to blink, Theo had one hand against the wall next to her head, his other hand around her neck, squeezing ever so slightly as he crowded her soft body with his own. He distantly felt a fission of surprise when he didn’t see fear in her eyes, but determination.

"Why?  Why do you care for us? For me?  We are monsters and it's only by fate that some of us are even remotely good.  Vincent is good - one of the best of us at the mansion.  I am not.  I could easily snap your neck like a twig and not... not..." He couldn't finish the thought because it was a boldfaced lie.  He could never cause pain or irreparable harm to this woman. 

Finger by finger, he slowly released the hand around her neck, unable to continue meeting her gaze.  When he attempted to pull away from her completely, ______ stopped him by placing a delicate hand on his cheek.  The softness it exuded made it feel as if his eyes would begin stinging with unshed tears.

"You are good, Theo, and it hurts me that you can't see that."

Theo felt his eyes grow wide.  "It hurts you?  That doesn't make sense."

His confusion caused a warm smile to form on her lips.  "What doesn't make sense?  You are kind, caring, passionate, selfless.  I can count on you for everything. You protect that which means the most to you.  You are charismatic and sexy as hell.  You make me laugh when I'm feeling down and keep me company when I'm feeling lonely.

"I've come to realize that there is so much more light in my life when you're around and the idea of losing that terrifies me."

"What are you saying?  Are you telling me that you love me?  Over my brother?  I don't believe it one bit.  It's just not possible."

"It's not only possible, but real." When she saw he was going to protest again, she leaned up quickly to press her lips against his own, effectively halting his protests with only a small sound of surprise from Theo.

Her words caused something inside him to snap. Eyes closed, he opened his lips to take hers. Theo lifted his free hand, once around the slender column of her neck, and threaded his fingers through her hair to grip at the back of her head, holding her still as he took over the kiss and consumed all the passion he felt coming off her in waves, fueling his own.

When ______ moaned against his lips, he felt the heady sound all through out his body, copying her sounds and hardening against hers, his fangs elongating as if to bite her.

'What the hell am I doing? I have to stop, I have to get away!  I won’t bite her! Theo distantly thought to himself as he added his tongue to dance with hers, sucking it into his mouth rhythmically. 

Just as he was starting to roll his hips against her, the thirst for her growing in more ways than one to a fever pitch, Theo had a moment of clarity. ‘What about Vincent?’

That thought alone was strong enough to break through the haze of lust that had overcome him. Immediately, Theo thrust himself away from ______ and flying back into the wall behind him across the street with all his vampire strength. He flinched when he heard the brick of the building crack and mortar crumble around him. 

“This...this isn’t...” He panted, heaving for breath and gripping the wall behind him for support.

“Theo?”

His name on her lips was all it took to call his gaze back towards where he’d cast himself from where they had shared a passionate, all consuming kiss.  Where he had felt a growing urge to bite her supple flesh. Knew that, had they continued what they were doing, he would have sunk his teeth into her skin and drank from her like a man denied water after being lost in a desert. 

“No!  I’m not safe.  You need to be with someone who can control himself. Someone who won’t be tempted to bite you and drink you dry. Another human if you don’t want to be with...”

“Theo!” She called to him, taking a step towards him.

“NO! I love you too much to see you unhappy or, hell, dead!”

All sound came to a grinding halt on her gasp of surprise at his unintentional confession. It was so absolute that no bugs, creatures or wind dared to make their sounds known.  ______ just stared at him wide-eyed with shock at his outburst of truth.

It was difficult to swallow under her stare and he felt his adams apple bobbing with his attempts. What would she do now? Had he finally got his point across? He was no good compared to many of the other occupants of Le Comte’s mansion.

“Come on, ______, I’ll take you back to the mansion.” Theo mumbled while beginning to walk down the small street leading to the mansion. ‘Then I can hand her over into Vincent’s and leave, never see her again.  I’ve heard the Orient is nice this time of year.  Spend a century selling art work over there shouldn’t be too difficult...’

Just as he was about turn down the long, tree-lined drive to the mansion, he heard her shoes clicking rapidly against the cobbled ground as she rushed towards him, throwing herself at his back. Theo froze when her small arms wrapped around his torso, one hand resting over his heart.

“I...same.” Her soft, muffled whisper against the fabric of his coat found its way up to his ears.  Slowly, Theo turned around in her embrace to face her.

“What did you say?”

______ looked up at him, her eyes darting back and forth between his own, cheeks flushed the same charming rose he would associate with her forever.  “______?”

______’s blush only deepened when he said her name, her pupils dilating.  That was a surprising reaction.

“I... feel the same, Theo.  For a long time now.  My feelings are for you.  Not your brother.”

Now it was his turn to study her face.  Surely she jests!  But, while examining her face, never had he seen such a serious look there.  He couldn’t help but believe her.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Theo had one arm around her delicate waist, holding her against his body, the other hand on her cheek.  He drew her close, leaning forward to meet half way to kiss lips still berry-red from just minutes earlier.

This kiss was sweet compared to their first, but filled with just as much passion.

This time, when Theo pulled away, he didn’t run.  With eyes still closed, he pressed their foreheads together as they both fought to catch their breath.  

“Are you sure it’s me you want, ______? You only get this one chance to change your mind.”

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.  I know how possessive you can be.  I want to be with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

For the first time that day, and honestly, in the longest time, Theo smiled at her.  One of the most authentic smiles she had ever seen. “That’s my line, you know.  Now, lets get home.  We have some things to talk about, you and I.”

[terminally-anxious]

Words hurt (part 3)

summary: Words have consequences, Virgil knows this better than anyone else.

(Warning: This is a very heavy angst fic, if you are sensitive to any of the things i have put in the TW section, SKIP THIS FIC! DO NOT CLICK KEEP READING IF ANY OF THIS TRIGGERS YOU)

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, those fully belong to Thomas Sanders and his friends.

Word count: 1708

Tw: Blood, wounds, talking behind someones back, hate, self hatred, body horror, gore?, cuts, crying, self deprecating thoughts, angst, heavy angst, shouting, anger, yelling, negative comments, vivid description of cuts, arguing, shouting, all caps, suture, scars, pain, (if there are anymore, Please tell me, this is a very heavy fic.)

Master list

Pairings:  Familial LAMP

He knew things weren’t magically gonna get better, so he wasn’t all that surprised when he still got some small cuts here and there. Which to Virgil was still a relief. The thick bandages and gauze had been replaced with large bandaids instead, a step in the right direction at least.

Now though, there hadn’t really been an incident in 2 months. He supposed it always came out of nowhere, when his guard was down. He should have expected it really, but he’d gone lax the last couple of weeks. Being pain free kinda did that to a side, or so he thought at least.

The day had started as it normally did for Virgil, he woke up just before noon, went into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, fixed his hair and got dressed. He didn’t really stop to inspect his body for fresh cuts anymore, the only thing left were the scars, although they were very visible. Some were still a fresh pink color, while others had faded into white, some of them had that tan in between color.

It still stung looking at them sometimes, they were a reminder. The others still didn’t know, and if Virgil could prevent it, they never would either.

But it seemed fate didn’t care about Virgil wanted. It had apparently decided that the others needed to know, and that they needed to know today.

