#Tw past vivisection

[sightseertrespasser]

Sunny Side Screw-Up part 2

Me: Hey, what if Bluestreak was a great sniper because Tacnet enabled him to view the world in slow motion, kinda like bullet time?

Later me: Wait, what if he experienced Bullet Time All the Time and THAT’s why he’s like that?

The mecha AU was spawned by @keferon, go check ‘em out!

———————————————————————

For hours, Prowls processor continued to spiral well after Jazz disconnected the drift bond. The steady crackle from Bluestreaks currently inactive comm lines did little to settle him.

Individually, Prowl curled each of his digits, then released. The fingers Ratchet replaced were still numb. But the phantom pains stayed sharp.

“Hey.” A hoarse whisper at his hip got Prowl to online his optic.

“You should be resting, Jazz.” The Praxian whispered back. If Ratchet saw them both up the doctor would likely make good on some of his threats. Or Deadlock would.

“I’m gonna.” The human leaned against his side, shoulders wrapped in a spare blanket.

“You’re lying.” Prowl stated as flatly as if he’d pointed out Jazz was bipedal.

“Hmm, just getting it out of my system so you know I’m gonna be serious next.” When the pilot moved to climb up Prowl’s thigh, he gave him a slight boost with one servo. Weak as Prowl was, Jazz still weighed basically nothing.

“Ratchet said you already pushed past your limits for the day. I do not think it’d be wise to reconnect right now.” Prowl watched Jazz for every minute tremble, delicately adjusting the plane of his servo to support him as evenly as possible.

“We pushed it today. And s’alright. Wasn’t going for that.” Jazz laid back in Prowls palm, getting comfortable.

Given the pattern of their past interactions, Prowl preemptively readjusted to lay down on as well, before Jazz could begin guilting/bargaining/tricking him into resting properly.

Jazz, knowingly, smiled.

“I know you’re scared for him. But Bluestreak is gonna be fine Prowler. He’s got you, and you’ve got us.”

“I had myself and you and I still got vivisected.” It was a low blow and still a raw wound for the both of them. His missing platting stung.

Jazz closed his eyes. Prowl could still hear the echos of what thoughts that would be racing through his head.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. This is a nightmare scenario and I can’t believe you aren’t completely loosing your shit right now.” A sour note came through his field. “I just don’t want you to fry yourself with worrying.”

Prowl sighed, “I have come to terms with our current limitations. The plan currently underway is definitely the best chance we can possibly give him.”

“I do not have enough information to predict how the Twins will conduct themselves..” Prowl briefly paused to send a scheduled Check In ping to Bluestreak. Continuing once he received the Return ping.

“But I know my brother, and that’s what has me worried.” Despite himself, Prowl felt his face almost twitch a smile when Jazz’s EM field chimed against his palm. He could feel the human silently laugh.

“Little brothers are something else, but have a little faith in him okay? Bluestreak just needs to play it cool until we can debrief the Twins. He doesn’t even have to actually lie. All he needs to do is walk and shoot, and I’ve seen him shoot.”

Jazz rolled onto his side to face Prowl, who still frowned but was coming around.

“Look, it took me nearly two days to figure out I was literally surrounded by aliens who weren’t even trying to hide it.”

“You had a concussion.” Prowl grumbled.

“And I’m a very clever fucker.” Jazz raised a pointed finger.

The human snuggled back into his blanket, “Never in a million years is anyone just gonna guess he’s an alien shaped like a mecha.”

Prowl hummed in assent, choosing to let his systems wind down, save for his Comms.

Yawning, Jazz finished his thought, “The only way they’d find out he’s from space is if Bluestreak straight up told them.”

———————

“And that star cluster is about where Cybertron is!”

The fading red-gold of the sunset had given way to dusty dark blue twilight. This far from any civilization, the stars did not shy from taking the stage early, casting the desert in a cool toned glow.

Sideswipe looked where he was pointing and nodded along. Sunstreaker likewise examined the sky for a moment before continuing their trek.

“You guys are good listeners.” The Praxian smiled.

Bluestreak shifted how he was holding his rifle for the nth time that afternoon. “I wish I could just subspace this but Jazz said that would be too openly weird and you guys might try tearing my hip apart.”

Unsurprisingly, Sunstreaker showed no sudden comprehension of Bluestreak’s native language. The yellow mecha was too preoccupied with digging out a quint fang from his plating. Similarly unaware, Sideswipe had found a small boulder and played an improvised game of how long he could kick it along their path.

Bluestreak checked his Tacnet Dilation: 25%.

“Did you know I taught Prowl and Smokescreen how to use Tacnet to shoot better? Cause I did. They taught me pretty much everything else though about how to function. They’re my brothers by the way, which is kinda funny to think about since you guys are brothers too but ‘organic brothers’ are kinda different from ‘Cybertronian brothers’. We’re all Cold Constructs designed by the same people but that doesn’t actually have anything to do with being brothers.” With family on his processor, the Praxian flicked a ‘Hey guys!’ out of habit without thinking. He didn’t notice the twins simultaneously pause for a second beside him.

“The word translates directly into English but I think the origins are totally different. A literal translation of “Brothers” in Cybertronian would be something like “Those who are most familiar to me.”

He counted the decimal points of each passing click to pace himself. Making sure he was talking at a socially acceptable level. After 4 clicks, his will broke down and the gap of silence was filled.

“Hey want to hear how we met?” Bluestreak looked up at the hulking mechas with wide optics, questioning tone riding through the air.

The twins looked at each other briefly before shrugging.

Aside from his brothers, mechs that knew his particular reputation would take that pause in his chatting as an escape route from the conversation.

Bluestreak understood. It’s why he tried to leave gaps in. He scuffed his peds in the dirt while waiting for a response.

A curled servo came into his peripheral vision. With a little difficulty, Sunstreaker gave him a crude thumbs up, his mecha not really built for fine motor controls.

“Really?” Bluestreak beamed, checking in with Sideswipe as well who was also nodding in the positive.

The Praxian began his tale, “So it happened a little under two million years ago.”

——————

The crowd around the train station moved in a tightly packed slow motion torrent.

“-taken at specified slots-“

“-one hundred and fifty shanix is-“

“-consult the map if she really-“

Words, sentences, broken paragraphs and contradictory orders buzzed across his processor. His internal dictionary pulling up definitions and explanations almost too fast to keep up with.

Tacnet Dilation: Increase to 75%?

Huh?

[Yes]?

Oh!

That’s so much better.

If he picked out one voice at a time, he could decipher each glyph as they came and string it together. Mildly entranced by how they interlocked and changed the information they carried as it dripped into his echoing memory banks.

For example:

“Get out of the way you useless cop!”

An upward swing from behind struck him, jamming his doorwings at the apex of their mobility.

The mech would have fallen forward if the density of the crowd allowed it. They stumbled, struggling to stay upright as the mass of mechs around him pushed inexorably toward the trains.

New information came through. Bright boxes burst across his vision and new words wrote themselves on his processor. This new sensory input was competing with every other piece of stimulus for his immediate attention.

He didn’t like it.

What is it?

[Pain]

Oh, is this a setting that can be changed?

[Pain - Repair - Reset- Doorwing (1)]

[Pain - Repair - Reset - Doorwing (2)]

How? How do I fix them?

[Pain - Repair - Reset]

I don’t understand?

[Pain - Repair - Reset]

The logic branch repeated incessantly, almost as bad as the distraction of the pain itself.

The praxian began asking every mech who passed nearby how to reset his doorwings. Sometimes, they’d kindly tell him they couldn’t help. Other times they’d push him off harshly, fields flashing with hostility. One even told him to go jump on the tracks. Before he could actually consider how that’d help, an orange mech scolded the harsh one and pulled the praxian to where they could speak into his audial.

They told him they couldn’t fix his problem, but if he found other mechs with doorwings like his, they would help him.

“How do I find them?”

The orange mech adjusted a pair of spectacles, smiling, “Just listen to your wings young one, you’ll get there.”

It was then he realized something else was coming through the sensor net of his doorwings. A muffled, irregular pulsing, coming from one of the train cars.

He forgot to thank the skinny mech and pushed through the crowd, past the overwhelmed conductor.

Reduced Sensory Input, Tacnet Dilation: Decrease to 25%?

[Yes]

The inside of the train car was packed, no one would be leaving without numerous scraps and dents by the end of their journey. He tried not to flinch every time a passenger bumped into his back with very little success. Spurred on by pain and desperation, the Praxian pushed rudely past the other passengers who each added new and exciting expletives to his steadily growing lexicon.

He followed the signals like a lifeline to the back of the train.

Two Praxian enforcers sat side by side, doorwings flicking intermittently. Both of them leaned forward with their elbows on their knees, either from the exhaustion clearly written across their faces or simply because the bench they sat on wasn’t made to accommodate the extra limbs on their backs.

One was blue with a yellow chevron, lazily leaking smoke to pool against the ceiling. Seemingly absorbed in people watching.

{ ···· · -·--     ·--· --··--     ··· · ·     - ···· ·     --- -· ·     ·-- ·· - ····     - ···· ·     ···- ·· ··· --- ·-· ··--·· }

The other was monochrome save for a bright red chevron, scanning the crowd with a critical optic, locking onto his approach.

{ ··     ·-· · --· ·-· · -     - · ·-·· ·-·· ·· -· --·     -·-- --- ··-     ·- -· -·-- - ···· ·· -· --· }

{ ·· ’ --     ···· · ·-·· ·--· ·· -· --· }

{ ··- -· -·- -· --- ·-- -·     · -· ··-· --- ·-· -·-· · ·-·     ·- ·--· ·--· ·-· --- ·- ---- ·· -· --· }

The praxians straightened, the blue one offering a casual smile and a welcoming field.

“Hey there! Can we help you?”

He almost crashed to the floor, stumbling to stand before them.

“Yes! Yes! Hello! I need help! I’ve been trying to find someone to help with my doorwings for what feels like forever but everyone I’ve talked to has told me to go away or go frag myself or go ask someone else and then somebody told me to come in here or really they actually told me to follow my doorwings which was actually kinda hard because they hurt a lot and all the warnings I’m getting are making it kinda hard to focus on anything and nobody has let me finish talking the entire time!”

The optics of the black and white praxian got steadily wider as he spoke, taking in the information with an otherwise motionless posture.

The blue one took it in stride, waving him to get closer, “Alright, c’mere and turn around real quick.”

Gratefully, he followed the clear instructions and did just that.

The blue one hummed, “Oh that’s an easy fix.”

His doorwings twinged in their slots at the feeling of the mechs servos on his back. “Sorry, this’ll pinch a little.” And with two practiced twists, the mech braced one servo against his back and popped the hinges back in place.

He hissed at the initial sting but relief immediately flooded his sensor net.

“Is the Doorwing injury related to why you are covered in ash?” The monochrome mech spoke for the first time.

“Hmm? Oh no, someone just ran into me from behind. He was yelling something about useless cops?” He could see the irises of the praxians optics cycling as he spoke. The mechs mouth thinned to a line as his brow furrowed.

The other didn’t seem to notice, laughing heartily, “Oh trust me that’s not the last time you’ll hear that. Next time call your squad in to book the guy for assault on an officer. You new here?”

He smiled, doorwings fluttering involuntarily at being asked a non clinical question for the first time ever. “Yes! I’m very new! Everything is so new! Who are you two?”

Something clicked for the other mech. Doorwings drooping, “Um, Smokescreen?”

The blue mech, Smokescreen, ignored him. Instead, he wrapped an arm around the mechs shoulders and pulled him in, “Well this here is my little brother Prowl, I promise he’s slightly less of a stick in the gears than he first appears. We’d show you around our precinct, but it kinda burnt down this morning.”

“Smokescreen.” Prowl hissed.

“So what’s your designation and your placement new guy?” Smokescreen beamed at him with a sooty grin.

“My designation is P-E 2102. Aaaand the building I was being tested in caught fire, so I have no idea!” He rocked on his peds.

Smokescreen gave him a slightly curious once over.

Meanwhile, Prowl crossed his arms and looked unimpressed with his older brother.

Prowl turned back to him, “A follow up question, if you are able to answer, P-E 2102. When were you constructed?”

He checked his memory banks, “Two cycles ago!”

Smokescreen choked, coughing up a small cloud of exhaust. Prowl automatically thumped a servo against his back to help.

“Right.” The elder Praxian recovered, coughing into his fist and straightening up again. “So you’re two cycles old huh? That explains.. some things.”

Unconsciously, P-E 2102 pulled his doorwings in, not yet knowing what to call the awkward energy that spilled into the train car. The only mech seemingly unaffected was Prowl.

“Typically, once you make it through Quality Control a mech is assigned to act as your mentor to answer questions and bring you up to speed on how to function in society.” Prowl glanced at his brother. “Their designation should be tagged with your factory designation. We’ll assist in contacting them for your retrieval.”

Internally, P-E 2102 pulled his factory designation back up, and did indeed find what Prowl was talking about.

“Oh okay, it looks like I’m assigned to someone named Barricade?” He smiled again, happy to have a clear path forward after so much uncertainty. The two older Praxians immediately, silently looked at each other.

Optics wide, Smokescreen gave him a massive showman style grin, announcing loud enough for the whole train to hear, “Nooope!”

“Um, what?” He new forge looked confused, optics flitting between the two of them.

The eldest praxian nudged Prowl to scoot over. “Nope!” He clapped his servos on his knees for emphasis. “That is not happening. You’re actually going to be my ward now. Last minute update. You know how office work gets.”

“This is a terrible idea.” Prowl grumbled but still moved to make room. “You aren’t qualified to mentor more than one ward. You wouldn’t even be my mentor if the Council hadn’t lowered the age requirement.”

Smokescreen patted the new space between them, “Go ahead and take a seat newbie. And Prowl? C’mon. You haven’t needed me for literal vorns.”

He squeezed into the space between them. It took a bit to figure out how to overlap their doorwings, but once they folded together, the new forge felt more secure than he’d ever been in his life.

Which wasn’t very long but still.

“First things first, you need a proper des.” Smokescreen poked him in the chassis. Briefly frowning at the grime left on his digit. “And a proper paint job.”

“Oh can I be red? I think I like red. And orange. And yellow. I like warm tones in general really. But I think just red for now.” He pointed up at Prowls chevron for reference.

“It is a striking color.” Prowl nodded sagely. “It will suit you fine, though I request you do not completely copy my appearance to avoid future confusion.”

He hummed, already considering the ash grey covering his plating. He didn’t think it looked too bad actually.

“We’ll get the paint sorted later, now how about a proper name? I don’t believe in assigning one over your own choice, so you gotta pick.”Smokescreen leaned back, not giving away any clues of what options laid before him.

“Hmm.” He studied the signage outside the train. “Something with blue in it?”

“Blue?” Prowl raised an eye ridge. “Didn’t you just say you wanted to be painted red?”

“Well yeah. I like the color red but I like the word blue.” He said rationally and sensibly.

Prowl could find no argument and accepted the information for what it was.

Smokescreen tapped his shoulder. “Gonna need something a little more complex than just Blue, buddy. It’s a pretty popular des.”

“Oh how about Blueline!”

A few eavesdroppers snorted at the announcement, a small wave of mirth echoing around the mostly reserved fields of the crowd.

There was a long pause.

“That.. is the name of the train we are currently riding.” Prowl slowly pointed out.

“Ah.”

Voice an octave higher, Smokescreen gave a slightly pained albeit encouraging grin. “Yeeeah. Maybe try one more time?”

The young mech rested his chin on his servos, rapidly tapping his digits. “Is Blue streak taken?”

Prowl and Smokescreen considered the name. Internally, Prowl scanned over something for a moment. “I do not see any other registrations for that designation. It is indeed available.”

“Then Bluestreak it is!” Proclaimed Smokescreen, who clapped a servo around Prowls far shoulder, squishing Bluestreak between them.

Bluestreak whooped, sirens he didn’t know he had briefly going off before Prowl rushed to teach him how to turn them back down.

With a sense of finality, the train at last closed its doors and pulled out of Praxus. Bluestreak watched the skyscrapers dance in streams of gold and red.

Tacnet Dilation: 125%

The sounds of the train car moved treacle slow. Bluestreak turned to his new brothers and in a voice that sounded strangely deep to his own audials, asked them “Why is Praxus burning?”

They glanced at each other again, passing silent communication born of familiarity. When he eventually spoke, Bluestreak could hear the buzz of Smokescreens vocalizer activating the click before the consonants of his words rumbled forward like distant thunder, “There’s a war, a civil war. We’re still deciding where to go.”

“Can I come?” The question came so easily.

A pause that lasted a thousand years crawled by, as the train swept into a long dark tunnel with no clear end.

“Yeah.” Smokescreen said, “You can come.”

——————

“And to make a long story short, we ended up joining the Decepticons because well, the Functionalist Council kinda claimed all surviving CC Praxian Enforcers as ‘Government Property’.” Bluestreak made quotations with his digits.

Not for the first time, Bluestreak glanced at his audience. It was difficult to read the twins, Sunstreaker especially, but Bluestreak thought he was starting to get a hold of their personalities.

He vaguely remembered Jazz saying he had an unusually high affinity for piloting mecha, and hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Now that he was spending time with “regular” pilots, Bluestreak couldn’t help but stare at the stark difference.

Jazz made it work, easily translating laid back body language and a friendly demeanor through several tons of non living machinery.

But the twins? There were times when the Twins reminded him of Empurata victims, their fine movements unnaturally stunted and their incredibly restricted means of self expression coming off as awkward at best. Drone like at worst.

And yet, like clouds passing through an Uncanny Valley, Bluestreak would see bits of their true selves slip out.

For example, the three of them had just come up to a broad shallow stream running across the sandy earth. Sunstreaker stalked right up to the shore, knelt down to dip a cupped hand into water and wasted no time in splashing it across his plating. While his brother attempted to clean himself of the filth they’d accumulated from the day, Sideswipe pointedly looked Bluestreak in the optics and raised a single finger to his visor.

