#also i like inputting data it pleases my brain

[twilights-800-cats]

what do you mean creating a spreadsheet to track minor, very forgettable details of my immense au cast is insane and probably a waste of my time? my brain needs something to do!!!

[bb-8]

Tech Savvy

Pairing: Tech x female reader Summary:  You’re an ex-imperial who has a crush on Tech. He’s awkward about it. Until he’s not. Rating: Explicit (18+, minors DNI) Warnings/tags: crack treated seriously, smut, unprotected PIV, awkward flirting, oral sex, first kisses, accidental exhibitionism, lots of bad jokes, slight angst Word count: 5.4K Notes: It’s smutty crack treated seriously, guys. Read on AO3.

The planet you land on isn’t anything special. It’s a humid swamp world in the Outer Rim that offers enough seclusion for even the Empire’s Most Wanted to pass by unnoticed.

You, being the kind and selfless individual you are, decide to help with repairs while Clone Force 99 are on a supply run. It’s the first time the ship has made planet fall in weeks and everyone is a bit stir-crazy, jumping at the chance to stretch their legs. Prolonged time spent in hyperspace has that effect.

Before he left, you told Hunter that your status as an ex-Imperial put an unnecessary target on their back. You’re still wearing your Imperial uniform, after all, and you know for a fact that the Empire is not exactly merciful to deserters. Especially deserters that committed high treason. Like aiding Clone Force 99’s escape from an Imperial prison.

You definitely didn’t just jump at the chance to stay behind because Tech opted to. That would be ridiculous.

You feel your face heat at the thought.

(What? His goggles are cute.)

The truth is, there’s been something – a tension, as it were – between the two of you since you arrived on board. You know it, he knows it. You’ve been orbiting around each other for some weeks now, and this is the first time you’ve been alone –

“Can you spare a minute?” Tech calls out, pulling you away from your thoughts. You swivel in your chair and shift your attention to him, a bit surprised.

“I was beginning to think you didn’t realise I was on board,” you reply as you make your way to the cockpit where Tech is currently fiddling with some wires.

“You’re...very hard to miss,” Tech replies and your heart skips a beat. “The ship is far too small to miss another sentient being’s presence.”

“Right,” you mutter while taking a seat, trying not to sound too deflated. So maybe he didn’t feel that tension. “What do you need help with?”

“I am taking this opportunity to rewrite the ship’s central comm unit to be more covert when passing through areas with increased Imperial traffic. If I can update the ship’s communication infrastructure to resemble that of a first generation Imperial craft, then we will considerably reduce our chances of being identified. Which is why I am particularly glad you stayed behind today. Considering your, er, history.” He fiddles with a mess of wires in front of him, not once looking up.

“And here I was thinking you wanted me around because you enjoyed my company,” you playfully jab.

“There’s that, too,” Tech replies. “Though it would be advantageous if you could list all of the Imperial access codes you can remember. The computer and I can do some pattern recognition to better–,” he cut himself off and anxiously rubbed the back of his neck. “Apologies, you don’t need a long-winded explanation. If you’re happy to share, you can do so whenever you’re ready.”

You consider protesting and telling him that you find his rambling cute, but you decide not to dwell on it for his sake. You list the codes you remember from the Academy. You keep talking, relaying any tangential intel relating to access codes. If it’s irrelevant, Tech doesn’t stop you.

He is silent for a few moments analysing the data you’ve given him. You watch him closely, admiring the way his brow furrows and his lips purse while he’s concentrating.

“You trust me then?” you venture to say. You play with your hands in your lap. “Even though I was with the Empire?”

“You’re helping us now,” Tech replies, as if it’s obvious. He is still inputting data into the datapad he is holding when he continues, “You trust us, it would seem. And we were soldiers programmed upon our creation to destroy the Republic.”

You fumble over your next words.

“That’s – it’s entirely different.”

“And from my perspective, all that matters is where you are now,” he states with finality.

“Well,” you say shyly, “I like where I am.”

Tech smirks despite himself, briefly glancing up at you from his datapad.

You hold his gaze for a moment, before settling into a comfortable silence. You sit in next to him for several minutes, revelling in his closeness like a brezak basking under the Zygerrian sun. It’s only when you notice yourself blushing like a teenager that you decide to make yourself useful and actually help with repairs like you promised.

++++++++++++++++++++

“Would you mind holding this wire out of the way for me while I solder the capacitors for the localised memory bank?” Tech calls, breaking your concentration. The illumination device you were repairing could wait.

You have no idea what Tech means, if his string of words means anything, and you survey his makeshift workbench for a hint. Several panels are detached, limply dangling from a few brightly coloured wires. Tech is focusing his attention on a large panel that is plugged into a cylindrical storage device.

“Maker, that’s a big data stick,” you can’t help but mutter.

Tech makes an incoherent choking sound.

You do as requested and lean over his shoulder to take hold of the wire he specified between your thumb and forefinger. The fabric of your sleeves brushes against his shoulder armour and it feels as though there is a static shift in the air, like the air around you is alive and humming.

And Tech gulps with the contact. He types a few sets of numbers into his datapad with excess force, seriously testing the build quality of the device. His posture is especially rigid as focuses on testing the wires currently in his lap.

Your pulse is racing. It’s as if each second that passes without a confession threatens to rip apart the very fabric of reality.

“Tech?” He has to feel this too, right? “Why...why did you stay behind today?” you ask, careful to keep your voice even. You need him to say it, admit that he feels it, too. You’re desperate for it.

“You can let go now,” he replied, pointedly ignoring your question.

You let go of the wire, but make no move to step away from him. You’re acutely aware of yourself right now and suddenly self-conscious: about the deep shade of crimson enveloping your face, the way you’re breathing, the clamminess you can feel on your palms. You hope you smell alright and silently pray that any traces of caf on your breath are long gone.

Several seconds pass before Tech looks up, over his shoulder at you. His face briefly flickers with concern.

“Your flushed features and increased heart rate indicates that you are nervous,” he remarks.

Maker, is it that obvious, you cringe.

Your mouth is dry and you contemplate making an excuse, but your brain does not want to cooperate.

“Sometimes I –,” you begin. Void, here I go. “Sometimes I get nervous around you,” you admit, attempting to make your confession sound as casual as possible. You bite your bottom lip in a way that you hope will be interpreted as sensual, or, at the very least, cute.

And Tech? Tech is flustered. Like visibly shaken, blushing furiously, two-steps-away-from-hyperventilating, kind of flustered.

“Please do not be nervous,” he responds tightly. Each word is taking considerable effort to be spoken. “I already told you: we trust you. I am not a threat to you.”

The poor guy. There’s no way he can really be misinterpreting that –.

“No, no, it’s a good kind of nervous,” you attempt to clarify.

“Nervousness is not conducive to high quality work,” Tech chokes out.

“No, I mean like giddy. I feel giddy around you.”

Come on, Tech.

“Would you like a chair–.”

“Stars, Tech, I like you!”

Tech...errors. He attempts to start several sentences with no success before mumbling an excuse that he has to go, “fix the reverse polarity capacitive inductor,” which, to your knowledge, is definitely not a real thing.

So maybe that could have gone better. All things considered, he did seem affected by your admission. On the other hand, he also left the room entirely.

Your face burns with embarrassment and, hey, maybe this backwater planet could make a decent home. Maybe the swamp water would be safe for consumption and you could spend the rest of your days foraging for swamp... berries. Sure, it might be a little uncomfortable, but no less uncomfortable than staying here for one more second.

And this is why you don’t admit your feelings to anyone. Ever.

Ugh. You were so confident, too. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to transport to another star system.

The door to the ‘fresher shuts, followed by a slight scuffle of feet, and a thunk that sounds decidedly like a head hitting the door.

You briefly consider leaving the ship to attempt to meet up with the rest of the Bad Batch. It’s been far too long since you’ve breathed fresh, clean, air and you feel a second wave of self-pity wash over you as you contemplate the thought of breathing in the smell of Wrecker’s feet for several more weeks in the Marauder’s circulated air. They hadn’t been gone longer than a standard hour and there was a clear path to get into town. You could still salvage the day, you could still stretch your legs–

‘Oh you want to know why I suddenly decided to join you, Hunter, after promising I’d help fix the ship? Funny story, I was trying to seduce your brother and he rejected me!’

You physically cringe at that. On second thought, maybe just pretending this didn’t happen would be the easier option. Lesser of two evils and all that.

Well, you’ve endured worse situations than this. Swamp berries, if they exist, probably won’t offer enough sustenance anyway, you conclude. You turn your attention to fixing several access panels that require little to no attention.

++++++++++++++++++++

It takes a long while for Tech to exit the ‘fresher. The door opens with a hiss and you stiffen, not looking up until he briskly walks past you and resumes his makeshift work station in the cockpit. Once he is seated and his back is facing you and you can hear the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on his datapad, you allow your entire body to relax.

You look back down to your newest project: fixing the swivel action on a chair. You’re not entirely sure if the chair needed to swivel, or whether it was supposed to, but it does now. At least Omega would have fun with that.

“Can you spare another minute?” Tech says after a considerable stretch of silence.

His comment catches you off-guard. It’s fine, it’s fine, you are just going to pretend like nothing happened. You can just carry on helping with actual repairs like you promised.

“I’m coming,” you say, while putting your entire weight into tightening a screw.

Tech coughs slightly.

“The, uh, I need your help with the cum system. The comm system!” he stutters.