While the start of the day went okay, the rest of the day did not…

Logan and Roman had decided that they all needed to gather in the commons, so they could discuss ideas for the next video. It was not going too well…

“There’s nothing wrong with this idea virgil! the fanders have all been asking to see more of Thomas’s personal life, a draw my life would be perfect!” Roman shouted, his hands balled up into fists at his sides. They had been going over this for nearly an hour, and neither Roman or Virgil was willing to back down.

They were standing on opposite ends of the coffee table, Virgil with his arms crossed and Roman shaking with anger. Logan and patton had long since vacated into the kitchen, knowing that the two of them would argue for quite some time, and not wanting to get mixed up into it.

“I know what they want, but putting out such personal information could make us all vulnerable, someone could use the information to hurt us!” Virgil bit out. He knew that using anger to mask his fear wasn’t the best tactic, but he couldn’t show Roman how much his idea frightened him.

It was apparently the wrong thing to say as Roman’s face turned a brilliant scarlet before he screamed at Virgil. “It isn’t all about you! You always ruin my ideas with your gloomy output, you nightmare!”

A quick hot agony slashed straight across his face, from jaw to temple. It had been so long since anyone’s words had cut him, Virgil had kind of forgotten how painful a full on slash could be.

Virgil let out a sound between alarm and pain, staggering back a few steps as his hands flew towards his face.

It burned. It was like someone had taken a burning whip to his face, and the blood that seeped out came in a rush, coating his hands and flowing freely down his face and shirt.

“Virgil…?” Roman’s voice was shaky, a tell tale sign of uncertainty.

He removed one of the hands clutching at his face, it was shaking. Virgil turned his gaze away from his bloody hand, instead focusing on Roman. His usual flight tactic abandoned him, Roman’s left hand was covering his mouth and it looked like tears were building in the corners of his eyes. He had an expression of utter horror, the foreign emotion on the royals face was enough to stop him from sinking out.

“Are you two finished bickering amongst yourself? can we actually do something produc… Virgil?” Logan interrupted his own rant as he saw Virgil’s bloody hand stretched out in front of himself.

It took a moment for Logic’s brain to catch up with what he was seeing, but when he finally did, his eyes grew wide, mouth falling open in shock.

It seemed like an eternity passed, and then...

“ROMAN! WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Logan shrieked, fury and disbelief coloring his voice.

This was too much attention for Virgil’s liking, he needed to go. He braced himself for sinking out, but was stopped by a hand gripping his wrist. Virgil flinched.

“It’s okay kiddo, it’s just me..” The voice was soothing, as if trying to placate a scared animal; In a way, he kinda was. He let the familiar hands of his best friend help him sit down instead.

Logan was still glaring down Roman, having now put himself between the royal and the anxious side.

Roman had staggered back a few steps, his hand never leaving his mouth, but his tears of horror now flowing freely. “I didn’t…. what.. I-i gotta g-go!” The creative side managed to blurt out, before sinking out.

A tense moment passed, broken when Logan heaved a sigh.

“Virgil, would you allow me to take a look at your injury? You are bleeding quite a bit, and it’s imperative that we get the bleeding stopped and the wound dressed.” The logical side had bent down and was crouching in front of the two sitting on the floor.

Virgil hesitated, he hurt and this was something he never wanted them to know about, but this time he knew he couldn’t fix it alone. The face was a delicate area, the skin beneath his eyes had gotten a lot of slices during the years, and it was always a difficult task to fix and hide the damage done.

His entire body sagged with defeat, he didn’t want to, but it didn’t seem like he had any choice.

Slowly he lowered his other hand and looked at Logan, or well his right eye did, the left one was caked in fresh and very wet blood, making it impossible to open it.

Logan hissed quietly through his teeth, while Patton let out a horrified gasp. “Oh my god…”

“D-did Roman strike you with his sword?”

“no… H-he… He called me a nightmare..” Virgil mumbled, closing his eyes, beyond exhausted.

“A nightmare? Virgil, i’m not sure I understand. Could you elaborate?”

A bone weary sigh left the anxious side, it was useless to hide it now. He had to tell the truth, even if it sucked.

“It started before Thomas was 17, but escalated after one incident.. Remember that party Roman insisted on going to?”

“Yes, we ended up not going, Roman was furious.” Patton answers, looking a little lost.

“well, Roman told me i was a liability, and was always ruining everything… His words hurt me, cut me…”

“I still don’t understand, i know hearing things like that hurts, but what has that to do with this?” The Logical looked downright puzzled, but comprehension started to bleed into Morality’s expression.

Virgil closed his eyes, seeming to brace himself.

“Pat, help me with my hoodie and shirt…”

Wordlessly Patton complied, first removing his hoodie, and then taking off his Long sleeve undershirt.

…

“Oh.. I think I understand now..” Logan said faintly, looking a little pale.

“yeah…” the bleeding side replied, feeling old and weary.

A sudden sob left Patton, his entire form shaking as he tried to contain the rest of them. “hey, it’s okay Patton, they don’t hurt anymore..”

“it’s not okay, i mean look at you!” Morality’s gaze landed on the particularly nasty scar right over is heart. “You’re covered in scars, and they are all our doing! We hurt you, again and again…”

The parental side gripped Virgil’s upper arm and rested his forehead on his anxious son’s shoulder, his body shaking with the intensity of his sobbing.

“I love you so much kiddo, you’re so strong, enduring this torture for years… God, no wonder you ducked out!” Patton Looked miserably at his exposed upper body.

“Patton is right, you are strong, and i’m so sorry you have suffered this at our hands, but I have to ask, why? why suffer this for so long? We’ve caused you so much pain, why did you stay?” Logan looked stricken, and a little sick.

“Because I Lo-cared for you, even when it was obvious you didn’t care for me…”

Paton sucked in a harsh breath, his head shooting up and looking straight into Virgil’s right eye, his expression broken. “Kiddo..”

“alright, you stay here with Patton and i’ll be right back.” A look of fierce determination had taken over logic’s expression.

“where..?”

“While I can’t fix the mistakes of our past, I can help fix your current predicament. I’m going to get some warm water, wash cloths and our first aid kit.” Logan stood up, starting towards the stairs.

“No… get the one in my bathroom… it’s better equipped for this…” Logan’s expression turned grim, seeing the implications of Virgil’s sentence; With a nod, Logan continued on his quest for supplies.

“Does Roman know?”

“No.”

“will you tell him?”

“I suppose I have to.”

“Do you hate us for it? I’d understand if you did..”

Virgil fell silent for a moment, letting his gaze go a little hazy. ‘did he hate them? no… would he ever forgive them? he’s already done that…’

“No, I don’t hate you, none of you, and i’ve already forgiven you. You could have lied to me about being famILY, gone behind my back, but you didn’t… You actually made an effort to stop, to be kinder to me. So no, I don’t hate you.”

Patton gave him a shaky smile, sniffling a little.

“I’m back, I also grabbed your suture kit, I do not know if it will need stitches yet, but better safe than sorry.” Logan presented the dark purple box to empathise his statement.

“Let’s get you cleaned up kiddo.” Patton smiled reassuringly, albeit a little wobbly.

“okay, let’s do this.”