Bluestreak tilted his helm, understanding the meaning of gesture but not the why.

Casually admiring the scenery, Sideswipe tiptoed behind his brothers back, hands clasped in the picture of nonchalant innocence.

And then kicked him square in the back.

Tacnet Dilation: 50%

BLUESTREAK: [Uh Prowl?]

Abruptly flattened face first into the sand, Sunstreaker raised one arm and punched into the earth beneath the stream. He rose with a measured, predatory speed.

BLUESTREAK: [Not an emergency. I think.]

Regardless, the Praxian still backed away from the beach. Tacnet stretching out the clicks for Prowl to answer into wisp thin strands of time.

BLUESTREAK: [But please still respond.]

Sideswipe made a show of pointing a finger at his brother while almost doubled over. Frame absolutely shaking with silent laughter.

PROWL: [I’m here. What is it?]

Whip fast, a clawed hand fisted itself around Sideswipes collar, yanking him off his feet. The red mecha vanished, reappearing on the opposite bank, laying prone in a brand new crater.

BLUESTREAK: [So the twins are fighting.]

Tacnet Dilation: 100%

Bluestreak watched as Sideswipes arms rotated backwards, punching off the earth with explosive momentum and launching himself towards the yellow mecha.

In a clear display of practice, Sunstreaker caught him with a shoulder to the chest, slamming his brother back first into the water with enough force to make it rain.

PROWL: [Each other?]

BLUESTREAK: [Yep.]

Sideswipe twisted his waist around almost 90 degrees and suddenly had the leverage to dig his clawed feet into the ground, flipping Sunstreaker back into the water.

Tacnet held steady at 100% dilation, slowing the fight to a pace that Bluestreak could actually follow. To anyone else, it’d be a blur of red and yellow plating churning through indecipherably dense sprays of water droplets.

Once, back on the Lost Light, Bluestreak had asked Prowl what was it that drew him to Jazz. Prowl, naturally, gave a highly clinical answer, “Jazz is highly competent. Tacnet likes competence.”

Of course, Bluestreak made fun of him at the time for hiding his feelings behind his battle computer.

But uh.

He was kinda getting it now.

Every awkward gesture, every stilted performance at normal body language from before evaporated instantaneously. There wasn’t a hundred feet of separation between their hands and their brains anymore, the pilots filled their mecha out to the very finger tips. Swift and precise and alive.

To Tacnet, these weren’t machines anymore, but men.

Very competent men.

PROWL: [This is apparently normal behavior for them. Keep your distance and wait it out.]

Bluestreak nearly dropped his rifle, juggling it in slow motion as his frame struggled to move as fast as his processor.

BLUESTREAK: [Yep got it.]

BLUESTREAK: [Will be observing closely.]

BLUESTREAK: [From a distance.]

BLUESTREAK: [I’ll be observing closely from a distance I mean.]

BLUESTREAK: [I am completely fine.]

By the time he’d pinned the stock against his chassis, he’d sent Prowl about half a dozen more messages, all following in a continuously self correcting pattern.

PROWL: [Bluestreak. Paragraphs please.]

He reeled Tacnet back to the standard 25% dilation and watched the fight continue at normal speed. Occasionally, Bluestreak noticed one of their visors would turn his way before snapping back to focus on pummeling each other into the ground

Are they watching to make sure I didn’t leave? Or… are they watching to make sure I’m watching?

When they were younger, Smokescreen would sometimes get a hold of fuzzy holovids of old gladiator fights, (or questionably sourced security footage) and drag Prowl and him to his hab suite to watch. On a purely superficial level, he claimed it was for “Tacnet training” and taught them both how to zero in on hundreds of little tells that’d determine who’d the winner of the match would be right from the opening move.

They played a game where whoever correctly guessed the outcome of the match first would be the winner. Bonus points for predicting the correct finishing move. Prowl and Smokescreen would get ridiculously competitive. Or rather, Smokescreen always won and it drove Prowl up the wall. Years later, Smokescreen would whisper what the secret was to him over a bottle of high grade: Prowl never considered not all mechs fight to win.

This was a performance.

Every blow the twins traded landed on the thickest parts of their armor. The flashing exposures of their most delicate components were brief but frequent, always left untouched.

His digits twitched where he held the rifle.

Two targets (moving, distracted) within close firing range. Estimated reaction time: 2.2 clicks. Estimated time between shots: 1.4 clicks.

Tacnet Dilation: 100%

Manual Override, Tacnet Dilation: 25%

Bluestreak turned up his ventilations and stamped down on Tacnet, blocking out anymore suggestions by tunelessly humming some random jingle he’d heard about a million years ago.

Eventually, the fight wound down on its own without a winner. Sunstreaker helped Sideswipe up, and that was that.

Watching the two stomp out of the water, Bluestreak raised a thumbs up, “You guys good?”

The twins responded in the affirmative, each giving the other one last shove before resuming their flanking positions beside the sniper. Setting out once more.

Several hours later, the stars had dimmed as the sky turned powder blue.

The broad flat expanse of the rocky desert begged to be raced across. The variation in the terrain with its short stoney shelves and dried river bed roads would have been fantastic tracks for a spur of the moment race.

If I was allowed to that is.

The sand and grit from the environment was starting to grind uncomfortably in his joints. His peds ached more from the knowledge that he didn’t need to walk than from the physical exertion of the hike itself.

“On a scale of one to ten, how badly would you guys react if I turned into a car right now?” He panted, keeping careful watch of his coolant levels as the sun rose over the horizon. “Like a five maybe? A five seems about right for the situation.”

The twins simultaneously stopped.

Bluestreaks doorwings flicked nervously, “Is this your way of saying it’s a three?”

Steadily, Sideswipe lowered into a low crouch, vents hissing steam and visor going dark. There was a subtle click of joints locking into place.

Sunstreaker picked a rocky shelf and sat, keeping both of them in his line of sight

BLUESTREAK: [The twins are doing something weird and new. Sunstreaker is just watching but Sideswipe is squatting for some reason and it looks like he just went into recharge?]

While Bluestreak worried the inside of his cheek, Sunstreaker waved at him and patted the stone by his side.

Hesitantly and not wanting to potentially offend the alien hunter, Bluestreak took the offered seat. Thankfully, Sunstreaker seemed mollified by this and went back to staring at the horizon.

PROWL: [Ratchet says it sounds like they’re taking shifts resting. Given the length of time you’ve been traveling together, they may expect you to “power down” for a while as well.]

BLUESTREAK: [So what you’re saying is I have to fake being in recharge while sitting upright, outdoors in the sun and in heavily implied to be quint infested territory?]

PROWL: [Yes.]

BLUESTREAK: [Great. Awesome. Thank you. This is totally fine.]

PROWL: [I’m sorry.]

Okay now that was a red flag.

Angry Prowl meant “There is a problem and I will not physically stop until it is obliterated.”

Apologetic Prowl meant even he couldn’t deal with the problem.

The sheer scale of how fucked he was finally set in.

Tacnet Dilation: 125%

Tacnet Dilation: 150%

Tacnet Dilation: 225%

Time curled up into a little ball on the floor.

The only thing that stopped Tacnet from going past 300% was a wedged in bit of coding Bluestreak had forcibly added after a truly nightmarish near death experience at 500% dilation.

Logically, he knew he still had control over his frame, but the sheer delay in response felt like he was paralyzed.

Don’t force it. Don’t force it. Don’t force yourself to move, everything you try to do will add to the queue and it’ll hit all at once.

He wished Sunstreaker could talk, Bluestreak couldn’t deal with silence. Silence was like trying to keep track of passing time by staring at a blank wall. At least when there was noise, the pitch could clue him in and keep his mind semi tethered to the actual rate of things happening around him.

The dinks of his digits curling against his servos finally registered from when he started the motion all the way back when Prowl said he was sorry.

The faint pressure just was enough to start his thought process again.

Manual Override, Tacnet Dilation: 200%

Manual Override, Tacnet Dilation: 150%

Manual Override, Tacnet Dilation: 100%

Feeling spread back into his frame as sensory input raced back to his processor. From Bluestreaks perspective, it felt like he’d just lunched forward, helm between his knees. From the outside it probably just looked like a slow miserable curl.

He tried not to purge.

When his doorwings picked up on movement from Sunstreaker, he froze. Hyperaware of how bizarre his behavior must look.

A heavy hand not designed for anything other than ripping and tearing settled between his doorwings, lightly patting.

Bluestreak chanced a glance at the yellow mecha. Sunstreakers visor was as impassive as ever but with his unoccupied hand he raised an “OK” symbol, tilting his head inquisitively.

Letting his vents run at max, Bluestreak swallowed, raising an “OK” back.

“I’m gonna go ahead and pretend to be unconscious now. Thanks for not killing me so far.”

Bluestreak crossed his arms and dimmed his optics, flaring out his doorwings to compensate for the drop in input.

To execute his performance as an unfeeling empty husk of machinery, Bluestreak clenched his jaw and vowed not to speak or move for the next several hours.

Tacnet Dilation: 50%

Or however long it felt like.

———————————————————————

Jazz: “So if you use Tacnet to crunch the numbers on crazy complicated battle simulations, and Bluestreak uses his Tacnet to pull off insane sniper moves, what does Smokescreen use his for?”

Prowl: “Gambling.”

——————

Cybertronian ages are weird and don’t really align to human developmental rates but I do roughly equate 1 millennia to about a decade in human years.

So Prowl is in his late twenties, Smokescreen is in his thirties and Bluestreak can legally buy alcohol, depending on the country.

Also, Prowl and Smokescreen don’t know about the constant time dilation Bluestreak lives with. It was an experimental feature that got turned on for testing and when Bluestreaks factory got blown up there was nobody around to disable it.

Sometime after they started living together, he asked Smokescreen what Tacnet Dilation actually was, and Smokescreen basically just went “Oh yeah that thing. Yeah just don’t touch it and you’ll be fine.” Not knowing it was already on.

As far as Bluestreak is aware, 25% is “normal speed” because that’s the lowest setting.

-SSTP

[phantomwithbreakfast]

DANNYMAY DAY 15: Stars

Day 14 • Day 16

⟢ I played it smart. Alright? I took a sketch from a few months ago—or… I don’t know exactly when I drew this one—and I just colored it. Time saving! So now, I’m only running one freaking day behind. No, it’s not a crop top. I didn’t know how the folds of the hoodie would fall if it was floating like that, lol. (More under the cut)

Genre: Angst / Hurt / No Comfort • TW/CW: PTSD — Depression — Identity Loss — Emotional Distress — Medical Trauma (non-graphic) • Aftermath of Scarred For Half A Life (my phic) — Just my Danny, the stars, and what’s left of him • AU — OOC • Rate M

Danny liked the stars.

No—he loved them.

There was something about the quiet hush of the sky, the endless stretch of velvet black pricked with distant, shimmering lights. They felt like hope, once. A future. A promise. The universe was out there, and he used to believe—really believe—that one day, he’d be among them. NASA. Astronaut. The whole suit-up-and-fly-away dream.

Danny Fenton, future astronaut—NASA’s next big shot.

He used to close his eyes and picture it—helmet snug around his head, fingers wrapped around the controls of a shuttle, weightless and free, watching Earth shrink to a marble behind him. He would have built the engine himself. Engineered the future. Calculated trajectory. Solved for the impossible. He had notebooks—had, because they were probably in the trash now—filled with sketches and plans. Rocket diagrams scrawled between geometry homework and ghost-fighting strategies.

He still smiled when he flew above the clouds, phasing just high enough that the cold air bit at his skin and made his fingers tremble. The wind didn’t matter. The ache in his chest didn’t matter. When he was up there, alone in the dark, the stars were close enough to count.

And sometimes—just sometimes—he forgot.

Forgot what had been done to him. Forgot the collar. The white rooms. The smell of ectoplasm. The way his screams never echoed back. Forgot how she looked at him like a test subject. Forgot the way he begged her, Mom, please, it’s me—

He forgot.

But it never lasted.

Because then he’d remember. The stars were fucking lies.

He wasn’t going to reach them. Not now. Not ever. They stole that from him. Ripped it out of him like they did everything else. Phantom was back, sure, but the dream—the human dream—was gone. NASA didn’t accept broken things. And he was so broken.

His hands shook when he reached toward them. He used to pretend they were close. That if he just stretched enough, just a little more, he could touch them. But now?

Now his hands were too scarred to stretch that far.

The stars didn’t feel like hope anymore. They were witnesses.

They watched when he was on the table. They watched when she carved him open. They watched when he stopped screaming because it hurt less to go quiet. They were there when he forgot what his own voice sounded like, when his body trembled from withdrawal—not from drugs, but from the lack of pain.

And now, they mocked him. Beautiful. Untouchable. Just like everything else he wanted.

A breeze whispered past him, brushing through his pitch white hair, and he realized—he didn’t know if he was smiling anymore. His lips were curled, but it didn’t feel happy. It didn’t feel like anything, honestly.

Just muscle memory. A hollow reflex.

He hovered above Amity Park, staring at the stars with an ache stitched so deep into his bones that even vivisection hadn’t reached it. It throbbed under his ribs—quiet, constant. A craving, not just for the stars themselves, but for the boy who used to believe he could touch them. For the dream that wasn’t laced with ectoplasm and restraints. For the version of himself that didn’t tremble at the smell of antiseptic or jolt at the flicker of overhead lights. He wanted that ache to fill him, to drown out the numbness, to remind him he was still someone. Still human. Still Danny.

But even that hurt felt distant now.

“I was gonna touch you one day,” he whispered as he watched the stars, his voice splintering halfway through. “I was gonna be something.”

But they didn’t here him. No one did. Not even the fucking stars.

His hands dropped to his sides.

And Danny… Danny kept floating there, motionless and small, a glowing silhouette lost against the sky—half dead, half hoping, all hollow. Craving the pain that used to make him feel real.

And still… the stars kept shining—distant, perfect, untouched—while he stayed broken beneath them, bleeding out on the inside where no one could see.

⟢ Not part of the main phic, just a small one-shot taking place in the same universe.

[sleepy-grav3]

The Moon Child - Part 1

Part 2

A/n: There's a bunch of batfam adoptions, let's switch it up a bit.

Summary Background info: Danny died fully to the GIW. His class noticed when Danny disappeared and think his parents killed him. The city now believes he lives among the stars. On the same day Danny died, however, the moon was smashed to bits and rained down asteroids into the ocean and land of Earth. The Lanterns replace it with a new moon. The ocean life believes that the moon's spirit will not like being replaced.

Tw: Bad parents, depression, dissociation, vivisection scars, past death, discrimination, angst, hurt/comfort

Danny is a full ghost and looks like a child because that's all his core can expend; Danny becomes a moon spirit. Aquaman/Arthur is the movie version, the fun upbeat guy, not the serious one.

The Moon Child Part 1 - Strong Beliefs Come to Life

When the moon was destroyed, the Lanterns had agreed to send over a new one to make sure the Earth didn't destroy itself without the Moon to guide the oceans. It wasn't difficult to get one, though it was a lot of paperwork.

But when it was done, the Justice League thought that was it. Batman, being the paranoid man he was, demanded those with cities near a beach and Aquaman to report regularly about any changes in the ocean with the new moon while he checks other things that would be affected by it. They didn't bother to argue, as their luck always had it that peace was never a lasting thing. So the extra precaution was fine, but they didn't think anything of it after a few weeks of nothing happening.

The ocean life thought otherwise. Unlike the beings on land, who worship the sun, the beings in the ocean believed in the moon. Legends, myths, and many beliefs surrounding the moon's corpse that had mostly fell in their waters had risen.

The Moon is not meant to be replaced

The Moon is not like the others

The Moon will believe we did not care

The Moon will return and haunt these waters

-

Cries echoed in the dark of night. Moonstones guided the way to the origin of said sobs that were as powerful as the sirens' voice. Yet what the sirens attracted was lust, not melancholy.

Those who followed them would begin to see a dim light grow brighter and brighter, but never irritate. Instead, it would bring a wave of sorrowful tranquility.

When they reached the origin, they would see a small child holding their tail that faded in solidity. Their hair as white as how the moon used to be. Their skin as pale as a human who had died in freezing temperatures. And their eyes a beautiful silver that matched the stones that trailed away from them.

They wore loose and poofy at the bottom pants that matched a dark night sky and a translucent veil that had constellations move around the dark blue fabric. His upper body was bare, and he covered it with the veil, which darkened when wrapped to shield his body from being seen. (think Egyptian dancer)

And that's when the creatures of the ocean had a realization. Their deity was too kind to exact revenge for the blasphemy. Their pain was not one to simply end in an instant.

The Moon has returned, and they are not angered.

They thought they were replaceable, disposable. As if they never mattered.

The Moon has returned to world that acted ungrateful for what they had done to protect it. To a world who simply replaced them for another.

They felt like all they did was for nothing. Like nothing they had done ever mattered in the end.

The Moon did not have a welcomed return. And they decided to express it alone, as if nobody would care to comfort them.

-

Arthur never believed in ghosts. Not until now as he gazed upon the spirit of the moon who had taken the form of a small child with a wisp for a tail and was crying moonstones.

The seafolk had all voiced their guilt on how they cursed at the humans and aliens, speaking how the spirit of the moon would enact their revenge. They felt guilty that they had ever thought their deity would ever stoop as low as those disgraceful humans. For their deity was kind. They were perfect. And they always looked after them when they could, even appearing in the day no matter how much strength it took.

The Ocean was meant to be the Moon's temple.

And as the King of the Ocean, it was his duty to take in the Moon and shelter them in their time of need.

"Child."

The child jumped, turning with wide, teary eyes at him. Arthur smiled gently.

"Greetings. I've heard that you've been here for a while now. It... it must've hurt badly."

The child seemed to have a flash of pain from the memory alone, tightening their arms around their wispy tail.