Your eyes widen and decide it’s best not to comment, furiously thinking about the fact that Tech rarely makes mistakes. You wipe your hands on your trousers and stride over to the cockpit where Tech is fiddling with some wires on his lap.

“Take these,” he says while coiling a piece of wire to make a conductor. He pushes right through the awkwardness and places a handful of resistors in your outstretched hand.

You stand there in silence for several moments before you drum your fingers on the back of his chair. He makes no move to immediately utilise the resistors, so you resign yourself to stand there and watch him work. (You suppress a sigh – you wish you weren’t attracted to him at this moment, but here you are, drawn in by his confidence and fixated on watching his nimble fingers work their magic.)

Normally, you’d have already lost your patience. But not now, not when you are trying to decipher just what exactly Tech was trying to accomplish by calling you over and ignoring you. And that’s when you realise that Tech either forgot you were there or forgot to give you whichever menial task he originally intended.

But there’s absolutely no chance that Tech makes two mistakes within the same standard year, never mind two mistakes within the same afternoon.

You start to wonder if he even has any use for the resistors. Your knowledge of technology is limited, but you really don’t see how they’d be useful with his current task. Maybe this is Tech’s uncharacteristically inefficient way to try to initiate conversation. You really hope you’re not completely misreading the situation, but it’s not like you have any pride left to lose.

“Why did you stay behind today, Tech?” you ask quietly, voice tinged with apprehension and perhaps an unmistakable eagerness. You phrase it more like a statement than a question this time.

He continues to fidget, his leg bouncing anxiously as he works.

“I did some research,” he blurts. “Regarding intimacy between human males and human females.”

Huh.

“I read the specifics on how to kiss,” he continues, “but I fear that I am a bit out of my depth as to how I am supposed to initiate it.” He is still fussing with the wires in his lap, not quite able to look up at you.

“You...want to kiss?” you surmise, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. “Me?”

“Very much so.”

A grin breaks across your face and the sharp sting of Tech’s previous rejection immediately melts away. You deposit the handful of resistors in a tray containing various tools Tech had been using throughout the day before taking a tentative step forward from behind the chair. He cranes his neck to look at you, an unfamiliar expression that you’re not quite able to decipher written across his face.

You reach your hand out to caress his cheek, and sliding your hand down to his chin to guide it upwards as you bend down to bring your lips to his. The kiss is chaste, at first, but Tech proves himself a quick study as slightly parts his lips to deepen the kiss. His goggles nudge against your face and you’re pretty sure you’re leaving a greasy cheek print on one of them.

You pull away to gauge his reaction.

“Was that... satisfactory?” he asks, seemingly dazed. His eyes are hooded and still focused on your lips.

“It was perfect.” You offer a small smile.

He removes the goggles to clean one side of them with a nearby cloth. So you were leaving a cheek print. Once his goggles are back in place, he’s looking at you like he can’t quite believe you’re real, his golden brown eyes blinking owlishly at you.

“I apologise for leaving you earlier. I did not anticipate you returning my affections – it did not seem probable. And I was, regrettably, not prepared,” he mumbles.

“Probable?” It’s your turn to malfunction. You want to usher a thousand reassurances at once.

“Well, no.” Tech shifts his weight uncomfortably, not quite able to meet your eyes. “Hunter or Crosshair usually are the ones who capture the affections of –,”

“I like your goggles,” you interrupt in a rush before you surge forward to press your lips against his, hoping to convey just how much you return his affections. It’s a messy, urgent kiss that Tech returns with equal fervour. His fingers find their way into your hair, pulling you closer.

When you finally break the kiss, you straighten your back and take both of his hands in yours and take small, hesitant steps backwards, encouraging Tech to stand. As he does, the project he is working on slides off of his lap and clatters to the floor. He pays it no attention as he closes the distance between you, his eyes darkened with lust. He kisses you with renewed purpose as his hands wrap around your waist, roaming across your body, before they settle firmly on your ass.

Your hips grind into his codpiece and Tech lets out a low groan that goes straight to your core. He moves to kiss the curve of your neck, sucking at the delicate skin and making you squirm. The dampness between your legs becomes apparent and you press yourself closer to him, desperate for friction where you need it the most. As if he can read your mind, he trails a hand from your ass and places it between your legs, grazing over your clit before cupping your cunt. You involuntarily rock into his hand and moan into his mouth, hardly recognising the sounds you’re making.

Tech’s hand abruptly stills as he draws back to meet your eyes. His expression mirrors yours: searching wide eyes filled with longing, a silent acknowledgement passes between you as you reach the point of no return.

And in that moment you are struck with the urge to want nothing more than his cock in your mouth.

“Can I?” you blurt, glancing downward, hoping he is able to intuit exactly what you are suggesting in that moment.

“You may.” You allow the grammatical correction to slip by. “But I’ve never–,” he begins.

You don’t break eye contact and you begin to drop to your knees. He’s looking at you with his eyes wide, mouth slack. Tech’s bulged codpiece is mere inches from your face, and it’s in that moment that you realise that you have no idea how to undress this man.

And this, this is when you start to worry.

Does it have a latch? Does it even come off?

Your eyes dart from left to right looking for some sort of hint as to how it could be removed. You’re half tempted to just plant a smooch on the armour or the kiss inside of his thigh and pretend that all of this was intentional.

“I can get that,” Tech helpfully chimes in, blessedly oblivious to your internal struggle. He removes the pelvic plate with ease and, to your relief, you can see the shape of his erection straining under a layer of thick black fabric. Black fabric that conforms to his body shape exceedingly well. You reach out to feel his length, gently cupping his balls through the fabric before applying more pressure as you palm his shaft. He soft groan escapes his lips.

It catches you a little off guard, actually, to see him so hard. Knowing he’s been hard underneath his armour this entire time. Wondering when else he’s been hard and you had been none the wiser.

His cock has an attractive silhouette – it’s thicker than you expected and you can feel the patch of pre-cum that dampens the black fabric near his tip. You reach for his waistband and pull it down before slowly wrapping a hand around his shaft. He hisses with the contact and brings a white-knuckled fist to his lips.

You peer up at him through your lashes and you lick your lips, preparing to tease him a bit before taking him as deep as you can manage.

And that’s when something inside Tech snaps.

He looks down at you with wild eyes and places his hand on the back of your head to guide your mouth to his cock, apparently unable to continue the role of a passive observer for any longer. Clearly intent at putting his newfound research to good use. You lick a wet stripe from the base to the tip, before taking him in your mouth, the pre-cum tangy on your tongue. His grip tightens on your hair the same time he tilts his hips forward to push his cock further and you hollow your cheeks, sucking hard enough to make Tech groan and his knees buckle. He braces himself against the back of the pilot’s chair, captivated at the sight your mouth stretched around his length.

You begin to bob your head in a steady rhythm, taking him as deep as you’re able. You drag your tongue and press it flush on the underside of his cock, looking up at Tech with wide doe eyes, batting your eyelashes prettily as he struggles to maintain composure. You continue your pace until sweat starts to bead at his temple and his breathing becomes less controlled.

Patience isn’t your strong point and you’re too pent up not to touch yourself. You bring your free hand down your trousers, between your thighs, running your fingers through your wet folds and hum at the sensation. Tech’s hips stutter with the vibrations and his face contorts in what looks like a pained grimace. He takes a miniature step back and your lips leave his cock with a pop. He’s breathing heavily now and his weeping cock is painfully hard, his balls tight.

“I don’t want to finish in your mouth, mesh’la,” he pants, voice low.

You nod dumbly, currently unable to form a coherent thought or tear your eyes away from his erect length, only inches away from your face.

Tech takes hold of both of your forearms, helping you get to your feet, before wrapping his hands around your thighs, picking you up with surprising ease. You lock your thighs around his torso as he strides over to press you against one of the auxiliary control panels adjacent to the co-pilot’s chair in the cockpit. The incline on the panel is steep and the pressure of his hips against yours is the only thing keeping you from sliding down.

“Let me taste you,” Tech groans against your ear.

You let out a frustrated whine and desperately move to unclasp your trousers as Tech works to open your shirt. You shudder once the cool air hits your sweat-dampened skin and Tech messily palms your exposed breast while nipping at your neck. He helps you shimmy out of your clothing while holding you in firmly place before discarding them on the floor of he Marauder.

And this is how you find yourself spread eagle on the Marauder's control panel in possibly the most undignified position you’ve ever been in.

He goes to remove his goggles and you stop him.

“If they’re not uncomfortable for you, I’d like for you to leave them on.” He quirks a brow at you, quizzical. “What? I told you that they’re cute.”

His face evolves from sceptical to bashful in a few moments.

“Very well, then. I can leave them on.”

Tech moves his hands under your thighs as he lowers himself, draping your legs across each of his shoulders with surprising gentleness for a man who looks like he is ready to devour you. Once he’s on his knees and comfortably supporting your weight, keeping you pressed against the console, he places an open-mouthed kiss on the inside of your thigh.

“A-are you okay with this?” you manage to stutter out. It’s not like you haven’t pictured his head between your thighs before, but something about his head actually being between your thighs fills you with a nervousness you hadn’t anticipated.

He mumbles his assurances against your clit. He begins with slow, languid licks and you suck in a sharp breath as you feel yourself craving more and have to stop yourself from violently bucking your hips up.

Okay, so he’s actually really good at this. You know you really shouldn’t be that surprised, Tech is nothing if not thorough with his research and it’s, er, practical applications. Any thoughts of humour at Tech’s expense are, however, ripped from your mind when he sinks a single finger inside your cunt. His finger curls with a precision that only Tech could manage and you moan in encouragement as he pumps it in and out.