‘Now I just need to talk to Roman’ he thought before Patton And Logan started to help him get cleaned up and mended.

But that was for another day.

((Tag list: @ukaia @kiwisandsprinkles @nervousarts @test-subject-0012 @iloveleopards  @imgay-andresdytoslep @narniasfinestavengingsociopath @iris-sanders-athena @peanut0303 @emo-potato-virgil @darkle-elkrad @a-pastel-pan @max-is-tired

[scripttorture]

Hello! My character is a subspecies of human, not different anatomy-wise but can control elements like fire and such. They were tested on by humans and subjected to electrical shocks held in place by metal cuffs on their neck, wrists, and ankles, would too many shocks cause and/or cauterize the skin to turn black in the areas where the cuffs were??

Idon’t think shock collars are a good idea.

Iknow they’re a striking image and they show up in a lot of fictionbut- I don’t think you could keep someone alive in the long term(weeks to months) using one. But- let’s start with an answer towhat you asked and go from there.

Yesany electrical torture has the potential to cause burns. Some devices(such as Tasers and stun guns) are less likely to leave a burn but itis still possible. Some devices, especially ones that are cobbledtogether, are especially likely to cause burns. But regardless of thedevice repeated shocks to the same area are more likely to causeburns.

Blackenedflesh on a burn is an incredibly bad sign. You’re talking a bad 3rddegree burn or more likely a 4thdegree burn. This is dead tissue. Without treatment it’s dead androtting tissue.

Aroundthe neck I think that would kill a character. It’s constricting anarea that we need to breathe and supply the brain with blood. Aroundthe wrists and ankles- in a torture scenario I think the most likelyresult is the character would need their hands and feet amputated.

Becausetorturers do not tend to provide their victims with good medicalcare.

Electricityis dangerous. And electrical torture, whether it’s scarring or not,is often lethal.

Dependingon the type of device here are some of the possible injuries:

Death from a heart attack

Death from a seizure

Death from falling injuries due to losing control of motor functions

Broken bones from spasming

Burns

Bruising

Repeatedshocks seem to increase the chances of a heart attack or fatalseizure regardless of the type of device.

Metalcuffs worn constantly are going to be damaging over a long period oftime regardless of electric shocks. The weight around the neck islikely to affect the character’s ability to breathe. At best thatmeans deprivingthe character of sleep,which is a pretty significant and dangerous effect.

You’recombining all of this with a scenario that’s already highlyabusive. And all of these things mount up.

Andas a scientist this does not seem like an effective set up fortesting or experimentation of any kind. The environmentwhich the people in charge of the facility can control, is creatingtoo many variables by being incredibly and unnecessarily abusive.

Fromthe way this question is written I think it seems likely that you’refalling into several common torture apologia tropes. That isn’tyour fault, this stuff is incredibly pervasive in fiction and it’sdifficult to find accurate sources of information when you don’tknow where to start looking.

You’reunder estimating the damage electrical torture does to an incredibledegree. That’s a problem because this particular torture iswidespread now.And the damage it does is routinely downplayed or outright ignored.

Youhaven’t fully considered the effect of the collar itself. I thinkit would also be beneficial to think about whether the conditionsyou’re imagining are akin to solitary confinement, sleepdeprivation, starvation, dehydration, lack of hygiene facilities,temperature torture- or any other common tortures that don’t leaveobvious scars.

I’malso worried by the basic set up of the story. This type of sci fiscenario tends to portray torture as ‘scientific’ (it isn’t),‘necessary’ for the experiment (this is a justification fortorture) and generally ignore how research on animals or human beingsis conducted.

Tortureand science don’t mix well. For the same reasons that tortureundermines military discipline and effective investigation itundermines the scientific method. It undermines record keeping,accuracy, communication within the group.

I’dsuggest you read up on unethical human experimentation. A goodstarting point would be TheImmortal Life of Henrietta Lacks.I suggest paying particular attention to the fate of Elsie Lacks.

Ithink you should also read this Masterpost on common mistakes infiction.

It’shard to try and tackle these sorts of themes. I understand that. Andit is a lot of work to do the reading necessary to get it right.

Butwe need to remember that, while magical fire powers are fictional,these abuses are real.

Humanbeings havebeen used in experiments they didn’t consent to. People have beenlocked up alone in cells for years. People have been forced to wearmetal collars and people have been shocked until their hearts gaveout.

Someof these things are happening now.

Thinkabout what the story you’re trying to tell could be implying. Thinkabout how people who have survived similar abuses might feel readingyour story.

Andif you’re adamant about using a wearable electrical device for yourcharacter, don’t put it around their neck.

Ihope that helps. :)

Availableon Wordpress.

Disclaimer

[cherettes]

the hitchhiker’s guide to getting shit done

so, when i’m lounging about and then my laptop screen blacks out to reveal my shame-filled reflection in an inky black pool of you-sat-down-to-write-and-now-you-haven’t-moved-for-twenty-minutes, my expression looks to itself and seems to mutter, “put up or shut up.” and... sometimes that works. other times I have to leave and pour a water bottle over my head and turn on Fall Out Boy really loud to try and motivate myself. sometimes that doesn’t even work and then i’m cold and tired for no reason.

i see these posts all the time about “calling yourself a writer when u ain’t touched a pen in ya life” or “man i love being a writer... should would like to write someday” and stuff. they’re all so fucking relatable i’m making a sticker out of one to put on my laptop. it’s all so true. 

sometimes (an unfortunate amount of the time), writing can be like putting a space shuttle on your shoulders. so... as someone with a backpack full of executive dysfunction and 8 other textbooks, here’s how i get writing done -- even on the worst days.

okay firstly always have something to write with. notepad on your phone? cool. handy journal? trendy. legal pad in your front pocket? very Daniel Handler. i dig it. just as long as you have something to be able to scribble on whenever those finite, golden moments of inspiration/motivation hit you like Valentine’s goddamn arrow. the second you notice the motivation is there, it’ll be gone, so don’t be afraid to get shit done (no matter how small, no matter if it’s one thought or one sentence, just a thought or an idea) while you can. i deadass stopped a meeting with a financial aid officer because something he said hit me like a tonne of bricks, and all i could think was “oh jesus, i have to write that down.” and then i couldn’t stop. i knew if i didn’t get everything down right then, i wouldn’t be able to maybe ever, which wasn’t a fate I particularly wanted for myself.

he was kind about it, thankfully. i didn’t even end up going to that school. 

what you can do with your notes is separate them by any category you like -- i keep my notes separate by POV, for example. also, title the note. don’t forget that part. it’s the only way you’ll know what the fuck’s going on. i keep one note for all my story ideas (it’s about 11 miles long, but at least they’re all in one place!), one note for character names/traits/tropes/ideas... and then drafts are separated by POV. it literally doesn’t matter when or where I get the inspiration, as long as I’m able to get something, anything, down... you’ve done something. you’ve put your foot on the next stair step, and while lifting your weight’s the hardest part, you’ve still made progress. 

you don’t need to have it so fleshed out you can fork it like a steak. you can take time to develop it. the more you practice and absorb the world around you as things you can output into your own universes, the better a writer you become. this leads me to my next point.

secondly, and this is so fucking important, absorb content like a writer.  as you watch something for the first time, critically analyze it. why is the story being told this way, why from this POV, why these details and not others, where could this be going? what would you have done as a writer here, why do you think the creator/s made these decisions (differently than you would, if at all)? authors don’t do anything without purpose, so how can what i’ve seen and learned thus far tell me about the future of this story? what tropes am I familiar with that can be applied here, and what do I know about these characters?