"What they did to you was unacceptable and inhumane. You were alive and looking after so many who could not save themselves."

More stones splashed into the water.

"You saved them, save everyone and they repaid that by hurting you. Killing you. Attempting to end you. It was a crime and yet... yet they got off light. It was a crime and they thought nothing of it."

The spirit relaxed, eyes gazing at him in disbelief and awe.

"I'm sorry we weren't able to save you. I'm sorry I couldn't prevent such a blasphemous act."

They smiled softly at him and let go of their tail, flying over to him.

"I'm still here." Their voice echoed. "I can still protect everyone."

Arthur took a breath and reached his hand out, placing it on the child's head.

"Please, let me do the protecting this time."

The child of the moon teared up once more, smile now shaky.

"Okay." They whispered. "I'll trust you."

And with that, the child shined just a bit more brightly before their form retreated into a spherical oval with the New Moon glyph floating inside. He cupped his hands together, letting the moonstone with the height of 2 quarters and the width and depth of 1 descend into them. Upon observation, he noticed the moon glyph shift to always present itself in the direction of those who gazed upon them.

"I have to report this to the league." Arthur thought, worried about what they'd do if they discover the spirit on their own.

-

Pain, that was all he felt. Even after his core had been carved and crushed, he still felt the excruciating agony of it. And now he revived again, feeling the aftershocks, the phantom pains.

His core was straining itself to even let him stay out of it, willing him to retreat. But he couldn't risk being found. He couldn't risk a curious person deciding to carve him again.

That was... until this man came. A hero, one that ruled over the oceans and seas, came to him and apologized for not saving him. someone who wasn't even close to him, who shouldn't have even known about him, had felt guilty about his death. And he stayed and he begged for him to come with him. He bled out the promise of safety. Of recognition. He... wanted to protect Danny.

A hero who protected the beings of his waters wanted to protect him, a ghost.

Danny was starting to think humans really were inferior to other beings. Be it aliens... or seafolk. Atlanteans. Ha! To think an Atlantean cared more about him, who was a half human and human ghost, than a human ever could.

It hurt.

It hurt to think about.

But it hurt more to try to reject it. So, he accepted that this stranger, this hero who probably didn't even believe he could exist, was willing to protect him like nobody ever had. Like nobody ever could. Like nobody ever would.

His core will be safe with him. He will be safe with him.

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

A/n: Well... that was a thing. Poor Danny.... He was never actually acknowledged. But oh well. The next one's about him meeting the family and getting coddled.

Also, if you're thinking about the movie's Aquaman having a baby... well he's dead. Black Manta killed him through suffocation or whatever like the wiki says. So that's why he wasn't mentioned.

Part 2

[light-lanterne]

Hi! Idk if you're into it, but can I request some Byler and vivisection please? Look it up if you don't know what it is, I get the feeling it's right up your alley

hello ! thanks for the ask ~! a lovely mutual (rori) has been sharing stuff about it here and there so i know what it is, don't worry :]

anyway, you'll forgive the uninspiring scenario and the massive departure from your prompt, but i'm a little dry on creativity these past couple days so this is the only thing i could come up with. i hope it's enough:

tw // abundant, vivid, semi-anatomically-correct descriptions of gore - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ☽ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - a short offering @boycattj, @byelerss, @catboy-cabin, @cosmobrain00, @dark-quill, @conanssummerchild, @fenixashes, @fluffyfangirl, @foodiewithdahoodie, @holyvirgilscriptures, @hyperfixationcentralsvoid, @rotisseries, @wheelersboy, @yearninginblue.

s5 scenario where byler are trapped by themselves in the upside down. they are lost, tired, they've been fighting quite a lot and they just want to find somewhere safe to spend the night and recover a little bit of their strength.

luck, however, isn't on their side and they get mauled by a pack of demogorgons. they manage to outrun most of them via trickery and deception; they even manage to kill a couple.

but it's not enough and, just when they think they're finally safe, a lone beast follows their tracks and finds their hiding spot, attacking and ripping to shreds the belly of one of them before the other is able to do anything and neutralise the threat via bashing them in the head with a bat.

so, the demogorgon is dead and the one who killed it (could be either mike or will) takes a moment to recover his breath, then turns around and notices just how bad the other is doing so he rushes to his side. kneels by him. of course, he quickly realises the blood loss is almost too much and starts to crack under the pressure of what's happening, but he keeps trying and even manages to stop most of the bleeding with one hand...

...but then shock sets in and the heart stops, and the one still awake —who again, only has one hand available since they're still trying to stop the bleeding with the other— is forced to take a rather unorthodox approach towards saving the other's life.

if it's mike, it's because of his unyielding determination and stubborn resolution to not let vecna win after everything that's happened. if it's will, it's because of his love for mike and maybe because he's lost a little bit of sanity throughout the last few months of their struggle, with the constant nightmares and taunting vecna's been subjecting him to non-stop.

whoever it is, he's a little deranged over the situation and thus, he doesn't hesitate to stick his hand inside the tear —careful not to be too forceful in an effort to keep the guts intact—, then slides it under the sternum and pushes past the liver, stomach and diaphragm and reaches towards the heart, erratic spasms from the lungs a clear indicator of how quickly the other's condition is deteriorating and how urgent the situation is.

so he keeps going. and at first, the fingertips barely touch the muscle, the blood is slippery and makes it so the heart keeps moving further into the ribcage, and it's a rather awkward angle so he has to consistently rearrange the position of his hand. but then he figures it out, pushes a little bit deeper —closer—, and finally manages to get a firm hold onto the heart and squeezes.

gently, softly. he has no idea what he's doing but he's determined and he's already in so deep (literally) so he's not going to stop.

thus, he massages the heart and tries to make the blood flow from one chamber into the other —just like mr. clarke showed them in biology class—, then maybe even moves their position a little so he can attempt to give some rather-ineffective mouth-to-mouth, barely any air making it past the throat due to the atrocious angle, yet enough air entering the lungs to inflate them a little and pushing them closer to the hand that's still in there.

little by little, for several minutes, he keeps struggling to reanimate the heart and get it back in working order until, finally, the demogorgon's poor victim takes a deep, tortured breath and the heart beats a couple times on its own, its rhythm slow and uneven but at least it's there.

moreover, there are yells in the distance and they've been there for a while, but the boys were a little busy to notice and it is only now that they realise it's their party and thus, help is on the way and everything is going to be fine and it is! the others arrive promptly and help the unfortunate teenagers through their conundrum, then a few weeks go past and the upside down is out of their lives so everything should go back to normal soon.

and for the most part, that's exactly what happens. life is not quite what it used to be before the gates opened —much less before will was even taken—, but slowly, the anxiety and nightmares the entire party now suffers start decreasing as time goes by and it's probably only going to be a couple years before they can all feel a sense of peace and calm at long last.

but during the quiet nights, when they're completely alone in their bedrooms with nothing but their own thoughts as companions, mike and will keep thinking back to that moment. to when one of them had to do something so odd to save his life.

for the receiver, it's a little confusing since it's all a blur, the strange, phantom sensation of having a hand around his cardiac muscle somehow entwining with the endorphin rush produced by the delusional daydreams he was having at that moment, on the brink of death, when the pain of what his body was going through was no longer being registered in his tired brain, and thus, the pressure of a foreign object in his chest somehow being logged in his mind as something that felt nice.

for the giver, however, it's all much clearer. much more vivid. if he focusses enough, he can still feel the warmth of the blood and smooth innards against his palm, all over his skin and under his nails; the pressure of the viscera pushing against his fingers, the space tight and clearly not meant to house any more mass, yet squishy and malleable and able to make enough room for the slim hand; the blood inside the heart moving from one side to the other, the sensation not too different from that of playing around with a water balloon...

...the bizarre feeling of the lungs expanding and breathing in life at the very end, his hand suddenly trapped and unable to move by the increased volume, almost as if the inside of his loved one's body was trying to hold him and keep him there, unmoving for just a little bit longer, nestled between some of the most important organs in the entire human body (the very organs he'd just reanimated and essentially returned life to with his very breath and gentle force).

so he lays in bed, hand extended towards the ceiling, the light from outside his window illuminating his fingers, and he pictures how they looked back when he finally pulled out to give room for the others to finish saving the other's life.

he pictures his hand covered in crimson blood, the likes of which was too quick to get cold upon being in contact with the air, then sighs in melancholy as he chases after the memory of the wonderful heat and pressure he'll unfortunately never get to feel again.

- the end -

(now that this is done, i must ask,,, is vivisection a weird kink ? >.< not shaming in the slightest (and this isn't technically vivisection so it's not even right), but i was writing the last couple paragraphs when it hit me that not everyone is an aroace ex-med student like yours truly so i was just going with the vibes while it is entirely possible that anon had a different angle when sending their request x.x oh well, it's done. thanks for the ask, for reading, and for letting me write weird stuff !! have a lovely day / night ~)

[odysseywritings]

The Dead Moth and Other Ghosts

@flashfictionfridayofficial

(tw insect cruelty imagery)

Christian passed by a church while commuting to the hospital and wondered when was the last time he prayed. One memory after another flowed into him. Some good, some bad, some funny, some embarrassing. The past had its place and he wanted to move on, keep his head on, and focus on the current, the here and now.

Pre-med made the time fly and gave him the need for exorcizing anxiety. It felt nice to contribute to the physical betterment of humanity without any nagging reflection. But today was slower and he needed to fill the time with studying. He honed in on vivisection, amputation, pain and other stimulation, and consciousness. All of it to help humanity but there was something else he walked away from.

Despite the blood and guts, medicine was the perfect example of humanity's scientific hand, to defy disease and ailment and even halt death. It was the cleanest arm in all of mankind's dealings. Christian believed it. But another part of him, nameless, shadowed him and wormed its way into his consciousness.

"Christian," the voice chirped. "Did I cause this?"

He peered deeper into his book to drown out the now echoing voice.

"Be honest with me, if not for yourself. Would you really want to become a doctor if you never saw me? How much I ignited the sparks of childlike curiosity?"

Christian accepted the voice existing but feebly ignored it until his steel fortress bent. He saw the apparition in full detail and magnified. A moth flying in front of him, missing limbs and a head.

"You can always change. No one has to stay ignorant of his actions. Or to deny his powerless understanding of the world. You thought an afterlife existed and that I was a step above a toy. A play thing. Like the ants you saw your cousin incinerate."

Christian swallowed in rage and sadness. He didn't mean to cause pain. He was a dumb kid who knew nothing. He wasn't a serial killer in waiting. He swatted the moth but his hand went through the wobbling sight.

"It's different. Your hands. Those tiny, curious things. The intimacy of it. Is that why you want to be a doctor? So you can control life and death in a nice, wealthy way? Bugs come and go, there's no hard feelings. But don't be surprised if a god exists and treats you the same."

Christian grabbed his book and slammed it against his wrist, again, again, again, until it numbed him. He trembled from the pain so he could transfer the guilt into something visible. The moth flew closer to his eyes in violent motions.

"All things want to live. Even if it means using something else to raise yourself. Don't kid yourself if you feel like a messiah. You can't bring back what you kill."

Christian breathed in ragged bursts, sweating, and ran his fingers through his dampened hair. The same fingers crawling down his face. The same ones that decide life and death. His blood froze.

"I don't know what this human emotion you're going through is. I take it it's not good by how many fluids are coming out of you, so take this. I'm already gone. No amount of life saving, or death dealing, or sulking, or avoiding changes that. Nothing."

Christian stood silent, shaking. The headless, limbless moth floated onto his nose.

"But what you can do is improve. Even back then, you saw and realized what you did was wrong without your mother or teacher or priest telling you. Maybe if not me, something worse might've happened. Who cares? You are alive and you can change. There are innocent children who never learn and become killers. If you do care, so be it. But history alone doesn't control who you are or what you must do to atone."

The moth ghost vanished once he blinked. Christian's senses were returning and the world stabilized. He closed the book in a hurry and walked inside the building to burn up anxiety. His trot stopped as he found a fluttering moth hovering by the ground. He thought about leaving it be or killing it to remove the pest, but he knew it was just a tiny bug that just wanted to exist.

He clasped his hands around the confused insect and carried it until he went outside and let it fly away. Deep down he knew this sentiment wouldn't amount to much, and that the moth wouldn't repay the favor and save his life in the future. But it got to live when death could've arrived just as normal. It wouldn't be an exciting life of heroism and triumph, and that's perfect for it, as life can win another day.

[venusararara]

OK babes let's talk about what Gatherine does when she has a bratty/noncompliant captive ♡

Gatherine is unlikely to keep a captive like this alive for long in the first place, but she IS likely to be extra hard on them for the duration of their life (1-2 days). She's liable to keep you if you start behaving after she starts the torture, though. She will probably forgive you.

TW for torture themes

☆ she usually begins with tearing all of your piercings out, in order of how painful she thinks it'll be.

☆ she also inflicts new piercings sometimes! Her go-tos are septum, genital, and nipple piercings. She will not allow them to heal.

☆ then she strips you nude and turns the A/C way, WAY down.

☆ she also only feeds you cold foods and drinks, at least until you lose your appetite.

☆ 43 degrees Fahrenheit if you're a mortal, 37 if you're a monster, and 30 if you're an angel.

☆ low temps are based on the lowest survivable temperature Dawsin suggests for each species, valhallia runs around 60 degrees and the surface runs around 97 degrees. Infernum runs around 132 degrees, so she doesn't have to turn down the A/C on the off chance she has a demon victim.

☆ she wears a cute winter coat when she comes to torture you, though.

☆ then begins vivisection and early dismemberment.

☆ puts past victim's cigarettes out on your open wounds.

☆ biting.

☆ cutting fingers and toes off with hedge clippers.

☆ cuts the spaces between your ribs, webbing between your fingers and toes.

☆ fingers your wounds, deepening them.

☆ blowtorches your ears/domewings.

☆ she may amputate your legs, though unlikely because she's not a massive fan of full-on amputating a limb. She wants you to be able to be self-sufficient if you learn to behave so she can keep you forever. It's not like she doesn't like you anymore.

☆ likes to go for bloodless torture like beatings and whatnot, but she's aware that those are considered less effective than the threat of losing a body part or being burned.

☆ last is solitary confinement.

☆ she turns off all of the lights and leaves you naked and cold.

☆ she stops visiting and feeding you.

☆ she will not appear again until you're completely silent for more than 12 hours, as she is checking to see if you're dead or not.

☆ might give you a sip of water if she likes you.

☆ if this all fails, she'll make you fight her for your life.

☆ she gets a knife, you don't.

☆ she'll play with you for a minute, giving you some hope that you'll win, before she rips it away and genuinely kills you.

☆ she gets bored pretty quick and guts you within 5 minutes of starting the "fight", it's pretty clear who the victor will be though (since you haven't eaten in a while).

☆ Gatherine will preserve one of your smaller body parts in a jar as something to remember you by.

[pickleking8]

Adoption Isn’t All It’s Cracked Up To Be --- Chapter 3

Words: 1,132

Ao3 Link

Previous - Next - Masterpost

TW: references to past trauma/vivisection/and death (done to a minor)

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

     Danny winced as he shifted in bed. The healing scar pulled on his skin, and it had started to itch. Ghosting his fingers over the makeshift bandages, he felt his way over the creases and wrinkles. He closed his eyes, hoping to see a comfortable field of darkness and to feel the lull of sleep, but all that approached him was green. That stupid neon green.

     Green, green, green everywhere! Slippery and disgustingly warm in that  that coated the table, reflecting the tinted lights that were glaring and cruel, flecks of green on the surgical blue of his parent’s gloves, just green everywhere. And it was all too bright.

     Danny’s eyes snapped open. He- he couldn’t. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this, he needed to get out, he needed to get away, he needed to get away from the grimy walls of the cheap hotel that seemed to be closing in on him all too quickly. 

     Danny flinched when he noticed the green light his eyes were giving off in his panic. It was a soft light, subtle, but much, much too green. Too neon. 

     Stupid color anyway, he thinks, shivering in the sudden chill that wafts over him when he throws the blankets off. He needs to get out. The floorboards creak as he makes his way across the room, glancing at Jazz, who was sleeping soundly in the bed. She looks tired, even in her sleep. Stressed, worried, upset. She’d been run ragged taking care of him the past week, not to mention the stress she’d been going through trying to make plans, trying to figure survival for them out… he’s sorry. 

     The hotel’s roof is surprisingly easy to access. The building has no alarms and barely any locked doors. Climbing the stairs winded him. He would have simply floated up, but the… incident had left him with little ectoplasm to spare; what he did have was going into keeping himself alive. No powers other than the barebones necessary could be used, meaning he had to climb the stairs like a normal person. He decided he didn’t like it. The night air was humid, but a light breeze still introduced a slight chill. Danny winced as his bare feet grated on the gravelly texture of the roof. He should have put on shoes. Sparing a glance over the edge of the roof, he shuddered, imagining what it would be like to have to deal with falling off a roof without his powers, and quickly snapping his gaze away from the edge. Nearing a secluded corner of the roof which hid behind a large air conditioning unit, Danny lowered himself with bated breath onto the precipice. Dangling his legs and kicking his feet, he leaned back onto his elbows and gazed at the few stars he could see in the cloud-ridden sky. They winked in and out of sight as the rain-laden clouds plodded past, but they remained. A steady fixture, something to be counted on. Persevering. Danny smiled. He liked stars. And so he stayed there, enjoying the way the air pulled on his feet as he swung them, feeling the breeze ruffle his hair, and keeping his gaze steadfastly on the sky. And it would be that unwavering gaze that was his undoing, for in his solitude, he quite terribly failed to notice Red Robin, who, at the moment, was in turn gazing slack-jawed back at Danny.