You squirm when he hits the spot that makes you want to beg for more and you feel your bare ass hit a button on the console. The next thing you hear is a soft swish swish sound of the Marauder's screen wipers that you inadvertently turned on. Mercifully, it doesn’t break Tech’s concentration and his hands continue to grip your hips, holding your cunt to his face.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you chant. You writhe again and another button sounds its activation. Nothing immediately makes itself known. You hope it’s not something like a proton torpedo firing into the swampy area the Marauder landed in. Not because there’s anything nearby, but because you’ll die if Tech stops here.

He moans into your core as he brings a hand down to grip his leaking cock, desperate for some friction.

“Kriff,” you grunt at the sight of him fucking his fist, only to hear Tech utter the same exclamation at the same time.

“Is there an echo in here or something?” You smile at him, offering a half-laugh before your face contorts with pleasure once again and you hiss through your teeth.

“Yes?” a new, tinny voice chimes in on the overhead speaker system. “This is Echo... You’ve, uh, turned on the short range comm system.”

You knew Tech was a good soldier, but the reflexes in which he slammed the short range comm transmitter with his free hand surprised you. He didn’t move himself from between your thighs and skilfully cut off the transmission while continuing to work your clit with his tongue and your cunt with his finger.

Before you could die from embarrassment and wonder just how much Echo and the rest of the Batch heard, Tech adds another finger and your entire body jerks and tenses.

“I’ve – ah, right there – Maker, that feels good. I’ve never been with anyone who is patient enough to let me come,” you manage to say through gritted teeth.

“My research indicated that it can take around 20 standard minutes for women to orgasm if properly relaxed, why would others stop prematurely?” Tech replies, only briefly removing his mouth from your cunt to reply.

“Selfishness?” you guess.

Tech seemed to take your admission (and ability to form sentences) personally, clearly intent on rendering you incapacitated. He returns to his attention to your clit and maintains his rhythm, teasing a third finger near your entrance. You whine at the sensation and move to hold Tech’s head in place, because if he stops now, there’s no way you’ll ever forgive him. The pressure that’s been mounting in your core finally, finally peaks and your entire body tenses as you surrender to your climax.

“Tech,” you whine, unable to formulate thoughts, let alone words.

He assures you with a soft groan and tightens his grip on your hip. He can feel your walls clenching around his fingers as he guides you through your climax.

As you come down from your orgasm, you feel like you’ve spent a year in bacta. You can’t move. Honestly, your bones are like Andorian jelly. The feeling is only temporary, however, as you’re overcome with the desire – no, need – to be filled.

“In me,” you urge. “Now.”

He adjusts his goggles and looks at you, spread out, completely ready for him.

“Lie back then.”

Tech settles between your thighs and nudges his cock head against your entrance. He takes a breath to steady himself, rubbing his length through your folds, covering it in your arousal.

“So wet and ready for me, mesh’la.”

Your hands wildly grasp at his chest plate, fingernails scratching along the plastoid, desperate to hold onto anything to anchor you. You meet his mouth with a graceless kiss, before he finally sinks into you.

“You’re tight,” he grits out.

He waits a few moments letting you adjust to his size before he begins to move. He restrains himself, slowly rolling his hips as your cunt stretches around his length.

“More,” you plead, breathlessly. “Please.”

Your encouragement is all he needs before he snaps his hips against yours, setting an unrelenting rhythm. He rocks into you harder with each thrust of his hips, his plastoid leg places slapping your skin.

“You feel so good, cyar'ika,” he pants. You surge upwards to greet his lips with a messy kiss, which only spurs him on to fuck you faster. “You’re, ah, taking me so well.”

“Fuck –,” you whine.

His grip tightens and his whole body starts to tense – he’s dangerously close to coming undone. And that’s when you notice his pace start to slow, his movements clearly distracted.

“Tech?” you mumble. You focus your eyes on his face and he looks dazed, you can practically hear him thinking. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but he doesn’t give you any time to panic.

“Elevate your hips by seven to ten degrees,” he states through heavy breaths.

“What?” Definitely not what you were expecting him to say.

Tech seems unfazed by your apparent annoyance. He wordlessly repositions himself, grabbing both of your hips and raising them slightly, holding your body up so it’s just the sharp incline of the console and Tech’s hands keeping you in place.

He began thrusting in earnest again, his eyes screwing shut in pleasure. And, Maker, he was right. The new angle hits a spot that makes your toes curl and you lose the ability to speak almost instantly and mewl helplessly as Tech fucks into you.

You made an undignified noise as you gripped his bicep, desperate to hold onto something, feeling the pressure mount in your core. With Tech’s hands busy holding you in place as he maintains a brutal pace, you bring a hand down to your clit, still wet with spit and your own essence. You barely have to touch yourself before you feel your body screaming for release.

“’M coming,” is all the warning you are able to give him before your cunt spasms around his twitching cock as your vision whites out. Tech grunts at the sensation, unable to hold his own climax off any longer.

“Where do you want me to –,” he grates out.

“Anywhere,” you cut him off, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Just want to feel you.”

“Fuck, mesh’la, I’m going to come,” Tech groans, desperately chasing his release with harsh thrusts. His hips forcefully buck into you before his cock stiffens and he spills himself inside of you. He buries his face in your neck, slowly pumping you full of his cum, before he slumps against you. “Bid jate par me,” he mumbles into your neck, barely audible. “Gotal par me.”

You don’t know Mando’a, but whatever he is saying, the way he is saying it, sends a pleasant chill over your body.

You’re both still breathing heavily when Tech gingerly places you back down with a surprising gentleness for someone who had just been fucking you within an inch of your life. He’s in no rush to remove himself from you, but when his softened cock does slip out and his cum leaks out of you and onto the console, he helps you slide down. When your feet touch the floor, your legs wobble slightly and Tech has to grasp your forearms to steady you, softly chuckling at the state you’re in.

And when you look at him, he looks positively debauched. Sated, but debauched. You probably look worse.

In one swift motion he bends down, brings an arm down under your knees, and lifts you up. You wrap your arms around your neck while he carries you to his bunk. His cool armour against your overheated skin is a welcome sensation and you press yourself closer.

“Your research paid off,” you mumble into his chest as he sets you down on his bed.

“Please do not act so surprised by that.”

++++++++++++++++++++

You and Tech aren’t quite finished with the repairs by the time the Batch return hours later, long after the moons have risen and the bioluminescent plants surrounding the ship have begun to glow. If the squad notice you’re sitting a bit too close to Tech, your thigh pressing comfortably against his, they don’t say anything.

Neither of you were expecting to defile the Marauder all day and Tech was frantically fixing the lever on a storage hatch access panel, attempting to make up for lost time.

“Wrecker!” Echo shouts. “Clean up after yourself, for kriff’s sake.”

“Why?” Wrecker drawls, stomping towards the cockpit. “What did I do this time?”

“You’ve spilled your juice on the console again, all the keys are stuck in place.”

The access lever snaps clean off in Tech’s hands.

[teacupfulofstarshine]

LOVELY, DARK, AND DEEP CHAPTER 10

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

huge huge thanks to @flamingfawkes for beta’ing!

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

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

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

“I don’t care, Steven, run it again!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s not happy about the camera.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh? What are your findings?”

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

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

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

“And those symptoms were?”

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

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

“Ma’am?”

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s correct, ma’am.”

“Can you keep that feature intact?”

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

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

“I won’t, ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What do they have for me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A human table, ma’am?”

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

“Will we be taking him as well?”

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

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

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

“Should we kill Sanders?”

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

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

She refuses to be one of those weaklings.

*~*~*~*~*

Logan wakes up confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wassat?! Wait . . . L’gan?”

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

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

“Did you sleep well?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is everything alright?”

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

“What is a text?”

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

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

“I’ll come with -”

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

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

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

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

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

. . . Right?

*~*~*~*~*

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

“I want some!” Roman complains.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not crazy!”

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

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

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

“Did he laugh at you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I help you?”

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

“Are you not going hunting?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thomas, what’s -”

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

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

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

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

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

“The one from the video?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My what?”

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

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

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

“I - wh -”

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

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

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

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

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

“A - what?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Wh - I -”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You -”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, ma’am.”

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

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

[somecunttookmyurl]

sorry if there was another part of this post/those tags that i didn’t see but… i don’t think that doctor was trying to say that doctors know more about drugs than pharmacists do?

i’m an md also, i graduated from medical school a few years ago. and that person is right. we do learn about pharmacology and drug mechanisms and interactions in medical school. at my school (which was broken up into long blocks by body system), this was all integrated into everything else we were learning, meaning it was on every test. and it’s continued to be on every test i’ve taken since graduating. the point isn’t that we know more or even nearly as much as pharmacists about pharmacology, but that we know enough that someone who completely ignores the concept of drug interactions or the idea that different patients may metabolize certain drugs differently is a bad doctor. and i’m sorry that you’ve run across so many of them

the thing about medicine is that there is so much to know about human anatomy and physiology and disease that it’s basically impossible for any one person to know it all. medical school lays the groundwork, but there’s a reason we specialize, and spend 3-7 years in additional training in our particular field. it’s important to know what you don’t know (which is a lot, no matter what kind of doctor you are or how long you’ve been practicing). that means consulting with pharmacists when prescribing a new med or changing a dose whenever possible, just like you’d consult, say, a nephrologist when treating a patient with kidney disease. but when there isn’t a good pharmacist available, it means looking up that information yourself. i may not remember every single drug that interacts with warfarin, for example, off the top of my head, but i sure as hell know that it’s a long list and i better check everything else a patient is taking before prescribing it

anyway, good pharmacists are an incredible resource and i wish we had more of them at my hospital. and if you can’t admit that there are things you don’t know, medicine is not the field for you

yeah i've had like. no joke. 2 good doctors in 31 years. and one of them i don't even get to see again it was a one-off. but i am surgically attached to my GP until one of us dies and by god i hope i go first.