Why are these characters this way? Are they fleshed out, can I hold mental conversations with them? What makes them so 3-D? What can I take from this depth (or lack thereof) and apply it to my own creations?

I’ve been doing that shit for so long. The reason it helps me actually sit down and write, though, is because... okay, like, you know when you leave a pitch-black movie theatre after seeing a production that poked and prodded at your guts a little to hard? you know how blinding and unnerving it is to return to this reality? that feeling. poke and prod at it harder. why are you feeling like that? what about what you just saw/read/whatever is making you feel so skinless? because that’s material. 

i’m not telling you to, like, exploit yourself for content. that’s not what it’s about. i’m saying that if you take realistic depth from your own life, from things that are impactful, you need to understand what happened to make it so impactful and genuine. every grain of rice. that way you can take it and apply that very same authenticity to whatever you’re creating. give yourself familiar language to write down when you have those experiences, and then return to them when you’re lost in the sticky pitch of writer’s apathy. relive those words and moments, and use them for your gain. 

my roommate planted me on the sofa to watch Coco for the first time a few months ago, and I sat there and told myself, “I’m going to dissect this as it happens.” and do it with everything. everything. commercials, even. it doesn’t matter without that tactic, i would have never 1) come up with the ideas for my first two novels and 2) had something to work with from the beginning. world-building is fucking hard, okay, don’t be afraid to draw inspiration from other places. it was also particularly fun to watch their face as I guessed plot twists.

that’s another thing -- you can start to see why/how creators implement their ideas and what it means for the future of their story. it doesn’t mean they’re being shallow or predictable, it just means they’re developing an arc in a way that allows readers and viewers to be able to inject themselves into the universe. You’re no longer sitting in a living room and just... watching a separate life play out before you. You like... become Miguel’s meta-conscience. And with those new experiences in someone else’s reality/ies, you can pull it like a blood sample for your own. there’s no shame in being inspired.

as a side note... there’s no shame in struggling to pull ideas/inspiration from content. for me, barely anything gets me worked up to the point of “i want to remember this/use this/etc.” it’s not the content’s fault and it’s not my fault, it just happens. if you’re really struggling, return to something you know evokes something out of you. i’ve watched the same television series eleven or twelve times to pull ideas, because it gets me every time. every time, i find something new to hang on to. content can be analyzed endlessly, so don’t be afraid!

thirdly, don’t pay attention to progress that others make. can’t stress that enough. this day and age treats everything like a competition, where if you’re not the best then why try at all, where the success of others is somehow inherently your failure. it’s such bullshit i can’t even begin. having a multitude of societal deterrents in your head isn’t helping you.

sure, habits don’t go quietly into that good night, but here’s how it can help you... well, as my brain is helpfully supplying, “keep the stork flying.” it’s like a blinking neon sign. anyway.

one, return to your notes and your ideas. they’re all your own. no one can take them from you. you’re the only one who can develop them the way that you intend, with the way you want to tell the story, with the meaning that you’ve given them and want to portray. you’re the only one who can do that. even if your friends or family or peers are writers and they’re making the progress that you feel like you’re lacking, then just remember: you’re the only one who can write your story. it’s yours. it’s yours. if you’re not ready to write it, that’s okay. that’s okay. but if you are, if you want to sit down and write it more than anything else, then you can return to your notes. always look back at them. and build on what you have. 

if you’ve juiced them to pulp, reflect on what happens before and after what you’ve written. nothing has to be linear, it doesn’t have to be directly before and after. if you intend for a moment you’ve created to have a specific impact at any other given point, then elaborate on what impact it’ll have and maybe draft that. fill in the gaps when you want to, not when you’re forcing yourself to. if you do that, you won’t produce anything you’re proud of, and you’ll inevitably start over anyway. if you’re not ready to give it everything, then maybe come back to it later. if you’re determined to write right now even if your brain feels like it’s just crawled out of a swamp wearing a wet blanket, see if you can turn that feeling into something that can be reflected/have influence on your story. is there any situation that could reflect the mood you’re in?

two, it... man, saying this makes me hurt, but use your own experience with being discouraged and put off as inspiration for something a character faces. who cares if it’s self projection. if you’re going through it, someone else is going through it, and maybe they’ll read what was originally a chicken-scratch in the back of your notebook one day, about how shitty you feel for not being able to make progress. maybe they’ll read it and be so fucking relieved they’re not alone in this... void, really, that it alleviates their discomfort. isn’t that kinda worth it?

fourthly, when you feel like shit, write it down. when you feel it, write it down. i know i kind of chipped off layers of this in previous points, but I wasn’t done. 

people like relatable characters. people like seeing themselves in external works. not because we’re shallow, or... anything. it’s because we like to feel like we belong, like we’re not alone. you see it all the time -- headcanons! you see it everywhere. you’ve probably made up your own. you’re doing it for a damn reason. pull from it. 

exhibit a: i have OCD something foul. a facet of that is that i ruminate like a motherfucker. my brain never gets anything done. you know who else experiences that? a startling amount of other people. when I write characters who ruminate, who check endlessly, who find themselves scrabbling over contamination, who... are completely aware how exhaustive their habits are on them, but they fucking have to, because otherwise, x/y/z horrible, horrible thing is going to happen... it’s because i’ve dealt with those things. it’s because i know people who deal with those things, and find relief in seeing fictional characters experience it. because they’re not alone. because someone else gets it. because it helps them feel better. because it’s so immeasurably impactful to see it. 

so when... i have a thought spiral, i start ruminating, i start shaking because i try to only lock my car door three times instead of four, i write it down. and let myself deal with it in the notepad of my phone. and... use it.

exhibit b: some of the greatest and brightest people in my life are transgender and/or gay. i can list so many characters they’ve since penned on those spectrums in the time I’ve known each of them. it’s the same thing i mentioned before. if you’re... like, struggling with something specific to those identities, to something specific with your mental illness or financial situation, to your race or religion, write it down. use it in your stories. only you can provide those insights, and when others see them, they’ll be able to take them in for benefit. 

self-projection unto your own characters/favorite characters isn’t always a bad thing. i refuse to accept that self-projection is a negative thing. it’s good for you and for your readers. my only recommendation here is that you don’t intentionally continue to carve out those negative feelings when you’re drained, because you can end up hurting yourself. take care of yourself first. your work can wait. just take this:

standing closer to the fire doesn’t mean you should be burned. 

fifth, writing is just a slow ass process. asking to speed it up is like asking the earth to spin faster. Stephen King said some bullshit on Colbert about how he writes a shit tonne of words every day, and I don’t believe it for a second. it always takes a horrid amount of time to make progress, and getting yourself to make that process in the first place is... fucking drawing blood from a stone. like some Excalibur-level shit.

so, if you can’t make it go faster, make it go for longer. 