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

     Tim had always admired the second Robin. Always looked up to him, respected him. He was an idol. He knew what he had looked like when he had died. And he knew that he was dead. He knew, without a doubt, that Jason was dead. So why, then, was what looked like a fifteen-year-old Jason Todd sitting on top of a roof of a shitty hotel. Swinging his legs and looking at the sky like he hadn’t a care in the world. Actually, scratch that.  He looked like he had several cares. Jason the kid winced when he brought up his arm to wipe his nose, and the hem of his too-small hoodie rode up to reveal dirtied bandages. 

     Tim’s breathing picked up. This couldn’t be Jason. This couldn’t. Jason was dead. Tim had seen his body, broken and drenched in bruises. And yet… this boy. Looking too much like Jason to be a coincidence. Wincing like he had a large wound on his chest. Something like an autopsy wound. Looking just a little too pale, too pallid to be on the safe end of healthy. Many evident bruises. It couldn’t be, and yet. Here he was. Here Jason was. 

     Tim had to tell the others. They would be ecstatic! Jason was alive. Somehow. They’d figure that part out later. But he was alive! Oh, just wait until he was back at the manor. Jason could have his room back! It wouldn’t sit empty anymore, serving only to remain silent under Bruce’s quiet gaze, a haunting monument to the lack of Jason. They didn’t bring it up. But it would be okay now! The room would no longer be silent! It would be okay. Yeah, it would be okay. 

     Calm down, Tim, he chided himself, It could be a clone. Or even just a doppelganger. It could be anyone (Or it could be Jason, a quiet part of himself whispered. It could be Jason again). He was broken out of his thoughts as the kid (Jason, it’s Jason) stirred. He shivered, as if he was just noticing the chill, and made to get up. He winced once more, bringing a hand to his chest this time, clutching it as if he was about to shatter. As luck would have it, as he turned to leave, his sleeve caught on one of the screws on the clunky AC unit. The boy (Jason) grimaced, annoyed, and yanked on his arm. He only succeeded in tearing his hoodie. Huffing, he simply walked away, steps light in a guard against the loose tarmac and hands stuffed firmly in the pockets of his hoodie. The door to the roof thudded closed, the sound resonating across the now empty rooftop. This was it. This was his chance! He could get Jason’s DNA off the sweatshirt scrap, he could prove his theory! 

     In no time at all, Red Robin was back on the ground with a little baggie containing the scrap securely in one of his many pockets. Heavy shoes pounding soundly against the street, he started running, eager. So very eager. In that, it was quite soon that he disappeared entirely from the flickering glow of the hotel’s neon sign, hungry tendrils of crackling light licking at his boots like a brilliant, dancing fire, and him leaving it to hum gratingly and alone in the night.

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

Constructive criticism would be appreciated!

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Next - Masterpost

[kurimiaki]

Just as I can be so cruel

Malleus Draconia, Twisted Wonderland

tw: yandere, forced marriage, female reader, implied kidnapping, posessive behavior

You wonder how many marriages are built on the foundation of fear.

Lilia had told you it was only natural to be scared, to be hesitant in going forth with the dress fittings, to cry and resist and fight back against your inevitable nuptials. “Buck up,” he had whispered in your ear, tightening your corset before squeezing you into a gown, “you’ll never want or need for anything. Isn’t that ideal, for humans like you?”

You take great trepidation in dealing with your fiancée. As cautious as you are around Malleus as of late, you also fear for him, in a way pitying him. As confusing and overwhelming as it is being with a powerful creature such as he, (unwillingly, at that), your betrothed had always seemed somewhat foreign in the experience of romantic love and relationship.

In friendship, those many months ago at Night Raven College, he was wholly alien to your casual outings and terms of endearment. It became endearing, after a while, how amused and jilted he became in lieu of your impromptu nicknames and friendly asides. Perhaps it was because you weren’t initially disillusioned by his rank or identity, didn’t view him as superior or as someone to be feared.

If he was initially so estranged from friendship as a concept, surely he had no prior examples of marriage to go off of, not in any healthy sense. He was vastly intelligent, powerful and adept in the field of magic, wise beyond how he appeared in years, but seemed so stunted and ignorant as to connection and propinquity.

It wasn’t as if Malleus was lonely. By your standards, at least. Sebek showered his young master in such adoration and attention that you wondered how Malleus didn’t suffocate, and Lilia always gave way to how deeply his affections ran for his pseudo-son, as you used to call him.

This is what made it so strange that you were proposed to in the weeks after you returned home, an eagerly wide-eyed graduate, hopeful for the future you had worked towards arduously for many years. The instant your parents had received a letter from the crown prince’s esquire, formally asking for your willing hand in marriage, such dreams were smothered out. You were whisked away to Briar Valley without a single say in the matter.

Malleus is your friend. Never your lover. He’s only misconstrued what sort of commitment you were willing to pursue with him, and it’s on you to amend this misconception, isn’t it?

But it’s becoming increasingly difficult to justify and redirect your friends’ actions when he does things like this.

“At least let me see my parents before you delude them into thinking I’m your willing bride,” you fluster, storming after Malleus’ towering form down the winding castle halls. Portraits and tapestries line aged cobblestone walls, leering down at you as you pointedly ignore their existence. It’s cold, dewy, abysmal weather outside, and his mood isn’t any better. He doesn’t respond, and it scares you, but you refuse to relent.

You tug on the loose fabric of his coat, as if he’d feel such a small action. “Malleus, please. Why must you be so difficult? I just need to-“ he turns, suddenly coming to a halt, finally uprooted from his indifference by your taunts. You bristle, clenching your fists and steeling yourself— but he’s still so frigid, so monotone, maintaining apathy that stings worse than anger —and continue with your tirade.

“Can we just sit down for a moment. You wanted to discuss the particulars of the guest list, didn’t you? We can work out all of the kinks.” He considers you, bright green eyes tearing into you, as if you were live on a vivisection table, and relents. He always does.

Your bedroom is the only modicum of autonomy you have to cling to, at present, and he invades it by his presence all the same. You’ve made it your home, these past months, arranging and rearranging near ancient pieces of furniture. You fume once more as he casually lounges on an ottoman, never uttering a single word, making you appear so dumb and flustered standing before him. And you are, admittedly and rightfully, furious with him.

Your fiancée raises his brows, expectant.

“I found out that my mother was kept from entering the castle yesterday morning, and by your orders, she’s been sent home. Can you first give me an explanation for that?” you cross your arms, keeping a passable distance from him. Malleus sighs, brows sharply furrowing, as if he was frustrated at being caught.

But he knew you knew, that your family had finally made attempts at contacting you, perhaps hoping to make up for the unceremonious decision to acquiesce to Malleus’ proposal without your consent. If only to ensure that they’ll be the ones to receive your supposedly hefty dowry. Even when you get yourself out of this, you can hardly imagine ever forgiving them, but you were more so disturbed by the revelation that Malleus had also been keeping your mother’s letters from you. You had stumbled upon three month’s worth, kept tightly bound upon his desk.

“And you’re sure of this?” He begins, crossing his arms and regarding you, and you know you cannot rat out the fae who had lay bare this information to you. Malleus frowns as you nod, and rises from his seat.

With a slow, ominous pace he approaches you, lifting both hands to rest on your shoulders. It’s difficult and annoying to have to crane your head so sharply, but you’re adamant on keeping to his gaze all the same. Your neck burns. “Malleus, I’m not angry. I just don’t understand it. You were so accommodating and kind to them back in my village, so why this…?”

He smiles at your words, in a manner you interpret as blatantly condescending. As if your concerns were so simple and unfounded, and his actions easily dismissible. “It’s not totally untrue, I’ll admit to that. Your mother showed up rather early in the morn for a human, disheveled and demanding to be let in…” he trails, tutting and frowning down at you in mock disapproval, as if to perform genuine emotion.

You don’t speak, allowing him to continue. At this, he strokes a strand of your hair affectionately. You flinch, but if he noticed, he doesn’t show it.

“To relieve you of your confusion, my dear, you must understand that I had to turn your mother away in an act of self-preservation.” You gape, openly guffawing at his statement. Before you can refute his words, remind him of his standing as an all-powerful sorcerer of this world, he continues. “She was quite up in arms as to my treatment of her daughter, speaking so degradingly of you, I had to assume that she was jealous of your luxury.”

It’s a ridiculously fabricated lie, you tell him, near frenzied by an onslaught of rage. Childish liar. You call him as such, as he impresses his ridiculous concerns upon you, as if villainizing your mother further will serve to justify his behavior. Now fuming and unwilling to listen further, to hear him droll on about how he’s only protecting you once more, you tear from your betrothed, and supply him with a steady glare.

“You don’t want me around anything that is not you,” you seethe, glowering at Malleus from across the room, ��as if i’ll begin to stink the moment I so much as look at another person.” You point and gesture to him in a flurry of frustration, airing your every grievance without filter or fear, naming him a captor rather than a lover, insisting that he just let you go.

He remains unmoving from where he last stood, malignant green eyes trailing your every movement. And he begins to frown, after a while, when your words turn more brutal and accusing, when spit flies from your mouth as you squawk and scream and bawl your ireful allegations. You shut up when he approaches you, at least, eyeing him now with specks of fear and trepidation in your glimmering eyes.

Malleus was never one to be loomed over or missed, standing as tall as he does, his presence so all-consuming and numbing, you often forget yourself, when by his side. It’s different, you suppose, being his lover, to be subjected to the mild affections of a creature that hardly ever acted in the interests of his peers. You could barely conjure the idea that he would lay a harmful hand to you, the weak human he works so hard to protect and constrain to his side.

He raises a hand to your cheek, gently, and you flinch as his nail grazes your cheekbone. You feel yourself falter and freeze as he encloses his arm around your waist, pulling you to him so intimately, so much closer than you’d been with any person before. Malleus sighs, stroking your cheek languidly, distracting and diverting you from your fury, albeit momentarily. You fluster, blush, but don’t forget yourself, and begin to struggle, swatting away his loving caresses.

At once, he becomes volatile. Your cheeks are snatched in a vicious grip, sharp, black nails threatening to puncture soft skin. You struggle to inhale from how sharply and strongly he holds your waist. “Hurts,” you blubber, grappling and clawing at the fabric of his coat desperately, but he only smiles. His hand squeezes, digs, pries into your cheek, and you cannot bear how cruelly he leers down upon you, this creature who used to be your friend.

Malleus was closer than touch, crushing you to him, basking in your apparent dread and terror. Like a cruel child, you distantly muse, who’s gotten a toy after beating it out of the hands of someone younger and weaker, a baby whos too scared to tattle.

“You’d do good to be a little nicer to me, you cruel little thing,” he starts, so chiding and so terribly infuriating that you almost disregard your fear once more, but his grip is still iron-clad and crushing, “I don’t know how much more I can tolerate from your degradation.”

“Everything I’ve done, my every move thus far, I have done for you. I’m not blinded nor jaded by my love, as you presume to think— in fact, I’m thinking quite clearly.” He inches closer, too close, close enough that you can see how his irises are more reptilian and slitted than you had though, so inhuman. His lips are furled, and you can feel your eyes gloss with tears as his edgy breath wafts over your face.

“So misguided, so silly you are, to believe I’d ever take you as my bride haphazardly. That we were nothing more than acquaintances.”

And he pulls away, finally allowing you to breathe, though you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to grace this bedroom without feeling the phantom of his crushing touch. His hand lingers on yours, thumb tracing over the delicate band of your engagement ring. No longer is your mind clouded with worthless euphemism and foolish hope— this is Malleus, laid bare and exposed on his back, stripped of all niceties and facades, demonstrating for you the brunt of his love.

He raises your cold limp hand to his lips, satisfied with your pliant, lamblike mien. Rid of all nasty hatred, instead flushed with fear, which he accepts as gracefully and warmly as he would your love.

[yandere-daydreams]

I will say this yandere doctors / neuroscientist are the best trope in my opinion. Just imagine they want to expriment on you and they think they’re doing humanity a favour by advancing medicine by breaking ethical rules. They also think they’re a caretaker and you have never been the healthiest and they pride themselves in how much of a saviour they are although they are not very gentle

tw - imprisonment, implied noncon, implied overstimulation, slight gaslighting, obsessive behavior, dehumanization.

hear me out: this, but with aliens.

they could be crueler, if they wanted to be. they have permission to collect as many samples as they've deemed necessary, to tear apart your fragile little body and do whatever they'd like to with what remains, but they've chosen to be gentle, instead, to treat you delicately, to preserve their favorite little test-subject regardless of how much more efficient it would be cut you open and see how you work. they let you stay in their personal facilities rather than the cold, empty chambers assigned to your predecessors, let you sleep in a cozy bed and eat more than chalky nutritional tablets and bland comestible paste, and when they touch you, they try to be careful, to remember how delicate you are, how easily simple flesh can be split and ripped open. they can repair almost anything, but they'd rather not have to. even the slightest bruise leaves you so skittish, so resistant, if they didn't know any better, they might start to think you were afraid of them.

they try to be gentle in the lab, too. the biopsies, the vivisections, the more grisly experiments; those are saved for other test subjects, less obedient test subjects. you've always been good for them, so cooperative - that's why you get to lie back and close your eyes as they poke and prod at what's already on the surface, what makes you squirm and writhe and whine. they have an assistant in, occasionally, just to more accurately measure your reaction times, but they prefer working alone, when they're with you. they're your primary caretaker, the one responsible for keeping you safe and happy and healthy, so they get to be selfish with you. they've earned the right to be selfish with you.

they'll admit, they may get carried away, every now and then. you're just such a sweet little thing, so precious, so vocal, and it's difficult to stop while you're still bucking against all their many hands, still going on and on in that nonsensical language you seem to be so fond of. they'd never hurt you, never touch a hair on your head, but there's so much to learn, so much they haven't seen yet, and they can't seem to pull themself away before you're limp and twitching, too tired to resist as they unstrap you and pull you into their arms, as they nuzzle into the crook of your neck and tell you how good you are, how much you're helping their cause, not that you ever acknowledge their praise. but, you don't have to. you don't have to do anything.

as long as you keep being their perfect little test subject, they'll make sure you never have to worry about anything ever again.

[tmnt-starlit-sin]

TMNT: Starlit Sin

A fan iteration of TMNT by @error-core-animations with a lot of stuff pulled from past versions, and a lot of stuff I just decided would be cool!

Content warnings: violence typical of TMNT, blood, probably gore, murder, vivisection, child abuse (medical, emotional, and physical), dehumanization, unethical experimentation, ableism/internalized ableism, and themes of discrimination.

Main characters

Hamato Leonardo: leatherback sea turtle, 16, he/him, intersex trans man. Has overall joint pain, it's worst in his legs/knees. Heavily modified flippers do not make very good or stable walking appendages. Mikey's twin. AuDHD. His design

Hamato Michaelangelo: red bellied sideneck turtle, 16, it/they/any, gendersilly. Asthmatic, neck pain, Crohn's disease. Leo's twin. ADHD. Their design [tba]

Hamato Donatello: Rio Grande cooter, 15, "he/him", "cisgender". Jaw can unhinge itself, which is very painful and very bad for the jaw joint, plus other forms of (painful) hypermobility. Autistic. His design [tba]

Hamato Raphael: Yangtze giant softshell turtle, 14.5, he/she, transmasc. Skeletal structure is more cartilaginous than it should be, resulting in joint pain and muscle tremors. Has the worst spinal issues due to her soft shell allowing it to bend and twist. AuDHD. Her design [tba]

Hamato Yoshi/Splinter: American mink mutant, mid/late 50s, he/him, cis but the best and funniest ally you could ask for. He started as a human man, but his mutation left him with back pain and difficulty walking. He and Leo are cane buddies!! AuDHD. His design [tba]

Venus de Milo Jones-Hamato: spotted turtle, 10, she/cy/cyan. Born without one arm and losing the other in... Uh... And accident, she has no hands, much like her namesake statue. Autistic!! Cyan design [tba]

Jennika Jones-Hamato: pancake tortoise, 10, he/they girl. The reason "vivisection" is one of the tws lol. He has a hard time moving certain body parts due to wounds healing badly. Self sacrificial, awww, just like Mama Shen and her big brother Leo!! AuDHD. Their design [tba]

April O'Neil: human/kraang hybrid experiment, 15.5, she/her, cat/cats. She's autistic and is easily overwhelmed by sound and light, but has ear protectors and sunglasses to help. She also has a service dog, Bumblebee, to help ground her when she's having a shutdown or meltdown. Cats design [tba]

Cassette Tape "Casey" Jones, human/tengu (a bird yokai), early 30s, any pronouns. Autistic, ADHD, and a serial adopter. Smoked weed before adopting Venus, but changed to edibles to be a more responsible parent- she's not getting its kid high or destroying cyans lungs! That's not good parent behavior!! Faer design [tba]

Basic worldbuilding under the cut- more will be added as I develop this world more, and once I have enough time to fully delve into the main characters of this iteration

Yokai have been part of the world for millennia, and exist alongside humans. They experience discrimination at social and legal levels, but don't have to hide underground. They're legal citizens, like humans. The Yokai in this AU come from worldwide mythologies and sentient dinosaurs.

Mutation has been used to help victims of wild animal attacks for decades, especially younger ones. It's risky and oftentimes a last resort, but sometimes it's necessary. It's only in recent years, though, that mutants have become more widespread. This has caused a lot of legal controversy, especially over whether mutants should legally be considered Yokai, Evan if they started as humans

Magic is a natural force, similar to gravity and electricity, that can be harnessed and has multiple uses. Certain individuals are more naturally inclined towards being able to use it, but with enough practice, anyone can connect to and utilize mystics. It takes different forms for each individual, matching their personality/interests.

[pyronicpathogen]

Home Is Where The Heart Is: part 2

[tw: mind control, breaking bones/ mild body horror, gore, referenced past vivisection and unethical medical practices]   

[part 1]

The last few days for Sidekick had been fading in and out. The supervillain had visited their cell once or twice, but the memories were fuzzy or blocked out altogether. Hero may have said something to them, but Sidekick could only close their eyes once more. Today was no different. 