(incidentally those 2 doctors are the only ones i've ever met who even knew that differing drug metabolism on different pathways was even a thing like at all. my old psych straight up said "never heard of that, don't think that's true" even when i was presenting him with literal medical journals to the contrary like okay buddy good talk let's never do this again. i wish so much this was an uncommon experience bc i for one am tired of giving the TED talk)

readmore bc this got long

the fact you guys don't learn stuff to the same depth as pharmacists was really like my entire point. i mean, sure, you have some knowledge on it but normally pretty limited to within whatever field you practice. you've only got a limited number of brain cells. if you did have all that knowledge then pharmacy wouldn't exist as a separate degree in the first place.

so a doc coming onto that like "oh we do know side effects and get tested on interactions" is uh. i mean do you? a little, sure, but there's a limit to that knowledge by design. it's really the pharmacists who know, you know? they're the experts on it, and it kinda struck me as "i did a bit of training on this so i know everything" which is an attitude i encounter.... a lot with doctors, sadly. along with the assumption a patient can never know anything about their condition/have any input or ideas of any value/that there may be gaps in their own knowledge.

[also along with complete lack of intellectual curiosity which always baffled me like "welp, don't know what that is goodbye forever" do you not... want to know? not even a little bit? god why are you even here. if all you wanted to do was flowcharts and tick boxes there are plenty of careers in the data entry field. not quite sure why you went to medical school my man]

you sound like a good doctor. hold onto that. sadly you're more the exeption than the norm, as pretty much anybody with a chronic illness or unusal presentation/response can attest. also women, and POC.

if you've got it in you to keep at it without having a nervous breakdown (rather have you in the field than out of it babes) absolutely chew out any other doctor you catch acting like a Supreme Unquestionable Being Who Can Never Be Wrong though.

honestly? i think, genuinely, most do start out like you (you said you only graduated a few years ago right? so you're still new really) and... at some point along the way they become fucking insufferable.

i don't know if it's burnout bc it's a stressful job, or if having power over the health & wellbeing over other people eventually goes to your head, or you get stuck in "what i learned 20 years ago is still unquestionable" or "i've been doing this for years pfff i don't need to check things anymore" complacency or what but there is for sure SOMETHING that changes in a whole lotta doctors. hold on to how you practice now. be one of the few who STAY like that 10, 20, 30 years from now. please. stay curious, stay cautious, stay sharp.

i don't hate doctors (i say it jokingly, true, but don't take it personally) but i have absolutely met enough of them that don't listen, or check, or investigate that i heavily side-eye a new one until they demonstrate otherwise. you're listening to me and working with me and checking things? cool! i'm still gonna double-check anyway because even good doctors make mistakes,

but a good good doctor doesn't take offence at that anyway. i mean. it's my health you're in charge of here. remaining alive and not hospitalised is generally preferable.

hey, maybe it's a bit harsh to judge from a couple tags but coming onto a post saying that pharmacists are the real drug nerds here and doctors have limited knowledge about that (with a heavy dose of complacency a lot of the time, tbqh) so please make sure stuff is checked with "we do know about interactions we get tested on it" sent up a HUGE "i can't admit when there are gaps in my knowledge and can't handle being questioned" red flag.

[arcsin27]

I love watching videos on retro game code (mostly through speedrun analysis) and I have a guess as to why the palette changes!

The linked video probably explains it definitively but I love connecting information in my brain

It probably has a similar issue to Pac-Man that creates its kill screen: reaching the end of a table or dataset or whatever. Level 256(??) of Pac-Man looks like that because the pointer that tracks what to draw on screen bugs tf out when integers overflow and it’s now reading random game code as instructions as to where to place dots and walls. (I think it’s way more complicated than that but still, the part about reading random numbers as game data is what matters)

It’s also why the 11 exit speedrun of super mario world works: the game has a table of power ups like 0-5 and what to do for each one. If mushroom is, say, power up 1, it moves to the corresponding table slot and makes mario big. So when you use glitches to get “power up” like 70, the “corresponding table slot” is not a table slot but actually idk yoshi’s X axis value on screen or somethin I don’t remember doesn’t matter the point is giving broken inputs can have completely wild outputs, like having a lakitu cloud in the power up storage box that looks like this

(That’s actually the thumbnail of the video I just spent a paragraph poorly summarizing since it’s some of my only info on the topic)

ANYWAYS my guess is that Tetris has a table that does stuff like “when A = 3 make the blocks blue” etc which is only valid for say 0-4. So in this hypothetical, if A = 6 (which could happen when unintended levels are accessed), Tetris gets super confused and reads a random number as a color palette, making the blocks look really weird

TL;DR I’m sure that video in the previous reblog explains this but I watch so many speedrun analyses I decided to guess why Tetris blocks turn invisible with absolutely zero evidence 🙃 please don’t listen to me idk what I’m talking about

So apparently the pro-Tetris scene is exploding right now because a 13 year old nerd just reached the game's true killscreen for the first time ever

[rootfish13]

Second character bio for my upcoming webcomic, Princess Infinity. This is M-EW, Princess Infinity's guardian animal & bio computer. Can you tell I don't have any experience drawing cats? Again please excuse my poor penmanship. Also again this is a rough sketch & draft and many changes are expected.

M-EW or Mew is the size & shape of an American short hair domestic cat. His eyes are green and his markings are black and white tuxedo pattern.

Here is what the description says:

"ME-W or Mew is Princess Infinity's guardian animal. Part living computer, companion, bodyguard & tutor. M-EW is a living bio-computer that is partially created with Princess Infinity's own cells. Speed grown in an artificial womb, Princess Infinity chose M-EW's species, gender, markings, personality & color. M-EW was made with various bio implants including a hyper intelligent brain that is a quantum computer that can learn, store & recall vast amounts of data. M-EW can partially shape shift including armor to protect Princess Infinity. Extremely intelligent & fiercely loyal M-EW would give his life for her. He has nanite sized whisker that can painlessly penetrate any living organism & link to their mind, access their thoughts & memories. He can also link to a world's bio-sphere including the vast networks of plants & fungi & also access an organisms ancestral memories going far back in time. His "coat" is actually his bio-dermal armor & has inputs & displays like a computer. His tail can morph into any input device & access nearly all forms of computers, devices & technology. The bottom of his paws has Octopuss like suction cups that can adhere to nearly any surface enabling him to walk upside down & vertically, useful for carrying Princess Infinity out of danger while he's her armor. He contains all of Infinistrum's knowledge, customs & history including how to manifest & control the Infinity power. Princess Infinity can also link with M-EW's nanite probes & another living organism he has also linked with & enter their mind accessing their thoughts & memories & potentially mentally communicate with them but it's can be dangerous & she could incurr psychic damage. M-EW's two organs above his eyes connected to his nanite whisker probes enable him to telepathically communicate with any living organism. His ears have sonar & radar like abilities & can detect many frequencies including radio & wifi. He also has amplified hearing. His eyes can detect nearly all spectrums of light & energy waves. M-EW is also psychically linked to Princess Infinity & can detect her life bio-rythms nearly anywhere on the planet."

[andypantsx3]

conspire | 3 | practice

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 13,307 words / 5 chapters

summary: Shouto Todoroki had definitely only asked you out in order to ward off his horde of interested suitors. So why does he keep actually taking you out on suspiciously realistic dates?

tags: romance, reader-insert, fake dating, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

Fake dating Shouto Todoroki was an absolute whirlwind, but it certainly came with its benefits.

As weeks passed, you found yourself with a compliant test subject and plenty of data for the work you were doing on his support item. You’d confirmed that you could use this work as your submission for your senior project -- developing a support item without any input, direction, or critique from a professor -- and you’d set to the task with enthusiasm after that.

Shouto caved easily enough to the tests you’d put to him on your first “date” and you’d had way too much fun getting him to freeze and heat things for you, strapping him up in all the nodules and wires as you’d promised. Over the course of a few weeks, you’d analyzed the absolute crap out of the cryogenic structure of his ice crystals and tested the limits of his temperature control to your heart’s content, pleased that the amount of time you were spending together also played into your cover story.

It turned out his quirk worked as you’d suspected, which was incredible. Shouto’s power allowed his body to work like a heat pump, directing thermal energy against the current in which it naturally flowed at will. He used the energy from one side of his body to alternately push energy into or draw energy from the other side of his body, in order to create a temperature gradient strong enough to induce ice or flames.

He was basically like a really good looking, high-powered air conditioner.

The discovery was overwhelming and gave you limitless possibilities as to what kind of support item you could build for him.

The problem was, there were maybe too many options.

“You can watch my quirk training, if you need more direction,” Shouto had suggested one night when you were tucked up doing homework together. He’d really taken to the role of doting boyfriend and put in appearances often, taking you out on a series of other mind-bendingly good dates and showing up to your dorm on school nights with homework and small, thoughtful gifts like bottles of tea.

Through his efforts, he’d become something like a close friend.