i wish i was talking about just having Google Docs open in a tab while you idly scroll social media sites all night. if writing happened that way... i don’t even want to dream it. 

i used to do this thing where everyday was 500 words. it didn’t matter what kind of words (rough drafting, planning, or actually revising... sometimes literally just “i know i want to use this word later, so i’m putting it at the bottom of the document”), but as long as there was 500 more to count, i could count that as definable and measurable progress. if i did that every single day, every week was a new 3500 words for me to work with. that made at least 14,000 words a month minimum. it was progress. 

it doesn’t have to be rushed or done all in one sitting, either. i almost recommend that none of those 500 words be your final draft. leave it rough. revision is worth taking your time. 

if you’re like me though and that sweet, sweet executive function bakes you like a cake on a regular basis, sometimes forcing that 500 out of yourself is hard (read: “fucking impossible, why do i even call myself a writer, jesus christ”).

so here’s my remedy for that: address your audience as you write. not for a final draft or anything, but if you make yourself as a writer or a character break the fourth wall, it’s suddenly... kind of hilarious and easier to move on with. nothing has to be beautiful, either -- write one sentence about what you’re planning to do, beginning with something ridiculous like “all right motherfuckers, buckle up. no, buckle your fucking seat belt, i’m about to tell you how [x]’s car gets totaled on a Tennessee highway.” and write it like you’re ripping someone a new one. then make it pretty. maybe not in the same day, but you’ll make it pretty. 

that not working? make your character tell the future. how would they react if they knew what was about to happen to them? make them tell the story like it happened 20 years ago, or something. and then take out all the insights to make it present. 

that not working, either? act like you’re being interviewed. like, let’s say your content is soon to be released to the public, you’re at a convention to promote it, and people are asking you about it as you stand at your booth. suddenly, you’re pulling a Tom Holland and accidentally giving something away that... maybe wasn’t supposed to be out yet. only write your part of the dialogue/situation, though. you’ll have a scene scribbled before you. even if you don’t particularly like it right then, you can fix it later. it’s okay.

you can always fix it down the road. that’s the thing, too -- if there’s something you’re unhappy with in it’s current form, make it a problem for yourself. if you’re able to attach some urgency to it, maybe that’ll help too. you don’t have to have the one perfect solution immediately, either. just brainstorm solutions in your notes, and something will fall into place one of these days. trust me.

on a side note but equally important: i say used to do this because sometimes you need to take breaks. sometimes those 500 words everyday was overdoing it and wringing the dry sponge of my mental capacity for the day. it’s still a practice i hold dear to my heart -- but right now i’m in a place where 50 words a day is miraculous. sometimes life’s that way, and there’s no shame in that. take care of yourself first, and push yourself when you’re ready.

also, be your own devil’s advocate and your own greatest cheerleader. 

don’t let yourself think poorly about what you’re creating, that’s not what I mean. you have great ideas and they’re worthwhile, they’re important. they are. i promise. what i mean is that... like. if being talked to in an aggressive way gets you hyped, then that’s how you get hyped to write. if you like being given generous validation, then that’s how you get hyped to write.

me, i like it when people validate what i work on. it makes me feel excited and good enough to write and produce content when people tell me they like it. some people have to be told they “can’t do something” to find the drive to do it -- that’s the “devil’s advocate” part. sometimes you’re the kind of person who can give yourself those messages but have to receive the positive kind from others.

i always imagine my ideal self on the other side of a boxing ring taunting me, my current self, that i’ll never get to my ideal-self’s level. they tell me to “put up or shut up,” otherwise i’ll never get there. so that’s what i have to do. i can’t have anyone else do that, though. that’s just an example.

there’s a billion rearrangements of this idea to make it work for you. maybe giving yourself encouragement -- or, like, imagining it coming from someone you deeply admire -- could help. maybe it’s the reverse situation, with the reproach. once you find it... fucking squeeze it until it’s not helpful anymore. if it’s not helpful in the first place, then you haven’t found the right language yet. if words don’t help you at all, work on your bite instead of the bark. what actions get you going instead of words? 

and maybe this tip is completely meaningless for you. that’s okay too. i just figured i would include it because it helps me, so maybe... it’ll help someone else, too.

maybe lastly... do you know how many creators quit working on their content and made unbidden returns to it? Jordan Peele wasn’t sure Get Out would ever be finished because he quit working on it 20 times, and now he’s got an Oscar for it. James Patterson is a worldwide bestselling author, and he dropped out of Vanderbilt’s writing program. JK Rowling was famously rejected by a dozen-or-so agencies before someone gave Sorcerer’s Stone a chance. you can fucking do this. i believe in you, even if you don’t. it’s gonna take time and maybe it’s gonna suck, but you can do this.

like, maybe this guide wasn’t helpful in the slightest. that’s fine. it happens! if that’s the case and you need encouragement or anything, you can always hit me up, too. i’ll listen and offer what i can, because sometimes having a shoulder is what you need, too.

take it from someone who ended up backing out of a book deal at Harper Collins. you can do this.

[writesandramblings]

Secret’s End - Chapter 3

“Don’t Sit Down”

Table of Contents

<< Ch. 2 -  A Measured Response Ch. 4 - The Certainty of Small Things >>

A/N: So, it is surprisingly hard to craft an alien parable out of thin air! I managed it in the end.

Also, am in Birmingham this weekend for Destination Star Trek. Feel free to drop me a line if you are as well!

The scientific inquest continued all through the night. “Are you not tired?” asked Saru when the hour began to grow late and his duty shift had long since ended. They were sitting at the dining table in the guest room, the taller chairs slightly more comfortable for Saru than the softer couch and armchair on the other side of the room, while Lalana perched atop the table with her appendages tucked beneath her body.

“I do not require sleep,” she said. “But if you are tired, then by all means, Lieutenant Saru, I will wait for you to rest.”

“Kelpiens do not require as much sleep as most other species. I was merely concerned that you might.”

“No. My cortex system requires rest occasionally, but I can cycle through resting portions of it, and of course I am always awake on the cellular level.”

That was one of the many amazing things Saru had been able to examine more thoroughly in the inquest. Lalana was not possessed of a single mind, but in a sense, had one plus a trillion. Her species was the result of symbiotic evolution between a colony of cells and a primitive multicellular organism. Her eyes, brain stem, skeletal structure, and tongue were all derived from the organism, but the cell colony had replaced every other tissue and was essentially controlling the organism’s structural remains like the Ophiocordyceps unilateralis fungus did in certain species of Earth ants. It was an inverse of the typical model of life in the known universe, where a centralized brain controlled the rest of an organism. Here, the rest of the organism controlled the “brain.” Her cortex structure was less a true center of cognitive function and more a switchboard for the rest of her.

“Is it possible for individual cells to disagree?” Saru wondered.

“Why would we?” asked Lalana. Further forays into this line of questioning revealed that the idea was as inconceivable to her as the concept of a lului disease. “My cells chose to be me.”

There were also several questions from Dr. Channick and her staff as to the particular physical characteristics of Lalana’s biology. “Your cells change color, can they also change physical configuration?”

“Not entirely. My cells are locked together permanently. If one becomes disconnected, it immediately degrades.” She demonstrated this for Saru, letting a single tendril of her “fur” fall from her tail. It fell to the table and writhed faintly as it dissolved into a thin line of oily residue that seemed to evaporate into the air before Saru’s eyes.