    Bleary eyes peeling open much to Hero’s relief. The concrete ceiling greeted them once again before a familiar face swallowed up their vision. Sidekick attempted to sit up, only to be met with the searing pain in their torso. Hero was there to help them up, supporting their weight in each arm. “Easy now. Are you feeling any better today?” Sidekick’s eyes were focusing on Hero’s face, a step of progress compared to the empty stare the last few days. They could only manage a noncommittal sound.

    Sidekick was trying to stay awake this time around. Hero wasn’t sure if that was good or not, but it meant Sidekick was making steps towards recovery. The memory of Sidekick’s innards on full display made Hero’s stomach lurch. They did their best to focus on the now. “Supervillain said we were going to leave as soon as Leader completed their side of the deal. We will be leaving soon.” Hero didn’t know what ‘The Other Side of The Deal’ entailed, but they could only pray it was something like ransom. The other suggestions Supervillain gave weren’t too appetizing. “Their lives for yours,” echoed in Hero’s head. They shuddered. 

    “..We’re going home?” Sidekick’s tired gait perked up a bit in hope. Hero nodded, whether it was true or not had yet to be guaranteed. It was likely however. Sidekick stared across the corridor at the empty cell. Struggling to their feet, they made it to the cell bars with Hero’s help. “Is there anyone else here?” Sidekick looked down one way to see countless more empty cells, down the other they could see Supervillain striding down the hall. Sidekick immediately kicked back from the bars and crashed to the ground, landing on their back with no concern for their injuries. They crawled away from the bars in panic. 

    Supervillain stopped in front of their cell, whistling upon seeing Sidekick awake and kicking. “No. I don’t normally take prisoners long term. It’s unethical afterall.” The dastardly surgeon revelled in the Hero’s glare piercing them. Of course nothing else they did was ethical, but it amused them to see Hero uselessly up in arms. “And for your previous question, you will only leave if your superiors care about you enough to post your bail,” they idly picked at their nails in feigned disinterest. “So far, it’s looking bleak~” Supervillain spoke in a teasing sing-song tone. 

    Sidekick’s hope was stomped out like embers from a campfire. They kept to the corner, refusing to say anything to their captor. “It’s good to see you awake. There’s no use bargaining with a corpse.” They smiled at Sidekick and leaned closer to the bars. Sidekick gave no response, emotional or conversational. Supervillain pursed their lips in wait. “You better say something before I take your teeth and grind them into dust.” Their golden eyes bore into Sidekick, ready to weaponize their hypnotic suggestions. 

    “N-No, I’m good.” Sidekick hugged their knees tighter to their chest.

    Before Supervillain could turn sour at being told ‘no’, Hero jumped up and reached through the bars, grabbing Supervillain’s collar and slamming them against the bars. “Why won’t you just let us go?! Why are you doing this?” 

    Supervillain’s cheek pressed between the bars, though it did nothing to stop their glare from turning venomous. “If you do not let me go this instant, you won’t have a life to let go.” Their tone was low and cold. Their glare stabbed knives into Hero’s skull as gold took over the hero’s vision when they didn’t immediately let go. “Break your friend’s legs.” Hero looked zombified, empty stare and thoughtless movements when they turned to face Sidekick. 

    Sidekick shrieked, taking their shoe and throwing it at the unfazed hero. “Wait wait wait!” Sidekick held out their hands in a feeble attempt to hold back Hero and shook their head wildly. Why weren’t they stopping? Hero stepped forward and stomped down on the other’s lean legs, bones crunching under their heeled boots. Sidekick wailed and tried to escape as Hero bashed and beat their legs until they were bent wrong and splayed incorrectly. Fat globs of tears trailed down the younger’s pale cheeks as they sobbed and pleaded. Hero was released and Supervillain chuckled, “Be good little doggies,” leaving the two alone in their cell once more. 

    Hero immediately collapsed beside Sidekick and was looking at their fresh injuries in horror. First, Sidekick’s jokey and bubbly demeanor had been stolen along with their humanity, and now the hero had directly contributed to their suffering. “I’m sorry-! I didn’t want to- didn’t mean to-“ Hero was horrified at what they had just done. Sidekick could only lay on the floor and wail into the concrete flooring. 

    Hero gingerly pulled Sidekick into a comforting hug, careful of their legs, and Sidekick didn’t fight. They wrapped their arms around their friend and drew calming circles into their back with their fingertips. Hero mumbled “I’m sorry I’m sorry” over and over into Sidekick’s shoulder. Sidekick didn’t blame them for something they couldn’t control. Their fury was for Supervillain and their stupid pet, Right Hand. 

    Sidekick didn’t know if they wanted to visit a hospital once/ if they were out of this shit show of a prison. Supervillain being a surgeon meant they likely worked at the local hospital and would visit Sidekick again when they were vulnerable and healing. They were afraid what the future held if their hero friends didn’t come for their rescue. Not that they could escape on their own with the condition of their being. 

A door swinging open and the squeak of wheels echoed down the hall. Both Hero and Sidekick jerked their heads over to the corridor. Sidekick’s heart thundered in their chest. Right Hand stepped into view with a table full of tools. No scalpel this time. Hero had known that Right Hand hardly talked, whether they were any kind of mute or shy was unknown. Either way, they stepped into the cell without a word and shut the door behind themself. 

Sidekick pulled Hero tighter against themself, nearly crushing the other’s ribs out of fear for what may happen. Hero put themself between Sidekick and Right Hand, only to be grabbed by their telekinetic abilities and thrown into the far wall of the cell. Hero’s world lit up with stars and the ground swayed dangerously beneath them.

Right Hand grabbed one of Sidekick’s legs with their magic fingers, and was straightening out the bones. Piecing together the bone shards like a jigsaw puzzle with an unseen force, Sidekick clawed at the floor and hollered hoarsely with agony. The shattered legs were straightened and realigned, allowing Right Hand to tightly bandage them. 

“Why are you doing this?” Hero mumbled out all the while fighting to stay conscious. 

The Right Hand only glanced over with indifference. They mumbled something about a hippocratic oath Supervillain had to follow. Didn’t that also include “Do No Harm”? Hero was too dizzy to wrestle with the logic of the situation. 

“Boss’ll be by soon to put your legs in casts.” That was the first full sentence Sidekick had heard the other utter with confidence. Though they had no mind to dwell on that as they sniffled and wracked with pain, clambering to get away from Right Hand once they were released. The subordinate stood and turned, cleaning up the gauze and scissors. 

Once they were alone once more, Hero made to lay down beside Sidekick. They should’ve known not to take this mission when they were told that rescue would be near impossible. Hero was grateful that Supervillain was “generous” enough to spare their lives in return for some other thing they wanted. 

Time began to blur as the two sat in silence, save for the hiccups coming from Sidekick. Sidekick couldn’t sleep while Hero purposefully stayed awake knowing they likely suffered head trauma. Hero knew that sleeping now could mean they possibly wouldn’t wake up, not for an unhealthy amount of time at the very least. 

Through the light filtering in through their single barred window, Hero made note that it was sunrise of the fourth day. Another tally joined the wall next to their toilet, the only other thing in here besides the window. 

Elsewhere in the base, Supervillain was bickering with Superhero and their Legion of Losers.

“You broke their legs?” The Leader was furious at the new revelation, slamming their fist down on the oaken table. “We agreed that they both would be kept in as pristine condition as possible. We will have to lessen the deal for your actions-“

“Now now, are you in any place to make terms and conditions about our agreements? If things aren’t up to my liking, I could simply end their lives with the snap of a finger.” Supervillain remained cool and collected, leaning back in their creaking swivel chair and propping their feet up on their desk. “And what then? You can’t stop crime with the deceased. Right?”

Leader was red in the face from the situation, upset and perturbed by the earlier and current events. Despite what they wanted, any wrong words could lead to two more innocent lives being lost. Two dear friends at that. They spoke through grit teeth, “fine. We will speak with the mayor about those royalties you wanted. Please. Let them go.” 

Superhero didn’t look too pleased with the events at hand either, but they could burn bridges when problems arose later on. Gnawing through their bottom lip, they were emailing the mayor at light speed. Supervillain wanted privileges. They wanted power and freedom to do as they pleased, and they were able to barter it down to only a few set freedoms.

Though they were talking about a plan behind the scenes to stop these freedoms in the future. When they knew the lives of innocents weren’t at stake.

For now however, Supervillain was pleased enough to hand over their colleagues. They ended the video call right as someone in the background spoke up, trying to convince them to lower their demands further. 

“Fetch me the little one. Get the other ready for departure.” Supervillain spoke without making eye contact to their right hand, noting the door closing a moment later. They were pondering what they could do with these newfound rights. The authorities may come in to stop them, but they could never stop Supervillain before. How would they manage to do so this time around? 

Sidekick could be heard fussing down the hall, writhing and possibly tearing open any stitches they had. Supervillain frowned at that thought. It was such a hassle to keep stitches closed on many patients, and this one was no different with their squirrely attitude. 

Once the brat was seated and forced to hold still, Supervillain got to work on their casts. The molds were fitted and hardened around the injured extremities. “Why did you make them break my legs?” Was all Sidekick could ask. “Why are you helping me now?”

“It was a warning.” They held the cast still so the fiberglass could dry and harden. “And I need you in your best condition if this deal is to go through. That being said, you need to be good if this deal is to go through.” Their golden eyes met Sidekick’s own soft brown gaze. “I am not afraid to silence you if you prove to be too much trouble.”

“But I thought doctor’s weren’t meant to hurt people?” 

“It’s funny because as far as the public is concerned I am just a normal doctor helping the good people of this city. They don’t know about the things I put in or take out of them. They don’t know of the things I do here, or that I am even a villain.” They held the sidekick’s leg a bit tighter to punctuate their next words. 

“And you won’t tell them because I will know if you say something. It will not end well for you if you snitch, and I can promise that here snitches do not get stitches. They are met with their cold graves and eternal rest.” Supervillain was stern, and Sidekick couldn’t help but think that the threat wasn’t clever or didn’t even rhyme.

Sidekick couldn’t pale anymore than they already were. They could only nod from the threat placed on them. They wondered if Hero could be the one to deliver the news, but they got a nagging feeling that the blame would fall on themself and the same threat would apply. Or perhaps Hero would be put into an early grave. Either way, they felt sick. 

“Now go rest and let these casts dry. You have a big day tomorrow.” Supervillain gave their Friendly Doctor smile, leaving Sidekick to be wheeled out to their cell. 

Tags: @emcscared-whumps

[nin-jay-go]

mmmmmmm i have only been thinking about ninjago for the past few weeks. you will be here for my brainrot

so ive got this rewrite i'm working on rn, which ive called alterline (portmanteau of alternate timeline) since like 2018. ive picked it back up and i'm officially working on the rewrite, but for it i added a few new seasons. specifically 3 brand new fanseasons.

the other two don't matter right now. all that matters is s17. my mad science season.

fun fact about me i am in love with mad science stuff and i figured hey! why not! i needed to do Something with my s17, so why not work some fucked up science into it :)

the tldr for those who don't wanna hear me ramble or don't wanna see what i will be rambling about (bc heavy tw for mad science themes like body horror, vivisection, and general medical malpractice) is below, but one bit of information before we proceed. nya is still the ocean. let her stay dead for longer than 2 episodes !

s17 is a kai focus! he and the ninja get invited to a lab by a scientist to run some tests (they are still powerless), but she traps them and runs experiments on them. there, they find out that 1) nya is alive now, 2) dr cy is working with aspheera, and 3) the new ninja are clones of the old ninja. kai ends up blowing the lab up and going on a minor destructive arc before calming down. the rest of the season focuses on the new ninja realizing they're clones and helping the old ninja take out mayor trustable.

so now that the summary is over. time to get into the details (or just what i have so far)

hi thanks for uncovering the hell. i'm gonna be rambling for a while.

again, this is a kai-focused season! we haven't had one since my s11 and he deserves to have a focus. as a treat :) (i realize this is just kai suffers the season. i realize that. but it's fiiiiine don't worry)

some prehistory for the season. dr cy calls up aspheera for her magical talents, and they summon nya together. they pull her from the ocean and violently rip her back into her body. of course, she can only be here if her powers are gone, so aspheera drains her water powers. nya has no memory of who she was or what she's doing here. she just knew she was the ocean. and now she's here.

a month later, the ninja are ninja-ing. it's been a year since the events of crystalized, two since nya died. that's the longest any of them stayed dead (sans morro who was dead for 40 years). kai really misses her, but has accepted the fact that she's gone. (she helped out in crystalized, but she wasn't really nya. she was the sea)

he runs into dr cy, who offers him and the ninja an opportunity to get tested. she could figure out the origin of elemental powers and help restore them to the ninja. they deserve their powers back, after saving the world so many times! she's a huge fan!

kai discusses it with the team, who agree that it's worth a shot at least. pixal stays behind since she's mostly unaffected by elemental nonsense, but also to keep an eye on the new ninja. she doesn't trust them. plus, if it ends up being bad, she can break them out.

the first tests kinda go normally, just general doctor checkups. she's just being a little bit weird about the nonhuman members of the team (aka everyone but kai), but a lot of people end up being weird about it. jay's publically part snake, zane's obviously a nindroid, lloyd is lloyd, cole used to be dead, and morro's got their own thing going on.

(oh. some background context. in my rewrite the ninjas' public identities are secret. the only ones with a face and name known to the public are lloyd and morro, to an extent, and jay for those who remember the alternate timeline)

when the ninja thank cy for her time and investigation, she uh. traps them in there JKDFSHKJSFDH because she needs to find out where elemental power comes from. and how she can bring it back for the ninja. to restore them to their full glory.

they're stuck in there for a while. a week, maybe? i haven't decided how long exactly, but a Long Time. pixal does try and rescue them but is taken out by aspheera with water powers, meaning pixal is the first person to find out about nya being alive. she doesn't take it well, so she and aspheera are kinda duking it out out there

meanwhile, the ninja are being put through tests to activate what's called their elements' emergency response, aka a hypercharged form designed for protecting the body and the element. kind of like nya's merged form with the ocean, but temporary. cy is trying to activate the emergency response through putting the guys through Situations that they don't like one bit. one of them included kai in a super frozen room and zane in a super boiling room, morro being pretty much buried, and other stuff like that.

sometimes she tries to stimulate them further by exposing them to their element, like frying jay or lloyd with electrical currents, or piling heavy boulders on cole. maybe that will trigger their emergency responses, but nothing seems to work. she even tries it out with nya to see if she can summon back her water powers, but nya's kind of being a sad sack of amnesia right now.

speaking of nya, she's just kinda. here? around the lab? she's mostly locked in her cell, but she treats aspheera and cy as important people, like parents. she trusts them. she's also kinda having a bad time physically, constantly melting and dripping water. she's not really a solid person right now :(

[tw for vivisection begins here] so eventually, cy tries to take it a step further and pulls out some Forbidden Things. she needs to make kai's fire act up more. he's 100% human still. how would his body react to parts of a fire dragon? so she tries it out, doing a quick lung transplant to see if, maybe, the lungs being close to the heart could kickstart a bit of fire. maybe even some dragon blood? all to see how kai reacts to it.

he reacts badly.

congratz on the dragon parts now, kai! the last human is no longer human, not fully. he refuses to acknowledge that he isn't fully human anymore, denying that he'll probably never breathe the same way humans do again. it's fine. he's fine. [end tw]

through this, however, cy decides to keep a closer eye on his developments. eventually, she lets him in on a secret. she leads him to the back of the lab, a room that no one is allowed to enter. she shows him what's inside.

it's cloning pods. she had already had their dna for who knows how long, and had used it to essentially clone them. make perfect ninja replicas. ones that had all their skills. only five managed to survive the process and come out the other end alive. cy reveals this was something she was hired by mayor trustable to do, and when the clones finished growing, he took them off her hands.

but she's always hated him for that. the original ninja would always be superior. the clones could not come close, ever. that's why she's so adamant about bringing their powers back. she wants them to wipe their clones out and prove they're superior.

kai thinks that's absolutely unhinged and manages to escape, running through the lab. he took a wrong turn and finds a cell, where nya is sitting. his sister is alive. he and nya talk, but it's obvious she doesn't know who he is, or who she even is. kai promises to get her out, but nya doesn't understand. he leaves and gets captured and sent back to his cell.

he goes to visit nya's cell sometimes, now that he knows where she is. he tries reminding her of her memories, to which she listens to best she can. she's a bit... spacey. but it's ok, they're bonding.

that is, until cy catches him visiting her and gets pissed. she threatens to hurt nya if he doesn't back off and go back to his cell, to which he snaps and activates his emergency response. his sister is in danger. he would not let his family be in danger.

he becomes a wildfire and destroys the lab. it gets burned down, its entire foundation gone. and for her cruelty, for what she did to him, his friends, his family, his sister, kai kills dr cy.

still in his emergency response, he can't do much other than rampage, a living wildfire. the others find nya and they all get out of there. pixal, meanwhile, is holding kai back and fighting him off. he's not kai right now, just a mess of fire and rage. it hurts to see him like this.

but nya sees him like that. memories flood back. the element of water rushes back to her (aspheera losing hold on the magic) and she turns back into the sea. she has her memories. she stares kai in the firey face and they calm each other down. their emergency states fade away, leaving two not-quite humans in their wake. kai realizes what he did in his state. nya realizes how long it's been. they're both sobbing messes against each other.

now that cy and the lab are gone, and nya and kai have their elements back, there's two issues to solve. the first is the others' elements, which they don't really want to trigger the emergency response for. the other is the new ninja, their clones.

the og ninja decide to tell the new ninja directly that they know they're clones. turns out the new ninja also did not know they were clones. so that was a fun development where the new ninja realize that Oh God. they're not even actual people. they were just made for one purpose.

the bizarros also get involved. it becomes very confusing to have like three people with the same face in the same room, but the bizarros deserve to know there's clones of their light counterparts. i'm normal about my bizarros.

with their combined effort, they overthrow mayor trustable. and everyone lives happily ever after. more or less.

the new ninja agree to also be city protectors, since they were literally made for that, but that they'll also learn to live their own lives and figure out who they are as people. they aren't the bizarros, who are kinda predisposed to doing bad things.

kai is having a time, meanwhile. he killed someone. he isn't human anymore. he's changed. if there's any more room left in the season, it's left for kai to discover who he is again. maybe he goes on a vacation. they all can go on vacation. they deserve it.

how did the others get their elements back? fuck if i know <3 i haven't gotten that far yet kjdhfgkjdhfg

[kurimiaki]

could you write something about lilia and a reincarnated darling? <3

tw: yandere, female reader, implied bodily torture and mutilation (not of you)

World histories hasn’t been an enjoyable class for you. Mozus Trein is a very particular professor, critical of even your best responses, vivisecting you in front of all your peers at the slightest discrepancy or marginal error. Your professor is well-trained in the art of intimidation and the persecution of all slackers that may lurk in his room. Class time drones on, endlessly, and you’ve scarcely even a single acquaintance to help bide the time.