You’d discovered over the course of your time together that Shouto wasn’t as quiet and serious as you’d initially suspected him to be, and you quite liked the sides of himself that he chose to unveil. He had a tendency to be blunt and was strangely oblivious given how observant he could be, and he had a little bit of a short fuse when the match was properly lit. He was still kind and thoughtful for the most part, but as he grew more comfortable with you it was like a flip sometimes switched and out crawled an inner gremlin, eager to tease and fluster you.

To your eternal mortification, he’d most definitely caught on to the fact that kissing you was the fastest way to fluster you, though in your defense, being kissed by a man who had no romantic interest in you was certainly a mind-boggling concept in and of itself. He’d thankfully only kissed you a few other times--once, weirdly, when you’d been almost sure no one else was around--though he sometimes watched you with a look in his eye like he was scheming up ways to make it happen again.

He was a very convincing fake boyfriend.

You had agreed to follow him to quirk training the following evening, and showed up to take your place on the sidelines of beta field that afternoon in a thick coat with a thermos of warm tea. Deep in your bag, you’d embarrassingly stowed an extra for Shouto, a habit formed by all of your time spent together.

He was there when you got there, clearly having come straight from class, and huge walls of ice already dotted the field, one or two twisted into melting spires. Slick trails of water ran down their sides where he’d blasted them with his fire, pooling into the cracks of the earth at their bases, and singe marks scored the grass around them.

Shouto seemed to brighten when he caught sight of you, and he came padding over to where you were making yourself comfortable on the cold ground.

“Anything in particular you want me to test out?” he asked, but you shook your head, unearthing a notebook and a pen from your bag.

“No, just do your thing,” you said, uncapping your pen. “I’m just looking to observe how you usually move around and channel your quirk. I rewatched all the sports festival footage from the last couple years but your style changes wildly between them, so I want to get a feel for how you currently do things.”

He looked somewhat embarrassed. “You watched those?”

You let a teasing smile flit across your lips, curious to see what kind of mood he was in today. “Oh yeah. Loved the one where you got totally stomped by Bakugou.”

To your amusement, his eyebrow twitched. “I let him win.”

Men and their fragile egos. You suppressed a smirk and stretched leisurely like a cat in the sun, tipping your face back to look up at him. “Sure you did.”

A look of annoyance passed over his handsome features, and he huffed, taking a threatening step closer to you. Something glinted in his eye, and that was all the warning you had before he leaned down and pressed his mouth over yours.

You instantly dropped your pen, fisting a hand in the jacket of his uniform to pull him closer. It briefly crossed your mind that no one was around to observe the two of you, and that this kiss was perhaps wasted effort on his part, but then he did that thing with his tongue you liked and all rational thought fled from your brain.

Shouto kissed all the sass straight out of your mouth before drawing back, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

“I’ll thank you to keep quiet,” he said, and you could only stare at him dumbly as he smirked and made his way back onto the field.

Confusion eventually washed over you as he set about practicing with his quirk, and you could only pay half a mind to what he was doing.

What had that been about? You checked your periphery to confirm that no one else was around to have witnessed his assault on your good sense, confusion only mounting when there was no one in sight. You knew he wasn’t actually interested in you, but that kiss had felt like something a real boyfriend would do to shut a mouthy girlfriend up. Was he getting so used to your little charade that he hardly minded? Did it affect him so little that it hardly troubled him at all?

You pushed your thoughts down for examination at a later time, forcing yourself to keep your mind on Shouto’s quirk training.

You took careful note of the graceful way he moved, the raw power with which he released both sides of his quirk. He was faster than almost anything, able to maneuver around the field with deadly precision, unbelievable power called to his fingertips within seconds and wielded with brutal efficiency. He was, much like his quirk, two halves of some contradictory whole, combining incredible strength with unexpected elegance to create a combat style that had quite likely never been seen before.

You sketched out several notes on his movements and jotted down a couple vague ideas for support items that came to mind as you watched him.

After a while, Shouto seemed to come to the conclusion that you’d had enough time to observe him and started messing around instead, creating enormous ice waves to slide down for your amusement, looking like a very strange surfer on some still mass of ocean. You laughed as he shot down a slope faster than he’d clearly expected, throwing up another hill of ice to slow his descent.

He came sliding over to you, huffing a little after hours of exertion. “You’re acting like you’ve seen better.”

You smiled. “You just looked funny.”

That wry twist at the corner of his mouth was back. “You do it, then.”

You stared at him. “What?”

He held out a hand, wiggling his long fingers. “You’ve had your fun judging me from over here. You do it if you’ve got opinions.”

A stab of panic shot through you. “Absolutely not.”

Something like a challenge glinted in his eye and he surged forward, scooping you up into his arms easily. You panicked, instantly trying to twist out of his hold and get him to drop you, but he just walked back onto the training field, one arm barred across yours in a steely hold. You tried to get a foot against his hip but his grip was too tight to allow you movement enough to do it.

“Shouto, you had better drop me or I will straight up murder you,” you grit out, gripping his sleeve in terror as a crackling noise started where his feet met the ground.

“You had better hope I don’t,” he tossed back as a platform of ice formed under his boots, carrying you up to the top of one icy wave. Your rise was horrifyingly quick, and you were torn between being absolutely terrified and impressed that this is how he maneuvered around all the time. You gripped him in horror.

“I will never forgive you if you do this,” you threatened, staring down the steep drop hundreds of feet to the ground. “Nothing you could ever do will make up for a betrayal like this.”

“I have some ideas,” he said. Then he took a step off the top.

You became aware of a piercing scream and realized it was coming from you. You wanted to press your face into Shouto’s chest and close your eyes but you were too terrified to even look away from what was happening as the two of you slid down the ice at hundreds of feet per second, hurtling at the ground like a rocket. You couldn’t believe you had laughed at him if this is what it felt like to do what he did.

You felt Shouto tense underneath you, and the arm under your legs flashed notably colder, before another layer of ice formed, evening out the wave into a less precipitous curve, slowing your slide and carrying you easily to the field. Gravity seemed to catch up to you again and you slid down a little in his arms. Your heartbeat pounded in your chest and your hands clenched in the fabric of his costume, even as you slid to a stop, soft grass rustling underneath his boots as he stepped off the ice.

“You’re a dead man, Shouto Todoroki,” you promised, hands still fisted at his sleeve. And he was, just as soon as you could let go of him.

Another smirk crossed his infuriatingly handsome features and you found yourself a little mesmerized by the sight of him.

He hefted you higher in his arms. “But if I was dead, how would I do this?” he asked, then pressed his mouth to yours again.

Well, he certainly had your number. Your plans for murder were instantly wiped from your brain like notes from a whiteboard, and you moved a hand to his collar to pull him down to you. His mouth was hot and he was excruciatingly gentle, working you over thoroughly, until you could hardly remember your words, never mind a flawless plot for murder.

Shouto shifted carefully and you became aware of grass under your back. Then he was moving over you, pressing you into the field with the solid weight of his body. His mouth left yours to pepper a trail of kisses in a slow line down your neck, and those long fingers tugged down the zipper of your jacket, coming up to pull down the collar of your sweater to allow him better access.

You squirmed mindlessly under him, letting out surprised little gasps whenever he found a spot that you particularly liked. The chill of the evening washed over you and you pressed yourself into him for warmth, sighing when his left side flared hotly. He bit down carefully over your pulse where it beat wildly in your throat.

“Y/N,” he groaned, and a vague thought came to you like this was somehow strange for the two of you to be doing, some reason why you shouldn’t be. You couldn’t remember why. “Tell me if I should stop.”

He pressed his mouth back to yours again, a calloused hand making its way up the side of your sweater and disconnecting your thoughts again. This felt too good to be wrong, why shouldn’t you do this? A thumb brushed under the fabric of your bra, catching a nipple, and you jerked under him, letting out an embarrassing noise. He made a noise low in his throat and did it again, tensing when you shuddered under him again.

He let out a harsh breath, then your sweater was torn upwards and your bra quickly followed, a warm mouth closing over one nipple. You swore, the heat of his mouth so unbelievably good against the cold air, arching into him as he swirled his tongue.

“Oh my god,” you managed, fingers tangling desperately in his hair. You hooked a leg over his hip, anchoring him against you harder. Your own hips raised without any input from your brain, and you swore again when one of his thighs pressed tightly to your core.

He moved to your other breast, laving over the hardened peak, two toned eyes watching your face with undisguised interest.

“Shouto,” you gasped out, drawing him back up to you to kiss him. His chest pressed into yours, the strong line of his body pinning you down everywhere, and the weight of him was unbelievably wonderful over you. Why had you ever thought you shouldn’t do this?

A blinding light suddenly flickered on over you, searing even through your eyelids where they’d fluttered closed. You jerked apart in shock. Blinking blearily, you realized it had grown dark and the field lighting system had just kicked in.

Shouto sighed and crawled off of you, leaning back on his knees to stare down at you. You blushed, the implications of what you’d just done pressing down on you, realizing your entire chest was exposed to him in the harsh light. You yanked your sweater back over you, struggling a little bit to get the band of your bra back down. Shouto placed a hand on your hip.

“Uh,” he said, something like a flush rising to his own cheeks, “That’s what you get for laughing.”

You choked out a shocked laugh, staring up at him. “That’s what I get for laughing?”

He smiled again, climbing to his feet and pulling you up with him. “I imagined my girlfriend would be more supportive.”

You gathered up your bag, hardly daring to look at him. “You picked the wrong one then, I think.”

His smile turned soft, something almost private. “I think I did okay.”