It also turned out Lalana was being entirely literal where the length of her captivity relative her age was concerned.

“A cycle is not the length of time it takes Luluan to orbit Luluanilem,” she informed him when he asked about the concept in more detail. Luluanilem was the name of the lului star system—while language was not a primary focus of Saru’s inquest, he was learning a great deal about it as they spoke. Essentially, the lului language was composed of complex layers of modifiers. Lu was the name for the cellular species, lulu was a group of cells coupled with a symbiotic structure into a discrete microcellular organism, lului was an adjective or possessive used for the collective species, while Luluan meant lulu-planet and Luluanilem was lulu-planet-star. “Luluan’s orbit is not so long. It would be very tedious to use it as a... calendar unit.” The concept of a calendar was foreign to Lalana’s species, but she understood it well enough from living with the Dartarans. “We measure time by a lulala.”

“A... lulala?” They were also filling in translator gaps as they went.

“A streaming white space object which orbits our star.”

A comet. Their version of a year was a comet cycle, and when Saru ran the calculations based on the length of the day on the moon where the Dartaran couple lived and Lalana’s assurance that she understood the difference in day length between that moon and her homeworld within a reasonable degree of accuracy, he ended up with an estimated cycle length of one hundred and twenty-five years.

The current cycle had been more than three-quarters of the way through when Lalana was taken from Luluan, making her more than nine hundred years old. Suddenly the idea that six years of captivity was unremarkable made complete sense.

It also meant the mysterious planetary invaders, the Hla-pu, had come to Luluan some five hundred years ago. Saru found himself listening to an unintended aside into this history when he asked another of Dr. Channick’s questions on the subject of lului and disease.

“It is not correct to say my cells are universally resistant, certainly there are things which can kill me. The Hla-pu employed a biological agent against my people in one of their many attempts to colonize our planet. I was aboveground when they deployed it. It moved through the air, a cloud of purple smoke that stripped the leaves from the trees. I made it into the water before the smoke could reach me, but Lumlala was not so lucky. Half his body was consumed by the smoke. It melted away his cells and left only his skeletal system on one side.” Her hands knocked together in clear distress at this memory but stilled as she concluded, “We were able to salvage what remained of him and, not long after, the Hla-pu left.”

For all the atrocity of being hunted, Saru could scarcely imagine the horror of what Lalana was describing. He sat there in shocked silence.

The door chimed. It was Georgiou. Saru rose unsteadily to his feet. “Have you been here all night?” Georgiou asked, mistaking the unsteadiness for fatigue.

“I...” For once, Saru’s inability to answer had nothing to do with his usual nerves. Not that Georgiou could tell.

“This is why I do not keep important information on the cells on my surface,” Lalana continued as if Georgiou had not entered. “Do you know, when the hunters take trophies like our skulls, they think those trophies are us, but they are not us, they are the framework upon which we sit!” Her tongue clicked, likely because this practice reminded her of the horrible fate of Lumlala.

“Am I interrupting?” asked Georgiou.

“Of course,” said Lalana. “What have you come to say?”

Georgiou managed not to take offense at Lalana’s insubordinate disregard for the rank of captain. She was, after all, dealing with a more primitive species then the average spacefarer. “It would seem Beldehen Venel has escaped. We are working to secure a connection to your homeworld and your people, but at present I cannot guarantee our success in these endeavors.”

“Is that so?” said Lalana, spinning her hands. Saru had his back to her and did not notice the motion. He would have been very confused if he had. Over the course of their conversation, he had gotten the impression that spinning hands were a sign of happiness.

“We will continue to investigate. Until more is known, we will escort you to a Federation starbase. The authorities there will provide you with further assistance.”

The hand-spinning ceased. “A star-base? What is a star-base?”

“A structure in space,” supplied Saru. “A point from which starships travel and resupply.”

“Nn, that is interesting,” said Lalana, pressing her hands together and staring down at the floor in apparent thought.

Georgiou shifted her attention back to Saru. “Am I to expect you at your station on the bridge when your shift begins, lieutenant?”

“Of course, captain.” There were still two hours before his shift began, which was sufficient time for a change of uniform and even a brief nap if he decided to forego any more questions.

Georgiou’s eye narrowed ever-so-slightly in judgment. She would be doubly attentive for any lapses in Saru’s performance today in light of his overnight engagement. “I look forward to it,” said Georgiou with a note of challenge. She moved to the door and hesitated, looking back at Lalana. “You should know that a table is not considered an appropriate place to sit.”

“Oh, yes, I am well aware,” said Lalana, clicking her tongue twice.

The audacity of that did not sit well with Georgiou. “Saru, please instruct Lalana in basic social protocols before we arrive at Starbase 55. I would hate for there to be any further misunderstandings or mistakes. You may not find all species are forgiving of social impropriety.”

“Yes, captain,” promised Saru, pressing his hands together and bowing slightly in deference as the door slid shut.

“How presumptuous of Captain Georgiou to assume I have made any mistakes whatsoever,” said Lalana as she moved from the table to the chair.

Saru stood there with the sinking feeling that his involvement in this situation had not endeared him in any way to his captain. Sadly, his ganglia were in agreement.

The investigation was officially at a standstill. Unable to provide any further material benefit, Margeh and T’rond’n were instructed to return home aboard their remaining personal transport. Margeh’s final request for the Shenzhou to drop them off fell upon deaf ears. Though Georgiou now found Margeh significantly more endearing after entertaining her and her husband for dinner the previous evening, the Shenzhou was a Federation exploratory vessel and the pirate hunting mission was already well beneath its regard. To perform not one but two civilian transports on top of this would be rubbing salt in the wound.

Curiously, the Dartarans expressed a desire to bid farewell to Lalana. Georgiou had Saru escort the lului to the shuttlebay. She arrived as cheerfully irreverent as ever, bounding across the bay with a pair of leaps long enough that even Saru would have had trouble replicating the distance had he been inclined to display that level of informality while on duty. She came to an abrupt stop between Georgiou, T’Vora, and the Dartarans. The extra joint in her legs made the motion seem entirely effortless.

“I had a very interesting time on your estate,” was Lalana’s greeting. “I learned so very many things about trade and business from watching you work.”

The spiky ridges along Margeh’s jaw visibly tightened. “You...”

“I also learned so many things about ‘confidence,’ a word which has two meanings in the human language. One of them is self-assurance and the other is secrecy.” (Absent Saru for the past few hours, Lalana had been engaged with a communications officer, Paxton, in a linguistic survey both were finding entirely fruitful.) “Confidence in hand and head equally. Which into which, I wonder? Water or sand?”

T’rond’n seemed to shrink slightly, looking at Margeh for some sort of sign. The female Dartaran opened her mouth faintly, the spikes of her teeth showing in a way that felt strangely non-threatening—this was a Dartaran display of humility. “You know the lesson of Karletin?”

“As well as you,” said Lalana.