This topic is interesting, though. The collapse of a small, insignificant kingdom, the battle of Briar Valley and a king and queen of old, a cyclically one-sided event that rather plays out as fiction. A lost princess, accusations and long-winded court trials, diplomatic ruin, the embers of war quickly snuffed out by the larger nation. The textbook reads like a novel. You turn ahead, forward a page or two, because really, it wasn’t a long section to begin with. Trein was going to omit it from the test entirely, finding it unnecessary material, but something somehow crucial to learn all the same.

You come across a copy of a letter, dated back a century or two; the paper itself seems singed and wrinkled in the photo, ink smudged and writing scrawled messily about the page. It speaks of an individual’s captivity, of months spent secured in a dungeon cell, of the creature that endlessly tormented them, claimed to love them, who they feared would strip them of their life.

A small clarification is printed on the margin, a historian’s assumption that the letter was written by the princess herself. A final goodbye. Her corpse, singed and decomposing, fetid and nearly unidentifiable, was found within her castle’s dungeon not months after that insignificant royal family fell to ruin.

They were decapitated, in the end, the king having been charged with the murder of his own child. Embezzlement and countless other crimes were identified, as well, but it was the princesses death that shook the nation. He was presumed to have obsessed over the girl to a point of no return, placing the blame of her “kidnapping” on an allied kingdom instead, acting as a distraught father to obtain plausible deniability.

Mangled, tainted, scorched, and disembodied, she lived her last months in misery and torment, enduring and just taking the brunt of her father’s sickening obsession. The text describes it, too, vividly and without filter. It makes you nauseous.

Too insane to be fit to rule, it was an act of heroism from Briar Valley that ended his reign. A portrait illustrates the very hero who found the princess’ corpse, who caught the king in an act of human atrocity, who exposed his every repugnant scheme. He rather looks like Lilia Vanrouge.

Bewildered by the staggering similarity, you turn around to peak at Diasomnia’s vice house warden, who lazily doodles on scrap paper, casual and reclined. This hero’s hair is much longer, sure, his bangs without Lilia’s messily chopped style— you look from the print and back to him, and wonder if you’ve lost your head. Slitted dark eyes snap up to meet your own, startling you in your seat, bordering on a small yelp. But Vanrouge only beams at you benevolently, sending off a little wave with a nod of his head.

Yours is a little more uneasy, a wary little grin, and you’re eager to return to your studies with a quick turn of the head.

Little else is written of this hero, much less a name, and you frown in irritation at the lack of explanation the text provides. What happens next, what of the kingdom’s people, what of the hero and how he lived and died, if he bore such significance to the past. By time the bell tolls and your peers become jittery for lunch hour, you’ve reread this section at least three times, scouring paragraph after paragraph for an inkling of a name or information, dissecting and staring at this hero’s portrait in avid curiosity.

Sat in the library without even a snack to tide you over, you absorb yourself in the textbook once more, now crazed by confusion and a lust for discovery. Professor Trein hadn’t any more information on the matter, merely recommending the obvious, to search Night Raven’s vast archives. You hardly took time to watch where you stepped as you rushed out of the classroom, not noticing a faint call of your name.

It would be smart to just comment on his resemblance, and perhaps you’d hear that Lilia gets it all the time, that it’s a bizarre doppelgänger, or perhaps a great-great-great-grandpa who’s stories he’s inherited and treasured. You consider every outcome and interaction, as you trace your fingertips along book-spines in search of a clue, flipping through old tombs and random novellas dated centuries ago. Nothing crops up, but you’re so oddly determined…

Lilia Vanrouge wasn’t a boy you had ever thought to interact with. He’s intimidating, with how he eerily sneaks up on others and seems so much more mature than any of his peers. Perhaps you’re just overthinking, but nonetheless, he scares you. It feels as if he’s always watching. You’ve never taken the chance to greet Lilia, and don’t plan to, but you turn your heel to march back to your table and come face to face with him.

You gape for a moment, but snap your mouth shut and lean back. He laughs. “You’re jumpy, aren’t you? I can’t remember the last time someone leapt so high at the sight of me.” Nearing a chortling now, Lilia’s jeers prompt you to frown in deep embarrassment, still in shock at his presence.

“I yelled after you, you know. You’re quite fast, like a little rabid rabbit.” Stomaching the derogatory insinuation that you were a viciously contagious animal, you ask him what do you want, snippy and short, and Vanrouge grins. All teeth and malice.

He takes a pen from his pocket, your favorite, the one with bunny ears for a thrust device, with carrot printed on its barrel. At your blatant staring, the way your whole body goes rigid, Lilia barks an impossibly harsher laugh. “I found it a few weeks ago— matches perfectly with that darling carrot folder you use in class. It’s yours, is it not?”

“Yes,” You grit, moving to snatch it back, but Lilia edges away, tutting condescendingly. Tantalizingly waving it before you, the vice house warden chides, “Yes….?”, and lord, are you grateful to have never pursued his friendship. You relent, muttering please without meeting his eye, and soon the pen is back in your waiting hands.

“Well, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Lilia beams, crossing his arms behind his back and squinting his red, slitted eyes giddily, as if you were some toy to poke and prod. Huffing in annoyance, you turn away, then swell in relief to hear him saunter away. You’re relieved, sure, but without an answer. Left with your textbook and the endlessly looming bookshelves chock full of information, but nothing that you’re looking for. He’s the only means you have at stomping out this curiosity that gnaws at you. He’s still here, distantly lurking in your peripheral, but not for long.

You swallow, hesitating to speak, but muster the gumption to call after him.

It’s odd just how quickly he appears again, situating himself right before you in some chair that wasn’t there before. Through thick lashes he gazes up at you, expectant and silent, and you stamp out the urge to fidget before him.

“You… You look like the man from our textbook,” You fire away, surprised at your own bluntness. So eager. He smiles, quirks his brow, and leans back in amusement. “What man?” Lilia locks onto your every movement, inspecting and what feels like dissecting as you flutter about your work station, flipping to the familiar page. You point, and he leans in, inching closely to your side, much more than what is necessary to see. But you allow it, curiosity be damned.

He’s silent, and you’re sweating, hoping not to have offended him. “I’m not trying to be rude,” You can hardly withstand his ‘mildly’ teasing asides as is, “but there is a resemblance, isn’t there…? Are you… related or something?” He laughs again, of course he does, but this time Lilia shakes with it, enduring the tremors of his glee while nearly buckling over in his seat. It goes on, and you’re forced to apologize to surrounding students in his stead.

Hushing him, bending down to lay a weary hand upon his quaking shoulder, you whisper, “I’m really not trying to make jokes, vice-housewarden.” So formal.

At your words (or touch, from how quickly he stills at the sensation of your hand— you remove it immediately), Vanrouge sobers, though still giggling to himself quietly. “Lilia will do just fine. And no, this man is not my relative,” he breathes a small, incredulous huff at that, “though I’ve been reminded of our uncanny resemblance more than once.”

A disappointing answer, really, but he continues. “But that isn’t the only thing you’re eager to know, is it?” he inquires, prompting you to frown at his sly tone, the near perverse way in which he looks at you. You shake your head, still hesitant and cautious, but marveled at his I-know-more-than-I’m-letting-on attitude all the same. He rises, winks, takes your hand and ventures deeper into the library’s labyrinth of shelves. Too nervous to pull away, you allow yourself to be handled and dragged along, and you try not to speak to how faintly his thumb rubs over your pulse.

Before you is the restricted section. Thick chains bar off a small row of bookshelves, and you question why the staff would place such a tantalizing venture in public eye, amongst these unsavory students, but Lilia bypasses their meager warnings with a flick of a wrist. The chain unravels, powdery dust flies from it, and you don’t think you even saw Lilia use his wand.

He lets go of you. After a moment in festering silence, onlooking quietly as he deftly rakes his eyes over varying titles and genres, Lilia lets out an ‘aha’. He provides you with yet another grin before suddenly, a scroll is opened and placed in your hands.

“I’ve heard rumors as to the truth of that little story,” your eyes flicker to him and to the aged paper laid delicately in your palms, feeling quite burdened to hold an obvious artifact, “and I can tell it to you, if you can bear to listen.” Nodding, you don’t think for a moment as you touch the ancient article, untying silky ribbon and undoing a small seal with shaky precision. He joins you, looking on eagerly.

“She truly was taken, the girl, but that corpse they found was more likely a maid than any royal princess.” He speaks in confidence, spinning his words without an inkling of hesitation. “Briar Valley has quite a few towers, you see. Our palace is remarkably large, looming above it all, the Valley of Thorns and its people.” His finger taps the scroll, which you have yet to unfurl, and as you do, your stomach begins to curl. Your throat begins to close. “And within the tallest one, I found a lovely painting, a portrait, not dissimilar to the one you hold now.”

It’s you, sketched on this paper, your face captured so acutely and with such precision, facial structure and countenance vividly mirrored. Every freckle and groove and scar and unnoticeable little quirk. It’s you, adorned in jewels and an old gown, so aged and ancient and unlike anything you’ve ever worn before. Your knees buckle beneath you, for a moment, but you don’t fall. A cheek rests upon your shoulder, and Lilia’s pointed nail raises to trace your illustrated likeness.

“You don’t remember, I’m sure, but I can recall how positively petrified you were to hear of your father’s demise. It’s truly a shame that you don’t, but I suppose I should be grateful to have a fresh start.”

Beside you, drawn exactly as he appeared in that textbook-rendition, is Lilia, without an inkling of doubt— you feel your throat tighten more, suffocating you, your whole body taking pause before trembling. It’s a mix of shock and awe and long-suppressed trauma that prompts you to cry, weep, but on you, tears looks so pretty, and Lilia can not restrain himself from wrapping his arms around your quivering form.

[teacupfulofstarshine]

LOVELY, DARK, AND DEEP: CHAPTER 4

((alright y’all, here we go. the long-awaited chapter 4. i hope you like it~))

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3// read it on ao3!

(tw: panic attack, anger, electricity, injury mentions, blood mentions, fight mentions, minor angst, mild anxiety)

word count: 7112

“What do you want to know?”

Thomas watches the way the merman shakes on the lab table.

“Are you cold?” he asks. Logan blinks at him. “You’re shaking. I know you’re probably scared, but the table can’t be super warm, either. Do you want a blanket or something?”

Logan tilts his head suspiciously. “What . . . what is a . . . blanket? Does it hurt?”

“No,” Thomas says, and it hurts his heart that Logan thinks he’s going to be hurt here. He knows that it’s probably the most rational thing for him to assume, but he hopes they can convince Logan they mean well. “It’s . . . it’s a soft thing. We drape them over ourselves to stay warm, and we use them when we sleep, too.”

“It is cold here,” Logan admits. “If you do not mind, I – I think I would enjoy one of those blankets.”

Virgil hurries out of the room and returns quickly with a red-and-gold plaid blanket. It’s thick and warm, and he’s painstakingly careful as he drapes it over Logan’s shoulders and tucks it around his body. “Better?” Thomas asks.

Logan sighs shakily and curls into the blanket. “Better,” he agrees. “You . . . must have other questions for me, I imagine?”

“You’re surprisingly fluent in English,” Virgil says, clicking the tape recorder he keeps in his pocket on. “I didn’t think you’d speak this well.”

Logan looks at him as though he’s stupid. “Of course I speak this language,” he says. “My kind speak the language of whatever human civilization we happen to live near. We need to understand what your fishermen are saying if we’re going to avoid getting netted and killed. Not . . . that it always works.”

“We’re not going to kill you,” Thomas says. “We just want to know how to help you.”

“Put me back,” Logan says immediately. “Put me back in the ocean. Let me go back to my pod, they’re probably worried sick I –”

He looks at them and clamps his mouth shut. “Pod?” Thomas asks. “As . . . as in a family unit? You – you have a family?”

“Of course I have a family!” Logan snaps. “What, did you think I was some kind of monster roaming around the ocean on my own sinking ships and eating sailors?”

“What –”

“Don’t play dumb with me! I know exactly how humans think! They think we’re monsters! When they catch us, they take us apart to study us or they put us on display and kill us slowly or – I don’t know if they eat us or not but I wouldn’t put it past you!”

“Okay, calm down time!” Virgil says. “We don’t think you’re a monster. We wanna study you, yeah, but we don’t have to vivisect you to do that!”

“What does that mean?!”

“We aren’t going to cut you open,” Thomas says softly. “We’re scientists. We study the ocean and the creatures that live in it. We rescue animals that have been hurt by other humans.”

“You mean you steal them.”

“No, I mean rescue. We bring them here, we patch them up, and we let them heal in a safe environment where predators can’t get them. And once they’re strong enough to survive in the wild, we let them go. We release them into the ocean, where they belong, because keeping them here longer than we have to would be cruel.”

Logan is still glaring suspiciously at them, but there are tears brimming in his eyes. “I – I don’t – I want to go home,” he demands. He doesn’t sound nearly as scary as before. “I want to go back to the ocean.”

“You’re not strong enough to survive that journey,” Thomas says. “You were poisoned by that net, and it tore you up pretty badly regardless. You aren’t going to be healed enough to go back for at least two weeks.”

“That – I – n-no, you – I can’t – th-they’ll be so s-scared,” Logan whispers. “They’ll think something happened to me. I – I have to go home. Please.”

Thomas looks at his hands. “I . . . I’m so sorry, Logan. We can’t let you go home yet. If we do that, it . . . it would be opening you up to all sorts of dangers that -”

“You think I don’t know how dangerous the ocean is?!” Logan snarls. “I grew up there! I spent my childhood frolicking around the depths of the Marianas Trench! My idea of fun was to taunt a shiver of sharks and get them to chase me because I knew I outpaced them easily! I’m a hunter! There are plenty of dangerous things in the ocean and I am one of them!”

His chest is heaving, eyes narrowing, tail twitching. Thomas inhales sharply, preparing to say something, but then he catches the scent in the air. It’s sharp and metallic, almost coppery but not quite. He knows this scent. It’s almost . . .

Electric.

“Virgil, get down!” Thomas yells. He grabs Virgil and tackles him down to the ground, rolling away from the metal chairs and the metal lab table and the metal everything. Logan screams, tail slamming against the table as electricity crackles down his entire being. It leaps out from the circular patches of scales on his arms, it arcs across his tail, it crackles at the corners of his eyes as he screams.

“Let me go!” he wails. “Please, let me go back to them! Let me go! I don’t want to be here! I never wanted to be here! Let me go back to them!”

The electricity fizzles out, and Logan’s hands find their way up into his hair. He grabs at it, pulling it much harder than Thomas would prefer as he screams. “Let me go! Let me go, let me go, LET ME GO!”

“We can’t do that!” Thomas calls. He curls his body protectively over Virgil’s, shielding as much of him as he can. “We can’t let you get hurt any more than you already are!”

Logan shrieks again, and Thomas claps his hands over his ears, because that is not a human noise. It sounds like the scraping of a rusty ship’s hull against rocks as it crashes in a midnight storm. It sounds like the wind howling through a wild November hurricane. It sounds like the power and fury of the wildest ocean depths, condensed into one long, never-ending noise.

Eventually, however, it does end, and when Thomas finally uncovers his ears, he hears not the shrieks of some long-dead sea monster entity, but the muffled sobs of a broken man. He cautiously rises up onto his knees, peering over the edge of the table to see Logan, slumped over the cold, hard metal, face buried in his arms. His entire body shakes with sobs, and Thomas carefully reaches for his shoulder. “Logan -”

“Get away from me!” Logan roars. He throws his head forward, snapping a mouthful of gleaming fangs, and Thomas barely manages to avoid those fangs sinking into his hand. “I want to go home!” His entire body is tense, preparing to launch himself off the table, but he’s shaking from the force and wincing from the pain.

“Virgil, can you please go into the kitchen and make some tea?” Virgil looks at Thomas as though he’s just asked him to set the lab on fire and leave him there.

“Doc, are you sure -”

“Yes. I got more teabags, they’re in the cabinet above the stove.”

Virgil cautiously edges away from Logan, who glares at him until he leaves. Once the lab door slams shut behind him, Logan’s gaze snaps right back to Thomas. Thomas carefully lifts his hands up palm-out.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You hurt me when you took me away from my family!”

“We didn’t set that net,” Thomas says, soothing but firm. “We found you on the beach, poisoned and dying. I’m sorry that you got caught in it, and I’m sorry that you’ve been stolen from your family. I promise that Virgil and I will get you back to them as soon as we possibly can. But we run the risk of killing you if we release you back into the ocean as you are.”

“I’ve spent my entire life in the ocean! It can’t kill me, it can’t hurt me!”

“You can barely move right now.” Logan bristles, and Thomas hates himself for being so callous but he needs Logan to understand the severity of the situation. “There’s no way that you would survive on your own. Even if you can defend yourself from predators, you’re exhausted and you can barely move. How are you going to hunt? How are you going to feed yourself?”