Warmth flashed through you again and you had to push down the well of thoughts that bubbled up inside you like a spring. You tried to ignore the niggling at the back of your brain as bid your goodnights and went separate ways to your dorm buildings. One thought refused to be pushed aside, however, following you as you made your way to your room, lingering as you readied for bed and turned out the light. You couldn't sleep for a long time as you tried to dredge up an answer.

What the hell had that been?

[freetheshit-outofyou]

You seem to be one of the Flat Earth idiots. Let me spell it out for you. Trump and Dr. Atlas are not epidemiologists. Epidemiologists and real Doctors know the importance of wearing masks. Thing is you'll just be a dead idiot. More food and oxygen for me. Loser! Oh. And more bullets for me too.

Thank you for your wrong opinion and input.  Let me break it down for you in little words so you might be able to understand this without asking the person next to you for help.  I never claimed Mr. Trump or Dr. Atlas, who ever that is, are Epidemiologists. I have also never claimed they were Virologists, a field much more in the fight of a viral contagion. Clearly your brain cells have a hard time with science and deductive reasoning.     Let me help you, my lost little buddy. “By definition, epidemiology is the study (scientific, systematic, and data-driven) of the distribution (frequency, pattern) and determinants (causes, risk factors) of health-related states and events (not just diseases) in specified populations (neighborhood, school, city, state, country, global). It is also the application of this study to the control of health problems (Source: Principles of Epidemiology, 3rd Edition).” on the other side of that, “Virologists are medical doctors that oversee the diagnosis, management and prevention of infection. They’re also scientists, who may drive research on various aspects of viruses. A virologist may be both a scientist and a physician. They mix their time between working at the bench in laboratories and providing advice to staff across many different areas of the human and animal health service sectors.” Now that we know who the players are and their place in the fight I can tell you for a fact as someone who worked in viral/biological contagion filled environments NOT A SINGLE FUCKING PERSON WENT INTO THOSE ENVIORMENTS WEARING A MASK OR PROTECTIVE SYSTEMS MADE OUT OF GOD DAMNED T-SHIRT MATIREAL, not once, not ever. That mask you love to rub in people face is worthless, the surgical masks people are wearing is worthless. It is a band aid on a sucking chest wound, it is a feel good measure that has ZERO effect.  Side note: If masks were the key, why are infections still happening? And why, with millions wearing them, has the virus not been pined into pockets where people don’t wear them thus proving mask work? I know the answer, do you?

I know how crazy is it that Scientists and doctors don’t use PPE made from t-shirt marital or yards of fabric bought from Hobby Lobby, who knew.... Wait, everyone fucking knew, because you’ve seen actual professionals in contaminated environments never put that shit on before a purpose made protective system that is made to work, not made to look like it should work.  The last thing(s), Fit Testing and cross contamination control. That is not even on anyone's radar outside of the fields that use it. Bubba and Birtha are not fit testing their home made mask or their N95′s, or their paint respirators or anything else. They are also using filters that are well past their replacement date and prescribed continuous use directions.  You have a huge chance of contaminating yourself rather than getting it from direct exposure from another person. That 30 something in the produce section of your store who touched 29 apples and tomatoes to find the the right 3 made you sick. The person leaving the pisser before you that has not washed their hands in 3 days and you touched the stall and pisser doors after them, made you sick. You touching everything under the sun thinking a mask made you safe while also taking off or pulling down your mask off 30 times a day made you sick.  So little buddy, if you were hoping I would get sick and die, I doubt that will happen. If you were hoping to get a little more O2 because of my passing I am not sorry to disappoint you. If you were relying on my death to get ammo, well princess, jump if you feel froggy. For those following along on your Mask Nazi bingo card; Masks are good Mmm’k People (Sheeple) who follow every edict of the governments are good Mmm’k. Science is only good if it agrees with your slanted view Mmm’k. The 6 foot rule and social distancing will save us all Mmm’k. Loved ones dyeing alone in hospitals is for the greater good Mmm’k. For those of us in the real world; Do what makes you feel safe, wear masks or don’t, don’t gather together or do, understand that this is not a one size fits all situation. Every person will have to face this as an individual, no amount of group punishment will ever stop individuals from having free will. It will only empower CoVID Karen’s and Kevin’s into thinking its ok for them it get in your face (Breaking social distancing rules.) to tell you what a horrible person you are for not wearing your mask properly while pulling theirs down to cough and spit at you and your family as a form of punishment. Then they will have that crazy shocked “I can’t believe you just did that” look under their masks when you press it real hard against their face with your fist.  P.S. Please apologize to the person next to you right now for having read and explain so much of this to you. I really did not mean to impose on them with your ignorance.  P.P.S. Since this whole shit pie opened up in January I have logged 6872 miles up and down the West Coast. California, Oregon, Washington and Nevada, I have had to interact with the populations of those liberal hubs and most of the time they were not wearing masks. I have had to stay in hotel after hotel, had to eat out hundreds of times at this point. and guess what, I still have not gotten sick. Is that because I understand this mess more, or because I understand virial contamination better, or is it that this shit sandwich that we’ve all had to take a bite of (Thank you for that line Full Metal Jacket.) was made for us and derived via the TV and social media to scare you into submission? Be controlled if you want to be, I’ll pass. 

[chuuulip]

The First Kiss of Love

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female Reader

Warning:  Fluff with a smidges of angst

Words: 3262

Prompt: hey i was wondering id you could do a hannibal lecter one where the reader doesnt realize that hannibal likes her and she gets jealous when hes talking to another woman. when she calls him out on it he cant help but laugh. the reader is basically a oblivious dummy type and way too much of a klutz .

Summary: “Dr. Bloom is really beautiful.” your small, joyless voice continues its sentence. “Ah...yes indeed.” Hannibal replies casually.

A.N: This is for an anon that request some Hannibal fanfic. I’m sorry that it takes me so long xD I hope you like it! whoever you are ❤️ Thank you for @jewels2876​​ for helping me with this piece, love you ❤️ Also tagging fellow Hannibal fans 😉 @venusdemonroe​​​ and @detectivehannibal​​​ thanks for feeding me Hannibal content and discuss him with me ❤️

__

It’s been a couple of months since you’ve worked with Dr. Lecter. You were once a librarian; due to an accident, you lost your job as a consequence of a long time recovery.  Hannibal Lecter literally was an angel or your angel to be precise. Vividly, you remember the time you met him. By chance, Hannibal is in the clinic when you do your physiotherapy. He catches a small stack of books that you buy that day. He manages to balance the books in his left hand while his right-hand catches you before your face kisses the floor.

Long story short, both of you have some sort of conversation that leads to you applying for a job to be Hannibal’s secretary. You are excited but also nervous when you do your interview. You have no idea that Hannibal is a well-known psychiatrist not only just in Baltimore but also in Maryland. There is a fear that Hannibal will not choose you because of your clumsy tendencies. You are naturally what people will call a klutz. Physical activity somewhat hinders your ability to shine among others. You are either too slow or too weak. Not to mention lucky stars seem to distance themself from you. But not that day, the day when you get an email of your employment. Hannibal is pretty impressed with your CV and how good your skills on scheduling and data management, 

“Good morning.” the soft, accented voice of Hannibal greets you. Today, he wears a dark blue windowpane pattern jacket suit. He chooses a somewhat dark metallic floral pattern adorning the red-brown tie. His white buttoned-up shirt makes the color of his suit and ties pop. Hannibal always dresses elegantly, something that you always look forward to seeing.  

“Good morning, Dr. Lecter.” You stand up and follow Hannibal inside his office. He takes a seat on his brown leather chair. Everything looks immaculate as always.

“Schedule for today?” he unbuttons his suit jacket and you quickly help him hang the suit. “Thank you, my dear, you didn’t need to do that.”

“It’s alright Dr. Lecter.”

Sometimes when it’s only you and Hannibal in the office, he accidentally calls you my dear. You aren’t sure if it's because that’s the way he usually addresses someone he is in contact on a daily basis, or it means something more? Oh, you wish.

“Dr. Lecter…, for this morning you will have two appointments. Mrs. Potter and Ms. Randall. Also-- Mr. Franklin said he might need to reschedule.” Your slightly breathy voice points out other appointments Hannibal has outside the office. Your work had become kind of a blend between his secretary and personal assistant, to be honest. It was actually Hannibal's idea to engage you more into work that’s not strictly his office related. Not that you are complaining because it let you take a peek on Hannibal’s other persona. Not to mention that the payment is pretty generous. 

Not once does Hannibal ask your input on what type of thing should be added in his office, and by that, you are pretty proud of yourself. Not a lot of people give any thought about your opinion. Although Hannibal, like when his office has this sleek look and somewhat minimalist style, he always mixes something that you could say was classic inside his office. You have been inside his office quite a lot, but sometimes you help him tidy up his books and document. He’s somewhat more of a hard copy type of person than a soft copy one. Like you. You like the smells of an old book although some of Hannibal’s books smell too clinical for you. Like the smells of a hospital or a place with a lot of disinfectants.  

Pretty proud of your experience as a librarian in the past, and knowing Hannibal is a perfectionist himself, you practically turned the side of his office into a perfect mini library. The medical record shorts are alphabetically arranged while his other books are listed by genre, then in an alphabetical manner as well. When Hannibal stays longer in the office, sometimes you catch him drawing. A hobby that he said he has since childhood. One day he told you, “Growing up, I found my hobby really useful when I decided to be a medical doctor.” and you can’t help but agree. After he finishes with what he sketches at that time, he specifically calls you into his office and shows you the final product. That action simply makes your heart flutter in excitement.