Of the three Starfleet officers in observation, only T’Vora recognized what Lalana and the Dartarans were discussing because she alone had taken the time to parse the Dartaran cultural archives to the level of detail required to catch the reference. D’rannur was a mythic philosopher (analogous to the father of Vulcan logic, Surak) who originated a Dartaran philosophy called the Head and the Hand. In this philosophy, male Dartarans were tasked with commerce, production, logistics, and trade, while females dominated sciences, culture, and spirituality. It was a primitive binary gender philosophy that espoused female intelligence and male efficiency as two components required in balance for a functional society. Unlike many other such primitive philosophies in various bi-gendered species across the galaxy, the Dartaran version persisted and defined their society to this day.

The tale of Karletin was found in the D’rannic Codices—a supplemental set of texts describing D’rannur’s life and offering largely anecdotal parables of dubious historical accuracy. Karletin was a brother of D’rannur’s mate who violated the sanctity of the homestead by selling original notes and writings to finance a business venture. When D’rannur discovered what had happened, she sabotaged Karletin’s business by mixing water into his sand pits and turning them to mud. The moral was that, like sand and water, the Head and the Hand ought to remain separate, and that betraying the homestead would lead to muddy waters. (Dartarans loved sand and water, but only separately, never together.)

The story was considered apocryphal among scholars because Karletin appeared only in this one tale and there were no uncontested historical records to support his existence, but it was enduringly popular and often featured in Dartaran wedding vows.

T’Vora realized that Lalana was essentially telling the Dartarans she had the ability to violate the sanctity of their homestead given the time she had lived with them, but also that she had no intention to do so, and she was saying this in a manner that demonstrated an almost frightening ability to obfuscate the subject matter at hand.

“Then do not make mud,” was Margeh’s solemn reply.

“I wish we could have helped you more, and sooner,” said T’rond’n.

Lalana slid towards T’rond’n and stretched up, pressing her hands onto his chest for balance and flicking her tongue out into his mouth, running the tip across his teeth.

Margeh’s response was a shriek of displeasure. “Stop that!”

“Please be mindful of your gums,” said Lalana, withdrawing and settling back down onto her haunches so she was at waist height.

Saru was startled by every aspect of this exchange: the rudeness of it in light of Georgiou’s recent admonition about impropriety, the intimacy of the action, the familiarity it seemed to require, Margeh’s sharp objection, and the vague sense that this was something T’rond’n and Lalana had done in the past when T’rond’n considered Lalana a lower, animal-level life form. It was a very uncomfortable train of thought.

Margeh grabbed T’rond’n’s arm and yanked him half a step closer to her. “How dare you,” she said.

“You did not mind this yesterday,” said Lalana. “Has something changed since then?”

Margeh hissed and T’rond’n’s jaw spikes bristled slightly in affront. They bid Georgiou a significantly more standard farewell and stepped into their transport.

As the shuttle slid through the bay forcefield, Georgiou announced, “Saru, until further notice, you are relieved of bridge duty. Please focus fully on assisting Lalana acclimate to Federation society.”

It was a significant blow to Saru’s already waning confidence. He stiffened. “Yes, captain.” As they made their way back to the guest quarters, Saru consoled himself with the thought that Georgiou’s assignment was not truly an indictment of his abilities and performance. It was more likely a redistribution of resources to where they were needed most. Not only was Saru the person on the ship who knew their alien guest best, he was also possessed of a sterling reputation for impeccable good manners.

Georgiou was entirely a great captain, Saru decided. Even though she clearly held no love for Lalana, she was doing everything she could to ensure that Lalana had the knowledge necessary to succeed in her new Federation existence.

He approached the topic as delicately as he was able once they were in privacy of the room and they had retaken their position at the dining table—both of them seated in chairs now. “Lalana, if you will recall, the captain advised against actions which would be construed as impolite. I must inform you that your behavior with T’rond’n was entirely so.”

“Yes, I am aware,” said Lalana.

This shocked Saru. “Then why did you behave in this manner?”

“Dartarans are very territorial about their mates,” she explained, which was not the answer to the question Saru had been asking.

He thought a moment. “I am aware of the unforgivable offense that Margeh and T’rond’n have committed, both in hunting you and removing you from your planet, but they were very willing to help us correct these issues and assist you. Perhaps they would have helped you sooner had they been given the chance.”

Lalana twisted her head almost a hundred and eighty degrees. “Did you think their words were true? They are sorry for the situation now because they have been exposed. Had I attempted to broach the subject to them directly during the years I spent with them, they would have done everything in their power to avoid the perception of wrongdoing.”

There was a note of darkness in that assessment which gave Saru pause. “I apologize. I do not mean to doubt your knowledge of your former captors.”

“No, that was wise of you. To you, I am hardly a known quantity.” Lalana shifted in her seat, sitting up straighter and gripping the edge of the table with her heterodactylic hands, two fingers above and two below. “Everything is about perception, Saru. The universe we see is what we know, though it is not what is, because we cannot see everything.”

Saru could see himself in her eyes, so immense and reflective were the glassy surfaces of her unblinking lenses. “We should commence with reviewing some basic diplomatic protocols,” he said simply.

“Very well, but may I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“Minoru”—this was communications officer Lt. Paxton’s given name—“has told me there are no trees for climbing on a starbase, and no ponds to swim in. I very much wish to climb trees and swim again. May I go somewhere with trees and water?”

“I will compile a list of suitable candidates for you.”

“There is no need. I already know where I wish to go.”

The request was significant enough Saru felt it warranted informing Georgiou. The moment he did, a new problem cropped up: because she did not register on sensors, the holocomm system in Georgiou’s ready room was unable to render Lalana’s form properly, distorting and twisting her shape into something unrecognizable. Georgiou switched the signal to audio-only.

“I would like to go to Risa,” said Lalana’s translated voice.

“Risa?” echoed Georgiou.

“Yes. I have heard it is the most pleasant planet in the galaxy.”

There was no doubting Risa was a paradise like no other, but Georgiou inwardly doubted if Lalana would fully appreciate the pleasures the planet had to offer given her non-humanoid physiology. Then again, Risians were nothing if not accommodating, so perhaps she would.

“That can be arranged,” promised Georgiou, “though you will have to travel there from the starbase.” Lalana agreed to this condition wholeheartedly.

It was a shame that the signal was only audio. If they had been able to see one another, Georgiou and Lalana would have recognized a sympathetic similarity between them. Lalana was spinning her hands in a move of contentment that entirely matched the faint smile on Georgiou’s face at the memory of Risa.

Chapter 4

[20straveling]

Anotha One (List of Activities that are C19 Safe!)

I can count on both hands, and some toes, the number of COVID19 emails and articles I’ve seen talking about all the things to do during our current global situation. Their lists (yes, from the marketing people) have been:

- subscribe to this new service ($$$)

- shop our online sale! ($$$)

- sign up for this service to read articles for “free” ($$$)

And I was pretty disappointed by most of the emails I was reading...but there were a few that warmed my heart a little.

- free delivery and no service fee when you order from local restaurants

- all proceeds of ____ sale are going toward helping homeless or those in poverty receive the supplies that are currently unavailable to them

and so on, and so forth. These are the companies and groups that I was happy to see in my inbox, knowing that someone was doing something to help the world.

But, we’re human, and we can only do so much for our community and our global family. That’s just reality. And that’s okay!! If you spend the whole time giving, and no time taking care of yourself, then you’ll have nothing left to give.