“My pod will -”

“How are you going to locate them?”

“I - I can call for them!”

“Sure, but what if they can’t hear you? The sound will only travel so far. If they can’t hear it, you have to move, but your mobility is extremely limited. It would be better for you to wait until you’ve healed more. I’m sorry that you have to be here, but you do.”

Logan screeches loudly. Thomas covers his ears and hunkers down to wait it out, but he can’t completely block out the noise. It’s a horrible noise just on principle (like grating metal, like nails on a chalkboard, like steel wool fibers pulled apart and dragged across a cheese grater, like a badly out-of-tune piano, like the death shriek of a hellish creature, like a car wreck), but there’s more to it than that. The noise is horrible because it’s the sound of a heart breaking, shattering into pieces.

The screech goes on forever and it lasts only a moment. By the time Logan has stopped screaming and Thomas’s ears have stopped ringing, Virgil is lurking near the staircase. He’s wearing his wireless headphones to muffle the horrible noises. Thomas smiles, balling his fists to hide the shaking, and motions for Virgil to come in.

Logan is shivering, pulling the blanket tightly around himself and curling up to avoid looking at them as best as he can. Virgil’s footsteps are hesitant and shuffling, less of a step than a drag of his foot across the linoleum floor. He carefully sets the tray down and looks at Thomas, hesitantly pulling one headphone away from his ear.

“Is . . . everything okay, Doc?”

“Yes, Virgil, everything is fine.”

Thomas sips at his tea, watching the merman carefully. Logan very pointedly stares at anything he can see that is NOT Thomas or Virgil, clutching his arms so tightly that Thomas worries he’ll leave gouges in his arms. “I’m sorry that we have to keep you here,” he says. “But you have my word that once we’ve confirmed you’re stable enough to survive, we’ll release you into the ocean.”

“How am I supposed to trust that?” Logan snaps. He doesn’t look at them.

“The doc would never lie to someone,” Virgil spits, defensive, but Thomas shakes his head a little.

“He’s allowed to be upset. For all he knows, we kidnapped him.”

“We did not! We would never -”

“Virgil, how would you feel if you woke up injured and isolated in a strange place and were then told that you weren’t allowed to go home for quite some time? I know I would be terrified.” He turns his gaze from Virgil to Logan as he speaks. “I would want to go home as soon as possible. I would want to be freed immediately, and if I wasn’t, I would lash out at anyone who tried to keep me confined, even if they said they only wanted what was best for me. How would I know they were telling me the truth?”

“I . . . I guess you’re right . . .”

“Logan,” Thomas says softly. “I understand that you’re upset. It’s okay. It’s a perfectly natural and valid response to the situation that you’re in right now. I just want you to understand that Virge and I, we’re going to take care of you. We want you to recover and we want you to get home safely.”

“How am I to trust that?” Logan says softly. “I know what humans think of those like me. We are rare, exotic creatures to be kept on display and shown off like trophies. We are not capable of real thought or speech, despite our tremendous ability for ‘mimicry’. What if I never see my family again?”

“Why don’t you tell me about them?” Thomas prompts. “You don’t have to be super specific, but talking about them may make you feel a little better . . .”

Logan’s eyes flicker towards him, although they focus on his feet rather than his face. One hand comes away from clutching the blanket to gently touch the odd band of lighter-blue scales coiling around his upper arm.

“I . . . I suppose . . .”

*~*~*~*~*

Sunlight filters through the water. A red blur darts around in front of him, weaving with ease through seaweed that would tangle in his fins and ensnare him. “Stay where I can see you, Roman!” he calls, but the smaller mer doesn’t listen.

Finally, he catches up, taking a detour above the seaweed, almost panicking when he hears crying. He sends out rapid distress clicks, but when Roman answers back almost immediately unharmed, he calms down a little (but not much).

“I found someone!” Roman calls back. “He’s crying and he’s all alone, I think he might be lost!”

He swims closer, listening, and he picks up on the sobs only a few more seconds after Roman does. “Hello? Are you alright? You don’t have to cry, we’re here to help you! Did you lose your pod?”

“I . . . I do not . . . I do not have a pod,” the stranger sniffles. A few quick clicks confirm that there is a second mer, slightly smaller than Roman, sleek and streamlined with his hands pressed to his face. “I am all alone.”

“Do you remember what happened to your pod, little mer?”

“I do not have a pod,” he repeats. “I - I have never had a pod. I do not . . . I do not remember what happened to me. I woke up near this reef, and I was alone, and I cannot remember ever not being alone. I . . . I think that I have always been alone.”

He feels the water disturb as Roman fidgets, rustling his spines and trying to decide if he should reach out and comfort the strange mer with touch. “You’ve . . . always been alone?” Roman asks softly.

“Yes,” the mer says. “I . . . that is not normal, is it?”

“No, little guppy, it’s not,” he says. “But it’s okay, you don’t have to cry! You can come with me and be part of my pod if you want!”

He can see the mer freeze, fidgeting a little with his hands and looking up at him instead of down at the sea floor. He starts to uncoil, just a little bit. “You . . . you want me?”

“Of course, guppy! Roman here used to be part of another pod, but when we found each other he was all alone too! Now he’s part of my pod, and he’s not alone anymore!”

“It’s really great! We’re a small pod, but we’re a great pod! I like us much better than my old pod,” Roman says, puffing his chest out proudly. He hears the other mer giggle a little, quietly.

“Do you want to join our pod, guppy?” he asks, soft and gentle as though he’s cradling a sea otter pup in his palms.

“Wh - really? You really want - I can join - you - really?!”

“Of course! I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want you to join us!”

He’s close enough to the other mer to see when his face breaks into a wide grin. “I would love that! I - I’ve never had a pod before, how do I join?”

“Tell me your name.”

“Logan. I - that’s the only thing that I remember. My name is Logan.”

“Welcome to the pod, Logan.” He reaches forward, carefully wraps his thumb and index finger around Logan’s upper arm. He concentrates on Roman, the only other member of his pod, and hears Logan gasp when all of his scales light up. Roman grins proudly at his side as the blue scales on his arm begin to glow.

When he pulls his hand away, there’s a band of light blue scales wrapping around Logan’s arm. “Whoa! How did you do that?”

“Easy, guppy. I’m magic.”

“He’s an elder mer!” Roman boasts proudly. “He can do all kinds of cool, neat stuff that we can’t because he’s magic! That’s our podmark! It means you belong with us now!”

“And it shares a little of my magic with you,” he adds. “I age differently than regular mer, so now you age differently, too! I didn’t ever want to lose my pod, and now I never have to!”

Logan smiles shyly.

“I’ll race you!” Roman declares, turning and pointing out into open water. He sends a click out, waiting for the echo to show him the shape of the rocky cliff that Roman is gesturing to. “I bet you can’t beat me!”

“I bet I can!”

“You’re on!”

He feels Logan take off, and he’s slicing through the water like a shark. Roman doesn’t even start swimming, so completely stunned and in awe at Logan’s speed. “He didn’t tell me he could rocket around like a sailfish!” he complains.

“You didn’t ask, guppy,” he chuckles. “You’d better start swimming, or he’s going to beat you for sure!”

“Never!”

He lets them swim for a minute longer, carefully sending out echos to check their progress. Logan is absolutely going to beat Roman to the cliff, even without the head start he’d accidentally received. With a soft bubbling huff of laughter, he swims off after them.

---

Roman is dizzy. Where is his pod? What’s happening? All he knows is that one minute, he was swimming along after his dad and his brother, and then he was suddenly slammed into the sea floor. He pushes himself up, flaring his spines defensively.

There are orcas surrounding him, gnashing their teeth as they circle above him. The largest one is battle-scarred, tail swishing menacingly, and as Roman puffs his spines out, the large orca slams its tail at him. So that’s what knocked him down.

Roman swims up, looking for his pod, but he can’t find them. They must not have realized that he’s been caught. His head is still spinning like a whirlpool with the force of the blow, but he has to fight. He has to get out, he has to get back to his pod.

One of the orcas lunges towards him, and he twists, slamming his spiky tail into the orca’s body. It howls in pain and jerks forward, yanking him through the water and straight towards the gaping maw of another orca. He quickly yanks his tail away, shouting a word his dad would never approve of as a few of his spines are ripped away. Even though they’ll grow back, his heart still pangs at the sight of his beautiful spines embedded in such a monster.

Two of the orcas rush him at once, and he quickly barrel rolls away from them, firing his spines out as he dives through the opening. He shrieks as one of the orcas snaps and catches his tail in their jaws. Pain explodes up through his side as he slashes his arms around and stabs his elbow spines directly into the orca’s eye.

“Get off of me!” he roars. The orca lets go with a yelp as Roman floods his gills with water and screams his pod call into the water. The orcas around him make angry noises, and not for the first time Roman wishes his dad was here. His dad speaks orca, he could get these awful creatures to leave him alone. And his dad is big, he would be able to tail-slap the orcas into the abyss.

The orcas, angry at Roman fighting back and angry at him calling for help, swarm him. He doesn’t have enough spines to fight them all off, and he drives his elbows into them at every opportunity but it’s not enough. There is pain everywhere as they bite at him and tail-slap him, and soon enough he’s sinking back to the sea floor.

The water around him clouds with blood, and the orcas begin to circle in a more hurried frenzy. The ones he’s speared are beginning to sink from the poison in his spines, slowing down as it invades their brains and slows them down, but that hasn’t helped him. If anything, it’s spurred the other orcas into a frenzy.

Roman calls for his pod again and again and again and again, desperately praying to the Goddesses of the Seven Seas that his dad shows up to save him before the orcas eat him.

“Roman?!”

Roman jerks his head up, hearing a response to his pod call, but quickly realizes that it’s Logan swimming to his rescue. “Logan, no, get out of here! Go get -”

“I’m not leaving you!” Logan skillfully weaves through the orcas and swims down to grab Roman’s forearms. “What happened?! Are you hurt?! No, that’s a stupid question, you’re obviously hurt, what can I do?!”

“You can get out of here!” Roman hisses. “You can go get dad, he can fight off these monsters and you’re faster than I ever could be!”

“I’m not leaving you!” Logan repeats. “What happens if they get to you before I get back? I just got this pod, I’m not abandoning you!”

Roman is distracted by the sight of one of the orcas growing impatient with waiting. It dives down, mouth open, teeth glinting and sharp, and Roman knows that it’s going to sink its teeth into Logan’s fins and hurt his baby brother and he will not let that happen.

“Logan, get down, now!” he snaps. Logan jerks his head up, turns to see the orca. But he doesn’t move; instead, he positions himself in front of Roman. “What are you doing, you kelp-brain?!”

“GET AWAY FROM MY BROTHER!” Logan roars. Roman gasps as the dark rings of scales all over Logan’s tail and torso and arms begin to glow, so brightly that Roman is forced to close his eyes. The water around them gets suddenly warm, and then there’s a burning all over Roman’s body that leaves him stunned and paralyzed. He can barely keep his eyes open, and the last thing he sees is the illuminated silhouette of his enraged baby brother.

---

Logan blinks awake, feeling strange motion around him even though he is not swimming. He opens his eyes and realizes that he is being held in someone’s arms.

“Dad . . .?” “Shhh, guppy,” he soothes. “It’s alright, you’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

“But - but Roman, he - they - I -”

“He’s safe too, guppy. I have him.” He is shifted, carefully, and Logan realizes that his dad has him cradled in one arm and Roman in the other. “He’s lost quite a few of his spines, but they regrow after a few days. It’ll be painful cause he’s lost so many . . . but he’ll survive. We’re going back to our cave so I can patch him up.”

“Wh . . . what happened, Dad? I remember finding Roman, I remember turning to see the orca, I remember getting angry . . . but nothing else . . .”

“You have a gift,” his dad says, and he sounds proud. “You have been blessed by the Goddesses of the Seven Seas. They have given you the Burning Light.”

“Wh . . . what?”

“The rings on your body emit a Burning Light. It travels through the water and stuns everything in its path. Few mer are gifted with the Burning Light - you are blessed, guppy, truly.”

“I just wanted Roman to be safe.”

“And he is, guppy. He most assuredly is.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Burning Light?” Virgil asks, rapidly scribbling down notes.

“We later learned from overhearing human sailors that the humans refer to the blessing as ‘electricity’,” Logan says. “It allows me to hunt, and to protect my pod, although that is not my primary job. That belongs to . . . to my brother.”

“Roman, right?” Thomas says. “The one with the spines?”

“Yes,” Logan murmurs. “He is my older brother. He and my father . . . they are the only family that I have in this world. They are my pod. And now, I have been taken from them, and . . . and I do not know if I will ever see them again.” One hand comes up to touch the light blue band of scales around his arm, what they understand now to be a mark from his pod.

“I promise that you will,” Thomas says. “We just want to make sure that you’ll survive when you go back to the ocean. You’re injured, and you can barely move.”

“I am aware.”

“I promise that as soon as you’re healed, we’re going to let you back to the ocean,” Thomas says. “We don’t want to keep you here any longer than we absolutely have to. But I cannot, in good conscience, let you go to your death.”

“I . . . I suppose I can appreciate such a sentiment,” Logan sighs, “although I am still fundamentally opposed to remaining here. I . . . am sorry that I attacked you earlier. I was distressed, but . . . that is not an excuse.”

“Hey, no, don’t do that,” Virgil says, snapping his head up. Logan’s eyes widen slightly at the fire in his voice, a fire Virgil hadn’t meant to put there but doesn’t bother to suppress. “For all you know, you’ve basically just been kidnapped by your greatest enemy. It was a perfectly legitimate response on your part. And the doc and I are fine.”

Logan blinks. “I . . . thank you, Virgil.”

“No problem.”

“May . . . may I make a request?”

“What kind of request?”

“I - I would like to go back into the water now,” Logan says, looking away from Thomas and Virgil nervously. “I dislike when I am not at least partially submerged.”

“Well, you can’t go back into the big tank until we flush it out and bring in clean water,” Thomas says. “You were peeling your bandages off, so the water’s contaminated, it’s got your blood in it now. And we have to rewrap the bandages that you peeled off . . .”

“What about the turtle tank?” Virgil says. He refers to the large, flat, cylindrical tank where they keep smaller sea turtles and rays when they’re brought in for recovery. It kind of reminds Virgil of the touch tank at an aquarium, and it’s not an ideal place to keep Logan permanently but it could be a good solution for the time being.

“Hmm . . . That could work,” Thomas says. “Logan, would that be alright with you?” “You . . . care what I think?” “Of course we do.” Thomas smiles gently. “We want you to be comfortable while you’re here.”

Logan looks painfully surprised, and Virgil can’t stop his mind from wandering to what kinds of horrible, torturous things the poor merman thinks they’re going to inflict upon him. “I . . . tell me again what you are proposing?”

“We can’t put you back into the big tank because the water has your blood in it, and you could get sick if you sit in that. And we need to rewrap your bandages, too. But we have another, smaller tank that we can let you sit in so that you’re in the water at least a little. Virgil will rewrap your injuries while I flush out the tank, and then you can go back in the water, okay?”

“That . . . that seems adequate.”

“Okay then,” Thomas says. “Can we pick you up, Logan?” 

“Yes,” he says, “although I would prefer -”

Logan stops talking before he finishes his sentence, but Thomas refuses to let him. “What is it, Logan? You’re allowed to tell us what you would prefer.”

“I . . . would prefer if . . . if you held my tail, while Virgil held my . . . the rest of me.”

“You - you really would?” Virgil feels his face heat up as Thomas shoots him a distinctive blackmailer’s grin before smiling kindly at Logan again.

“Of course we can do that,” he says. “Virgil, is that alright with you?”

“Y - yeah, of course it is,” Virgil grumbles, glaring at him. When he looks at Logan, however, his anger evaporates as the merman reaches out and gently touches his upper arm with one hand.

“Thank you, Virgil. I greatly appreciate it.”

“Yeah - I - um - y - no problem,” he mutters, feeling the heat spread through his cheeks and his ears and his entire face. Logan removes his hand from Virgil’s arm, and Virgil feels the spot where it was begin to tingle and burn from lack of contact. Before he can properly begin to process what that might mean, however, Logan reaches up and locks his arms around Virgil’s neck.

Virgil barely manages to remember to breathe, but after only a few seconds of short-circuiting he remembers how his arms work and scoops Logan up. He’s faintly aware of Thomas next to him, gathering Logan’s tail into his arms and wrapping it carefully around his shoulders and waist to keep it off the floor, but all he can focus on is Logan.

Logan’s arm presses against the bare skin of Virgil’s neck, and it’s slightly rough and scaly but also surprisingly smooth. His hair is damp, with little beads of water running down his face, and Virgil swallows hard as he watches a single drop run down the pale column of Logan’s neck. His eyes are framed by small, glittering, dark blue scales, but even their beauty cannot compare to how pretty Logan’s eyes are. It’s like staring straight into the depths of the ocean, frightening but mesmerizing all at the same time.

“Earth to Virgil?” Thomas asks. Virgil snaps his head up and looks away from Logan, towards his boss. “Are you ready to go?”

“Wh - I - y-yeah, I - sorry, boss, I got distracted. I’m ready, I’m sorry. Are we moving now?”

“Just waiting on you, Virgil. On three?”

“On three. One . . .” “Two . . .”

“Three!”

Virgil and Thomas both lift up at the same time, managing to hoist Logan up off the table. Logan shifts a little, apparently still slightly unnerved by the idea of being lifted around, and Virgil tries very hard not to think about how he’s basically carrying Logan bridal style. Instead, he pushes up onto the balls of his feet and begins to take slow, careful steps backwards, glancing between Thomas and Logan and his destination over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Logan says softly, and his mouth is right next to Virgil’s ear. Virgil is proud of the way he doesn’t even flinch a little, even as his heartrate rockets up to truly dangerous levels.

“N - no problem.”