“Thank you, you can leave for now.” He gives you his subtle yet beautiful smile. Those eyes of his when he smiles always send some sort of quick rush to your brain.

Giving Hannibal a short nod, you quickly excuse yourself. You stumble upon your own shoe and almost fall, face first. Luckily you can prevent that from happening, hoping Hannibal doesn’t notice, although you think he did. Scurrying from his office, you station yourself on your spot. Continue typing and archiving what Hannibal asks you. 

Sipping your now cold latte, your eyes shift to the books next to your PC. It’s a book called Les Fleurs du mal renaissance, a volume about French poetry that Hannibal had lent you after you finish some short of psychology 101. You have read a few pages of it, and since it’s in French, it takes you some time to understand it. 

Sometimes Hannibal invites you to his office to let you read his book while he draws things. Trying not to get caught red-handed, you glance at him from the corner of your eyes, savoring the scene in front of you. Wondering what Hannibal actually does on his day off, is there anything he can’t do? Your brain likes to take a detour on what Hannibal does at home when he’s not seeing other people’s minds.

A soft clink of steps on the mahogany floor wood, momentary pauses your fingers on the keyboard. 

“Good morning Mrs. Potter.” you stand up immediately. Greet her with a polite, shy smile. One of the things you are still learning from working with Hannibal is being confident. Since the secretary is usually portrayed as bold and beautiful, while you on the other hand are quite the opposite, Hannibal makes sure you take your time to adapt from ‘less contact with people at work’ to ‘in contact with different people almost every day.’

“I’m here for my appointment.” her British accent tickles your ear. It’s rare for you to meet a Brit, especially as posh as Mrs. Potter. Although you never glance at a patient’s medical record, you do actually google them. When you find out Hannibal’s reputation, you know that most of his patients are a somewhat well-known person. Mrs. Potter is an owner of exquisite but limited jewelry store on the east coast. From several articles that you read, she has had quite a lot of scandal. Despite that, you will not deny her beauty. She may be quite older than you, but the way her cheekbones stay supple and very few wrinkles decorating her face sometimes makes you jealous. 

“Yes, sure. Please wait a moment,” immediately, you walk to Hannibal's office door that's just a foot away from your desk. Giving a soft knock, you open the door and inform Hannibal that Mrs. Potter is already here. He gives you a quick nod, and you open the door wider, to let Mrs. Potter start her session. 

Hannibal isn’t a strict boss. Or that’s actually what you thought about him. Of course, you are a professional employee as you can be, but sometimes you spend time reading the book you borrow from Hannibal between your desk job. Mostly because you already do whatever Hannibal tasks you with. On some occasions, you join Hannibal when he attends some appointments, such as when he needs to be a keynote speaker in a well-known conference around Maryland and DC. An experience that you guess is his way to widen your social ability. 

“Thank you Mrs. Potter. I’ll see you in the next session.” Hannibal’s accent cues you to stand up and bid your goodbye to Mrs. Potter. The rest of the day comes out like it usually is. Typing and arranging schedules for Hannibal while also scrolling on another book to read. Even though you were a librarian before, there’s just so many books and so little time to read. 

When it’s time for you to go home, you knock on Hannibal’s office door and open it slightly when he answers you with a soft, “come on in”. You excuse yourself while also giving Hannibal’s friend a smile. Although Hannibal doesn’t have a lot of appointments today, his friend, Jack Crawford visits the office and you know that means Hannibal will stay late until dinner time.   

*** 

The next day your work finished earlier than you thought so you spend some time at work to continue reading the poetry book. Some people may find it weird that you like to stay a little bit longer at work than going back home. There’s always this thought of knowing there is someone close to you, without the need to do conversations in every millisecond, calming. When your eyes shift to your gold bronze table clock, you haven’t realized that you are pretty late, as the sky already turns dark. 

You know Hannibal is still in the office and you plan to excuse yourself before it’s getting really late. You don’t want Hannibal to drive you back home since you feel embarrassed about it. He always makes sure you arrive at home safely when you spend more time at the office or going home pretty late since Baltimore isn’t the safest place on earth. However, there is always a thought in your head that Hannibal being a little bit protective towards you, his employee because you are just a much of a klutz and he feels responsible. 

You aren’t sure what possessed you to move too quickly and it just messes up your footing. The point of your left oxford shoes hit the castor office chair. Ungracefully you trip to the floor and bring the chair with you. The falling chair let out a loud bang while you landed on your hands and knees, grimacing in pain. 

You aren’t sure when but your brain kind of mid freeze for a second. When you look up, you see Hannibal crouching down and calling your name, worried, “-- are you ok? Can you stand up?”

“I--I’m ok Dr. Lecter,” you try to stand up but you hold up your right hand in a sign of I need a minute. 

Hannibal takes care of the office chair first, putting it back in its original position. He carefully lifts you up, supporting you and letting you sit back on your office chair. “I’m sorry my dear, but I need to check?” He asks you for your permission and you quickly give him your approval. With an expert examination of his hands, Hannibal checks your knees for any swelling or visual deformity. Since your past accident, you are prone to any joint and soreness on the knees. Delicately, he gives a little pat on both your knees. “I think everything is ok, you may need to have some pain killers.”

“Thank you Hannibal.” you blurt it out. Sometimes you call him by his first name when you aren’t in office hours, although rarely.

He graces you with that smile of his, subtle yet it always makes your heart quiver, the kind of smile you infrequently see. You notice that sometimes he has his professional smile, it is short and kind of cold. The smile you always notice when he meets his colleague. You don’t know a lot of Hannibal’s friends, but when he has some impromptu meeting with Jack, you slightly witness more smirk and sometimes there’s this naughty element like he is planning something evil, although humorously.

“Wait a minute, I will drive you home.” Hannibal left you to go inside his office. 

There’s a guilt in your stomach that you feel you are being a burden to your boss. When your concentration dispersed like vivid smoke, the corner of your eyes caught the beautiful woman you have seen a couple of times visiting the office. Unlike other women who mostly visit Hannibal for a session, this woman is indeed different. 

“Ms. Bloom.” You greet her. Your smile may look blankly courteous even, but you definitely are not in the mood to give her your big smile this evening.

“You look unwell, are you ok?” 

“I-- I’m ok.” you try to answer her, less tense.

“Alana?” your eyes shift to Hannibal as he opens his door.

“Hey, Hannibal. I try to call you but I thought I might as well just drop by.”

Hannibal’s eyes divert from you to Alana, and he gives Alana a quick nod, letting her quickly enter the office. “It will be quick. Can you wait for a while?” you give him a nod and smile at him nervously.

At first you aren’t sure why you are nervous but something finally clear on your head. Maybe you are jealous. You know a lot of women near Hannibal are not only beautiful, or rich, they are also acutely intelligent. Although you aren’t rich, you aren’t that bad looking and you will not say you aren’t intelligent but when you compare yourself to someone like Alana, there will always be inferiority engraved in your mind. Not to mention that she has known Hannibal longer and better than you.

Hannibal's office door opens and Alana exits the door with Hannibal following her. “I heard what happened to you from Hannibal.” Alana stops in front of your desk and gives you her sympathetic smile. “Get well soon.” She gives you a pat on your shoulder and says her goodbye to you and Hannibal.

“Shall we?” Hannibal changes his focus towards you and you nod in agreement. Let him help you out of the office. 

***

“So…,”

“So?” Hannibal glances at you momentarily while driving, asking you to continue what you have in mind.

“Dr. Bloom is really beautiful.” your small, joyless voice continues its sentence.

“Ah...yes indeed,” Hannibal replies casually. 

Your eyes glance at the dark street. Hannibal’s office is located in a quite busy place and it’s nice to see less traffic when you get out of the area. 

“Did both of you date?” you blurt it out. Your eyes widen in horrors as you blatantly just spill out something unprofessional. “Hanni-- Dr. Lecter, I-- I-- didn’t mean to pry on your personal life.” 

Hannibal looks at you and lets out a laugh. Something really rare, something that you even have witnessed. The crinkle on his eyes when he laughs lets his somewhat cool and calm demeanor melted. It takes you sometimes to register on what just happens. 

“I’m sorry my dear, that’s just quite funny.” Hannibal stops laughing and sends you a quick smile.

“Also that might not answer your question but the answer is no, Alana and I, we aren’t dating. I’m her mentor and our relationship is more of colleagues and friends.”    

You aren’t sure why you hold your breath, but after listening to Hannibal's answer, you let out a long exhale, feeling that something heavy has been lifted up from your shoulders. 

Hannibal’s Bentley stops in front of your apartment complex. Ever the gentleman that he is, Hannibal asks you if you need help. You decline his help as if you can’t embarrass yourself enough in one day. 

“Before you go, I have something to tell you.” Like a deer caught in a headlight, you look at Hannibal. He switches on the light inside the car and pulls his bag from the backseat. He handed you several papers that looked likely to be a job application. Your eyes widen, vision blurry as a sudden tears drop from your eyes. This is it, maybe Hannibal has enough of your clumsiness. He doesn’t find you worthy as he sometimes needs to ‘babysit you’ when you do something you don’t intend to do. 

Feeling that he may be approaching this the wrong way, Hannibal tries to comfort you. You put both of your hands in front of your chest, like a shield in a defensive manner. Try to accommodate his tall frame, awkwardly Hannibal turns his body to the passenger seat and embraces you. He shushing you and pat your heads 

When your silent cry turns into a hiccup but more calmer, Hannibal pulls away from you. With a stutter, you explain to Hannibal that you understand if he doesn’t want you to work with him again and you are thankful that he’s been a very great employer to you. 