So, with that in mind: here are some ideas for social distancing and quarantine activities!

At Home Activities:

- Photography! The majority of us have a smart phone and it’s got one (or two, shoutout 11 pro peeps) cameras on it — use that sucker!! Take silly photos with your family (fuzzy or otherwise), snap pics of your plants or collections of things, or even take photos of random stuff in your house (I know you’re bored enough to).

- Editing these photos is also a good pastime, with lots of free apps on smartphones, and online editing software like PicMonkey and similar — have fun playing with filters and stickers and all kinds of creative adjustments

- Online, Virtual Tours! This is such a cool resource that has been taking root in the last few years as accessibility and outreach have been gaining prominence! Many museums and national parks have posted online tours (similar to Google Street View) of their amazing spaces for online viewers around to globe to interact with. Get out there (online), and explore some amazing works of art and nature, alone or with the whole family through a TV!

- Share the love online and talk about the new things you’re discovering to encourage others to take advantage of these great online-passes to some of the worlds best views (on walls or outdoors).

- Read - yep, the easy one. Whether its new blogs from people online, the book that’s collecting dust on your “to read” shelf, or something like Audible where you can listen to a book and still get something else done - feed your brain!

- A good follow-up to reading is writing! Head online for good writing prompts, or even silly games where you can write a story with the help of the whole family, sentence by sentence!

- Online Concerts! Many artists are doing online tours, and you can enjoy some “live”music from the comfort of your own couch!

- I personally love Tessa Violet, and she has created her “Something to Look Forward To” Tour, where she plays her music, and has dance breaks to engage her audience and take polls of what song she should play next

- ReThink a Space: this one’s a little more broad, but if you have an area of your home or outdoor space that feels as stale as the air you’re breathing while staying inside all the time, REDO IT! Now is the time to start that obnoxious project that takes too long! Some of the most obvious spots are:

- Bedroom/bedroom closet - change out winter for spring!

- Guest room closets (because who knows what’s lost in there)

- Office spaces/playrooms (equally busy, equally disorganized!)

- Bookshelves/display areas

- Crafting: now, I know we can’t all run out to a Michelle’s or a Hobby Lobby, but I can almost guarantee that most of us have some form of markers/pens, and maybe a printer (but if not, have faith!)

- Checkout online tutorials for drawing or calligraphy, and get those hands moving! There are plenty of studies about how calming coloring is, and stimulating the brain with simple things like learning calligraphy are perfect for indoor or outdoor activities solo, or with family

- Pictionary! Or the like. There are online prompts if you don’t have the physical game in your house, and websites like Jackbox have online versions so you can play with your friends, without being in the same room!

- Collaging/crafting with outdoor objects: take a hint from the children that keep wanting to bring home spikey balls or a pretty leaf! Sometimes those objects are silly but can create a fun craft! Using some thread or string, and a stick or two from outside, make a hanging wall decor piece or mobile with the things you are collecting on your walks!

- Video games!! Although it’s not an option for everyone, video games are a great time to have some competitive fun between members of the household, and also help to connect online with other friends who are also playing the game

- Steam and Origin are the two main gaming platforms I know of, and The Sims, and other games, are on sale right now to help offer entertainment and connect people digitally!

- Cleaning, which I’m sure we’ve all done a bit of at this point (not judging if you haven’t but here’s your list of ideas!)

- Starting from top to bottom, now is a great time to get that deep “Spring Clean” that everyone talks about this time of year! Dust of the tops of things that you forget about, like picture frames or door frames, and go down from there, wiping down surfaces, cleaning that gross space between your window pane and the screen (it’s disgusting but if the windows are open, you get to breath all that funk), and continue on to dusting baseboards and sweeping/vacuuming/mopping floors

- And disclaimer: I have not done all these things, but I’m still on the “Rethink a Space” part, so there’s stuff all over the things I want to clean...

- Don’t forget to Clorox those popular surfaces we forget about, like light switches, cabinet knobs/handles, and the power buttons for things like a Keurig or other small tech

- write snail mail for family and friends you’re unable to see at the moment! Yeah, technology exists, but there is always something special about hand-writing some fun messages to send to your loved ones!

- If you think ahead, you can make some fun art, and send that along with your letters, as a bit of cheer to spread along to others!

- Find something to research: whether it’s how video games are made, how to grow new plants, the sound in space, or what that cool movie you just watched mentioned! There’s a million resources online, and even in your local library (using Libby, an online library source for e-books, and more!

- Checkout online resources for your everyday habits: gym or yoga studio’s facebook or YouTube, university resources for free classes/access to databases, educational resources for children (often found on library sites)

You may notice that cooking is missing from this list. I realize that grocery shopping is difficult at this time, so I’ve tried to think of ideas that involve resources you already have in your homes/yards. If cooking is your thing, or you’d like to take it up during this time, please, do so!! It’s such a great way to feed your brain and your body at the same time! Checkout online channels like “Binging with Babish” and other food related YouTubers or Bloggers to find new recipes or content. If you need to go out and grocery shop, just remember to be courteous of other’s and take hand sanitizer or Clorox mini-wipes to get those surfaces like cart handles and self-checkout/checkout screens and surfaces.

My brain is tapped out for ideas at this point, as I’m mainly doing the things mentioned above because they fit with my personal lifestyle and interested, but if you guys have thought of or done some things that might interest others, please list them below!! And those with kids: PLEASE, link a Pinterest board of ideas, educational (and FUN) websites you’ve found, or even just some good games/crafts/activities you’ve been trying out! I heard a coworker talking about a scavenger hunt they created that involves the kids texting/collaborating online to complete the outdoor hunt!

Get creative, do the most mundane thing in a new way, and hang in there! And if anyone wants a FT date, or more help researching things, please, let me know! I’m happy to dive deeper or even chat in general to help alleviate some of the adjustments and isolations going on right now - please don’t hesitate to reach out.

List of Links for Interactions/Ideas:

- Kelsey Ramirez (art-based ideas): https://www.kesslerramirez.com/blog/things-to-do-while-social-distancing

- Threads of Fate (wholesome naturalistic community): https://www.thethreadsoffate.com/pages/community-journey-taking-action?mc_cid=1ca95a65b0&mc_eid=3d56a629ef

- Harry Potter Alliance (yes, it’s a real thing, and yes, I’m a member) is hosting an online convention for conversations and events to bring us all together online: https://secure.everyaction.com/BEWi3AjhpEyWzUCDG-V7xw2?emci=21658d3b-0a6b-ea11-a94c-00155d03b5dd&emdi=96ab3eea-876b-ea11-a94c-00155d03b5dd&ceid=2470797

- All Online Libraries, By State: https://www.lib-web.org/united-states/public-libraries/

- Good Housekeeping’s Virtual Tour List (includes Zoos! I didn’t even realize!): 30 Amazing Virtual Tours of Museums, Zoos, and Theme ...www.goodhousekeeping.com › life › travel › best-virtual-tours

- Mashed’s List of Cooking YouTubers (I haven’t watched all, but enjoy most): https://www.mashed.com/146555/ranking-the-most-popular-cooking-channels-on-youtube-from-best-to-worst/