Virgil carefully lowers Logan into the tank, keeping his hands under Logan’s armpits to hold him upright while Thomas disentangles himself from Logan’s tail. It slithers neatly into the water in one shimmering, fluid motion, and Logan carefully lays back, submerging himself completely in the water before poking his face up above the surface.

“Better?” Thomas asks.

“Much.”

Thomas heads off to the big tank, and Virgil pulls a roll of bandages out of his pocket. “This might sting a little . . . but I promise I’m not trying to hurt you. I just wanna keep you safe.”

Logan sighs, wincing as he shifts his tail so that Virgil can see his arms. Tenderly, Virgil pulls out a cloth and begins to carefully wipe at the exposed injuries. Logan hisses at the sting, flinching just a little, but he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t bite Virgil, either, which causes Virgil to breathe a massive sigh of relief.

After all the injuries are wiped down and clean, he begins to bandage them. Some of them are small enough that he can simply cut off a small piece of bandage and plaster it down, but some of them require wrapping lengths of bandage around Logan’s arms and torso.

Virgil keeps his touch as light as possible, applying as little pressure as possible, since there are bruises around the injuries. Logan flinches and winces but keeps his face stoic, watching Virgil with a careful, calculating, almost eerie intelligence. Virgil pretends that he doesn’t notice the way Logan is looking at him, the way Logan is studying him.

He very much notices.

He finishes bandaging Logan before Thomas finishes flushing and filling the tank, so he turns to pick up his sketchpad before realizing that he probably shouldn’t be drawing Logan without his explicit consent. “Hey, Logan?”

“Yes?”

“I - do you care if I draw you? I usually draw the marine life that we bring in, cause it’s good practice, so I - I just figured that I should ask you for permission before -”

“What is . . . draw?” Logan asks.

Virgil hesitantly opens the sketchpad and turns it to some of his previous drawings - starfish, sea turtles, jellyfish, sea urchins. He flips through them slowly, watching Logan’s eyes widen and mouth open as he stares at the drawings.

“You . . . created these?” “Yeah,” Virgil says. He pulls a pencil out of his pocket and quickly sketches a flower in the corner of a page. “There . . . I kind of had some . . . some drawings of you already . . .”

Logan is quiet. “May I see them?”

Virgil blushes, tucking the pencil behind his ear. “Um . . . Y-yeah, yeah, I - here, here you go . . .”

He carefully shows Logan the sketches he’s already done - Logan curled in the tank, asleep, rough guess sketches of Logan’s anatomy, close-ups on some of Logan’s fins and the band of light blue scales around his upper arm. He deliberately doesn’t turn the page to the final drawing, which is a close-up of Logan’s face that he spent an embarrassing amount of time on.

“You . . . created these images of me? But . . . but why?”

“Some of the drawings I do get sold for textbook illustrations, some of them are for research purposes, some of them are just practice for anatomy. But most of them are just . . . for fun. I like drawing.”

Logan blinks. “Does . . . drawing me require any specific action on my part?”

“Nope. You don’t really have to do anything at all.”

Logan studies Virgil’s face very carefully, and Virgil studies him back. He doesn’t know if he’s going to be allowed to continue drawing the merman, but his mind is already thinking in artist terms. How should he shade Logan’s irises? How should he capture the delicate facial scales? How should he accurately represent the gossamer-thin fins that replace Logan’s ears, the hair that floats around him like a feathery halo in the water and plasters itself to his forehead in the air, the curve of his chin and the slant of his nose and the bright life that gleams in his eyes?

“You may continue to draw me,” Logan decides, finally. “On one condition.”

“What’s the condition?”

“I would like to be able to see the drawings when they are done.” Logan suddenly averts his gaze, looking away almost adorably. “If . . . you do not mind showing them to me.”

“Of course I don’t,” Virgil answers immediately. “I’m more than happy to show them to you. They’re of you. Thank you, so much, for letting me draw you.”

Logan smiles, and his entire face lights up, and Virgil is so, so gay.

Before his soul can completely leave his body, Thomas calls that the tank is full, and Virgil is setting his sketchbook aside and helping Thomas carry Logan back to the tank. They do their best not to throw him into the tank, but he still sinks in the water without much grace due to his injured tail.

“He must coil like that because he misses his pod,” Thomas comments, watching the way that Logan curls up to sleep.

“We can’t keep him away from them, Doc,” Virgil says.

“We can’t release him yet, Virgil. He can’t even swim. If he goes back into the ocean, the scent of blood will attract predators galore. He’ll never survive, and he won’t ever see his pod again.”

“Yeah, but look at him,” Virgil argues. Logan is coiling up, slowly and painfully, and he looks objectively miserable. “He’s never gonna be happy here, Thomas. We don’t want him to suffer, but he’s gonna suffer if he’s alone.”

“So what are you proposing, that we go find his pod?”

Virgil smirks. “Well, actually . . .”

*~*~*~*~*

“You . . . you wish to what?”

If Virgil thought Logan’s eyes were pretty before (and he did), that’s nothing compared to watching his face light up as hope slowly unfurls its banners. He tears a chunk out of the fish and shoves it into his mouth as Virgil explains his idea.

“We don’t wanna just let you go back into the ocean when you’re injured and can’t swim, cause that would basically be a death warrant for you and we don’t want that. But you’re clearly miserable without your pod, so - so I thought that maybe, we could go and find them? We could bring them here to visit you, let them see that you’re alive and okay, and then they’ll know where you are and they won’t panic. And once you’re all healed, you can go back to the wild with them.”

“I . . . you are truly willing to help me?”

“We don’t want you to be miserable,” Thomas says. “And your family must be worried sick. I know that if anything ever happened to Virgil and I didn’t know where he was or what had happened, I’d be distraught.”

Virgil feels something strange welling up in his chest when Thomas says that, something like pride, something like love, something like acceptance and warmth and family. Instead of expressing these sentiments, he elbows his mentor gently and mutters, “Yeah, yeah, doc, don’t get sappy on me” while smiling and staring at the floor.

Logan grins, flashing his mouthful of fangs, but Virgil can’t see this as threatening. He can’t see it as anything other than incredibly endearing. “I - this - thank you, thank you so much, that is - this is more than I could dream of.”

“The only problem is that we don’t actually know how to find your pod,” Thomas says. Logan doesn’t appear deterred in the slightest.

“When we are not in the same place, we have a call that we use to find each other,” he says. “I could attempt to teach it to you and then -”

“Slow down there, bud,” Virgil interrupts. “We don’t have the same anatomy that you do, there’s no way that we could replicate a noise like that.” He hates to say it, hates to watch the way the hope in Logan’s face dies, but he can’t let it live if it’s false.

“We couldn’t make it ourselves,” Thomas muses, “but what we could do is record you making the call and broadcast it from the boat using the sonar equipment.”

“Could we reformat the sonar to do that?” Virgil asks. Thomas grins, sharp and intelligent.

“We absolutely could.”

Virgil grins back, and they both look at Logan, who’s cautiously smiling, hope beginning to creep back into his features. “Alrighty then, Logan. We’re gonna find your family.”

*~*~*~*~*

Thomas anchors the boat a few miles offshore and carefully prepares the sonar equipment. They’d had to record about ten different trials of Logan’s pod call before the merman had deemed it satisfactory, but he’d been so excited about seeing his pod again that Thomas hadn’t minded that much.

Out here alone, with Logan still in the lab and Virgil keeping him company, Thomas lets his mind wander to more pessimistic options. Even with the recording of Logan’s pod call, there’s no guarantee that he’s anywhere near Logan’s pod. There’s no guarantee that they’ll find the pod today, or tomorrow, and there’s no guarantee that even a fully healed Logan released into the ocean will ever find them again.

He shakes his head to clear the negativity; he can’t afford to think like that. Logan is desperate to see his pod again, and Thomas can’t let him down. He carefully hoists the sonar speaker into his arms, heads to the side of the boat, and lowers it down into the water.

Thomas has already decided that he will spend an hour in this location before he moves on, and he’ll advance five miles into the ocean every time he moves. He sits down at the monitoring equipment and presses the button to begin projecting the call out into the water.

He has plenty of busywork reports to occupy himself while he’s waiting for something to happen, so he does. His eyes flick back and forth from the sonar screen and the reports he’s filling out, not sure what exactly he’s looking for but feeling his optimism fade every time there’s nothing on the screen.

And then the screen explodes.

Thomas can feel the hull of the boat itself vibrating as the sonar detects something - someone - responding to the signal. He’s quick to shove the busywork away and pull up the sonar display, and gapes at what it displays. Something is quickly approaching, close to the surface and roughly the size of a medium shark, but that’s not what’s concerning.

What’s concerning is the other thing approaching from deeper waters, larger than the largest whale (the largest creature, full stop) that Thomas has ever seen. Suddenly, the signal gets fuzzy and distorted before completely warping out, and something thunks down onto the deck.

Thomas stands up, turning to see a mangled speaker on the deck. It’s covered in tooth and claw marks, crushed and crumpled and ripped like a tin can, but what’s scariest is the red-and-white spine the size of Thomas’s arm speared cleanly through it.

Dimly, Thomas realizes that perhaps summoning the pod of a lost and injured merman without having said merman immediately present might be a mistake. That’s the only realization he has time for before something explodes up out of the ocean in a spout of seawater. Thomas scrambles backwards, but not fast enough; whatever it is tackles him flat on his back and pins him to the deck. His head slams painfully into the deck, and the air is knocked out of his lungs, but Thomas can’t focus on that. He can only focus on three things.

The first thing is the gleam of furious eyes and the glint of razor-sharp fangs, bared above him. The second thing is the feeling of something sharp pressed close to the soft, vulnerable skin of his throat. The third thing is a single phrase, hissed out in a strangled, terrifyingly irate voice.

“What have you done to my brother?!”

taglist below! (if you want to be added, send me an ask!) 

@bunny222

@phlying-squirrel

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@ironwoman359

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@samathekittycat

@confinesofpersonalknowledge

@backatthebein

@princeanxious

@serious-ppl-wear-neckties

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@purplepatton

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@ravenclawunicorn1

@terriblietired

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@bread-potato

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@allycat31415

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@ashrain5

@white-spirit-of-darkness

@rejectedathena

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@gay-and-exhausted

@vir-gull

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@savingshae

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@unikornavenger

@awesomelissawho

@ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2

@radioactivehelena

@ethospathoslogan

@anxietyisthebestme

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@entpscarleharrrr

@a-snoway-afternoon

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@tera-91

@thisismedamit

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@youllnevertaketheskyfromme

@shadowsoul357

@pandagirl0730

@bibbidi-bobbity-booyah

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@uh-r00d

@fall-chemically-atthedisco

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@faithfulcat111

@fangsandrainbows

@redundant-statements-for-400

@adka2333

@theresneverenoughfandoms

@regen-cecilos

@pinkpandapancakes

@the-better-bard

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@bisexualellaphants

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@starrynightaurora

@dedaartist

@pattons-cardigans

@emilyinhernaturalhabitat

@dontbugmeimantisocial

@icantbeme71097

@derpiest-unicorn

@sirasanders

@tinkslittlebelle

@joyful-milkshake-observation

@redhoneysugarorange

@lunacatzuniverse

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@cdragontogacotar

@wildheart49

@welp-im-undertale-trash

@randomrainbowslushy

@logical-but-anxious

@ebony-wolf

@morality-is-anxious-too

@angered-turtle

@shadowjag

@ihateitwhenyourejustvague

@punsterterry

@royallyroman

@rainfilledskies

@fandomsofrandom

@trust-me-i-just-get-weirder

@anxie-teaa

@moonfang03

@didnt-murder-anyone-yet

@hungry-red-panda

@holdyourbreathfornow

@forrestwyrm

@thefluffypuppyishere

@oh-star-how-the-mighty-fall

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@yty-is-a-gfeat

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@siren-art

@anxietyisthebestme

@randomfanderfriend

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@thatpinkpony59

@i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing

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@the-gayest-one-of-them-all

@thegoofyseadragon

@fantasyandfairfolk

@trashysugarbaby

@bassacaglia

@justanormalfoot

@alkimara

@apologetically-anxious

@stardustedsweaterlover

@punkassplonker

@wicked-universe

@maya-tl

@magicalmayhems

@lockolocka

@whyme-tho

@starbuckssippinson

@imnotcrazy-i-swaer

@jemthebookworm

@witchybitchylesbean

@blocksavage1776

@luckybanana948

@why-should-i-tell-youu

@wouldthehill

@pheasantjj

@themainhome

@cats-vetal-miking-vomit

@merlybird500

@error-i-dunno-what-went-wrong

@bangthekobrakid

@absoluteturnip

@dragonwitch20

@goofypersona

@anyay666

@teethietoothies

@smokeyrutilequartz

@i-really-dig-the-purple

@thinniewhinnie

@cieltheanon

@alotofstupidstuff

@impossiblepentagon

@sandersidestrash1

@suspicious-sweaters

@asymmetricalgarbage8888

@lollife

@insanegoldie2

@daring-elm

@why-should-i-tell-youu2

@paperghastly

@theunoriginaldaisy

@emocatholic

@the5thcoy

@apologetically-anxious

@radioactivehelena

@llamaly

@cloudedskies29

@riley-castillo

@nonbinarybullshit

@aleicim

@asymmetricalgarbage8888

@analogical-mess

@smolbeanchildofdeath

@sherlock-lives-on-bakerstreet

@opaque-puppet

@shootingace

@thegeekwiththewaffles

@georganabanana

@starry-sides

@innerduet

@siesieknows

[ao3feed-voltronlegendarydefender]

What 'Home' Means

read it on the AO3 at What 'Home' Means

by AMonsterCalls, H_Faith_Marr

Fifteen-year-old Keith Kogane is bitter, grieving but in denial about it, angry at the world, and homeless in New York City. But this city has a few things up its sleeve... and not all of them pretty.

Words: 4663, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of What 'Home' Means

Fandoms: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Voltron: Legendary Defender

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: Gen

Characters: Keith (Voltron), Peter Parker, Shiro (Voltron), Curt Connors, Aleksei Sytsevich, Max Dillon, Tony Stark, Otto Octavius, Clint Barton, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Steve Rogers, Wanda Maximoff, James "Bucky" Barnes, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Vision (Marvel), Bruce Banner, Thor (Marvel), Loki (Marvel), Wade Wilson, Matt Murdock, Original Characters, Michelle Jones, Ned Leeds, Flash Thompson, Pepper Potts, James "Rhodey" Rhodes

Relationships: Keith (Voltron) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Keith & Shiro (Voltron), Loki & Peter Parker, Bruce Banner & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Keith (Voltron) & Loki, James "Bucky" Barnes & Peter Parker, Clint Barton & Keith (Voltron), James "Bucky" Barnes & Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) & Sam Wilson, Keith (Voltron) & Matt Murdock & Peter Parker & Wade Wilson, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker

Additional Tags: Team as Family, Homeless Keith (Voltron), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, just some tw in case even though its really vague, Running Away, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Intervention, this is dark guys, Starvation, Cold, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron)-centric, the kerberos mission was earlier because i said so, shiro was keiths legal guardian, Reckless Keith (Voltron), Morality, Tracker Keith (Voltron), Smart Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Peter Parker is Bad at Feelings, Canon-Typical Violence, but which canon?, you'll never know - Freeform, Paranoid Keith (Votron), Trust Issues, Precious Peter Parker, Acts of Kindness, Self-Esteem Issues, Insecure Keith (Voltron), Socially Awkward Keith (Voltron), Found Family, Impulsive Keith (Voltron), Vigilante Justice, Insomnia, Insomniac Keith (Voltron), Alien Biology, Vivisection, Lonely Keith (Voltron), Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff and Angst, No Smut, Tags Are Hard, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

read it on the AO3 at What 'Home' Means

[ao3feed-buckybarnes]

What 'Home' Means

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2YC6CrK

by AMonsterCalls, H_Faith_Marr

Fifteen-year-old Keith Kogane is bitter, grieving but in denial about it, angry at the world, and homeless in New York City. But this city has a few things up its sleeve... and not all of them pretty.

Words: 2108, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of What 'Home' Means

Fandoms: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Voltron: Legendary Defender

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: Gen

Characters: Keith (Voltron), Peter Parker, Shiro (Voltron), Curt Connors, Aleksei Sytsevich, Max Dillon, Tony Stark, Otto Octavius, Clint Barton, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Steve Rogers, Wanda Maximoff, James "Bucky" Barnes, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Vision (Marvel), Bruce Banner, Thor (Marvel), Loki (Marvel), Wade Wilson, Matt Murdock, Original Characters, Michelle Jones, Ned Leeds, Flash Thompson, Pepper Potts, James "Rhodey" Rhodes

Relationships: Keith (Voltron) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Keith & Shiro (Voltron), Loki & Peter Parker, Bruce Banner & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Keith (Voltron) & Loki, James "Bucky" Barnes & Peter Parker, Clint Barton & Keith (Voltron), James "Bucky" Barnes & Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) & Sam Wilson, Keith (Voltron) & Matt Murdock & Peter Parker & Wade Wilson, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker

Additional Tags: Team as Family, Homeless Keith (Voltron), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, just some tw in case even though its really vague, Running Away, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Intervention, this is dark guys, Starvation, Cold, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron)-centric, the kerberos mission was earlier because i said so, shiro was keiths legal guardian, Reckless Keith (Voltron), Morality, Tracker Keith (Voltron), Smart Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Peter Parker is Bad at Feelings, Canon-Typical Violence, but which canon?, you'll never know - Freeform, Paranoid Keith (Votron), Trust Issues, Precious Peter Parker, Acts of Kindness, Self-Esteem Issues, Insecure Keith (Voltron), Socially Awkward Keith (Voltron), Found Family, Impulsive Keith (Voltron), Vigilante Justice, Insomnia, Insomniac Keith (Voltron), Alien Biology, Vivisection, Lonely Keith (Voltron), Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff and Angst, No Smut, Tags Are Hard, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2YC6CrK