“Hey,” Hannibal swipes the tears that rolls down on your cheeks with his thumbs, “--it’s not that. Look, my dear, the reason I handed this paper to you is not that I want to fire you, but I have been pretty impatient lately.”

You look at him, eyes full of question on what the fuck he means by that? Although you don’t let it out loud because you don’t want to make any rude comment. Because Hannibal doesn’t like that.

“I’m one of those people who do not agree with office romance.” 

Office? Romance? What the hell? No one has any romance in the office, you thought. 

“I have been pretty much intent to court you,” his eyes flicker to your lips and back to your reddish eyes. “Alana came today because she wants to give me the application personally, there’s a librarian vacancy in her University and I pretty much just want to hand it to you.” Your brain wiring, try to connect the words as if you forgot how to speak English.  

“Apologize if I’m being rude my dear, but I have observed you for some time and I encourage myself to just lay it all here so I didn’t make you upset. Of course, if I am proven wrong, you can stay and still work as my secretary. No harm, the position will always be yours.” 

“Hanni-- Hannibal, does this mean that you like ‘like’ me?” 

He answers you with a quick nod and the smile that always makes your heart flutter. You try to reach Hannibal but your knee prevents you from doing such a thing. Hannibal let out a small chuckle as he finds your difficulty quite amusing. 

You eye him in disbelief but your anger melts right away as his face gets closer to yours. His right hand's cup at the side of your face as his lips inches closer towards you. With eyes close, you feel the brushes of Hannibal’s lips. The kiss is soft and delicate as if he is just testing the water. 

You let your hands sneak at the back of his collar as you seek more contact. Both of your lips slide and glide against each other. Letting out a whimper, you grant Hannibal’s tongue to slip past your lips. Teasing and flicking languidly, exploring something that makes you shudders in want. 

After some time, Hannibal withdraws his lips from yours. Eyes fluttering open, you can see Hannibal’s pupils expand. He let his foreheads rest at yours while his hand still cups on your face. “So...I believe it is a 'yes''?” There's humor in his voice. 

With a broad smile and less reddish eyes, you answer Hannibal with a confident nod and grant him another kiss on the lips.

__

As always, like, comment and reblog are really appreciated ❤️. Let me know what you think about this xo

[okayto]

Murderbot Reference: Character Descriptions Part 2

Fandom reference! I tried to note every time a person/thing got a physical description, as well as additional info like how augments work, etc. Please note that there may be spoilers for all five books, but especially Network Effect.

This post contains:

ART’s Senses

ART’s Crew

Three

Rami, Tapan and Maro

Tlacey

Tlacey’s ComfortUnit

Targets (Network Effect)

Barish-Estranza: Eletra, Ras, and Supervisor Leonide

Augments (what they are/how they work)

Other Human Personal Tech (Non-Augments)

Other Bots/Machines: Agricultural Bot, Pathfinders, NE Target Drones, MB’s Drones

Other posts: Part 1; Part 3

ART’s Senses

·         Besides cameras, sees ship through internal sensors, “which provided data (heat, density, angles of motions, etc.) that didn’t translate into images, at least not visual images useful to humans.”

·         MB guesses that gaps in ART’s memory archives might look like “a giant interruption in the constant incoming reports from subsystems like life support, navigation, etc. It was tricky, because for ART these are not like discrete reports from connected systems, but more like the sensory input I would get from the pads on the tips of my fingers.”

·         Does have cameras in many areas, cameras hidden enough that MB didn’t know they existed until ART turned them on and provided access via the feed in NE.

·         Likes Amena and talks to her more gently than MB or other humans—it’s more careful of Amena’s feelings. Has talked about human adolescents in a positive way. ART is, on a regular basis, a teaching vessel.

 ART’s Crew

·         Iris: augmented human. Dark brown skin, wearing a decorative woven bracelet when rescued in NE and a light blue longsleeved T-shirt. Small, shorter and slimmer than Ratthi, but not much bigger than Amena. Dark hair is the curly kind that puffs out a lot, but in NE pulled back and tied up in a band. Hair is long enough that she lifted it up so MB could see her back/neck when checking for an implant. Longsleeved T-shirt and pants and soft shoes are the casual version of ART’s blue crew uniform. Some bruises and scrapes at rescue. Seth’s child.

·         Seth: tall, very dark brown skin, “with less hair than most SecUnits,” a mostly-hairless head; earlier description from photograph (later context makes this likely to be Seth) says “no hair on the front half of his head.” Iris’s parent, she calls him “Dad.” Captain of Perihelion.

·         Martyn is Iris’s other parent (called “Dad); Seth’s marital partner; earlier description from photograph (later context makes this likely to be Martyn posing next to Seth) says lighter skin than Seth, with short white hair; he/him

·         Kaede is about the same size as Iris, but skin is lighter and her hair is yellow

·         Matteo is small like Iris and Kaede, and has a lot of dark hair that at rescue had come loose from braids. They/Them.

·         Turi is young like Amena. They/Them

·         Karime uses she/her

·         Tarik uses he/him

·         On variation of crew uniform (made for MB): dark blue, pants and jacket of deflective fabric, good quality (better than Station Security), with lots of sealable pockets for weapons and drones. Stability fabric boots, probably tough enough to jam a hatchway. Looks like what human security would wear. ART’s crew logo on the jacket, which also has a collar that folds down.

 Three

·         SecUnit, with projectile weapon built into arm

·         Armor flexes if it shifts its shoulders

 Rami, Tapan, and Maro

·         All wearing variations on work clothes, no uniform logos. Either Rami or Maro has an implant, but none are augmented. Part of a group marriage of 7 people, with 5 children of various sizes. MB thinks all are young—not far from adolescence.

·         Rami: tercera, “which was a gender signifier used in the group of non-corporate political entities known as the Divarti Cluster,” te/ter. Purple hair, red eyebrows, light brown skin. Wearing a jacket.

·         Tapan: female. Multicolored braids wrapped up around her head, blue jewel-toned feed interface clipped to ear, slightly darker skin than Rami. Wearing a flower-patterned t-shirt.

·         Maro: female. Very dark skin, silver-colored little puffs of hair, “almost beautiful enough to be in the entertainment media.”

 Tlacey

·         Augmented human female

 Tlacey’s ComfortUnit

·         Physical configuration doesn’t match SecUnit standard.

·         Lots of hair, silver with blue and purple on the ends, pulled back and braided like Tapan’s but in a much more complicated pattern.

·         Bare arms show no metal, and no gun ports

 Targets (Network Effect)

·         When fully affected: look like tall, thin augmented humans. Dull gray skin. Narrow human features, dark brows standing out against smooth gray skin. Colorless lips.

·         Not completely identical: one Target on ship is slightly taller and has broader shoulders than the other.

·         Targets on ships: wearing formfitting protective suits and partial helmets that initially left a lot of their faces bare. One on the B-E explorer wore “more casual human clothing:” dark green-black pants and jacket, black shirt with a collar. Shoes had heavy treads, designed for rough planetary terrain. Hair looked more normal, with reddish brown tight curls cut close to the head.

·         Targets and colonists: gray skin is a progressive condition, not natural or cosmetic effect, some still look like humans who were altered rather than aliens. Not all who still looked somewhat human were fighting on the same side. Most of fighting group wore “the kind of rough work clothing normal for colonies or mining, a cheaper, more battered version of ART’s environment suits with hoods but no breathing gear, or a mix of clean work clothes, plus a random collection of what looked like old uniforms and protective gear.”

 Barish-Estranza, Eletra, Ras, and Supervisor Leonide

·         B-E uniforms are red and brown with corporate logos

·         Eletra and Ras both wear B-E uniforms that are disheveled and torn.

·         Eletra has brown skin and dark hair that reaches at least to her shoulder blades.

·         Supervisor Leonide has “mid brown” skin “that was common to a large percentage of humans,” with an artificially smooth, even tone that indicated cosmetic enhancement. Dark hair wrapped around the top of her head and she has small metallic and gemstones set in the rim of one exposed ear.

 Augments

·         According to MB, are “supposed to help humans do things they couldn’t do otherwise, like interface with the feed more completely or store memory archives.”

·         Augments that aren’t feed interfaces are meant to correct physical injuries or illnesses.

·         Augments are meant to be helpful. Implants are different (MB compares implants to governor modules, something the person has little to no control over)

·         Normal augment would have filaments extending directly into the human nervous system. Some augmented humans may have dataports/plug-in interfaces in the back of their necks, since MB is able to pass off its dataport as one of these often.

·         Normal augmented human (augmented with feed) has interface built into brain; non-augmented humans have removable interfaces (excluding implants, which seem to be regular interfaces just not removable without surgery).

·         Augments and constructs work with “machine-readable code written into human DNA”

·         Augmented humans can work more fully in the feed; MB thinks that the drugged-up GrayCris assassins wouldn’t be possible to control with a removable interface, so the controller must be augmented (and this proves correct).

 Other Human Personal Tech

·         Un-augmented humans can’t access the feed unless their interface is working and attached properly. Tapan’s in-ear interface was taken out while ART’s MedSystem worked, and she had to put it back in before she contacted her partners.

·         “Normal external interfaces for humans were designed to look like all kinds of things, from carved natural wood to skin tones to jewels or stones or enamel art pieces to actual plain metal with a brand logo.”

·         Human voices on the feed sound like their physical voices, and can show emotions. Humans (and augmented humans) usually subvocalize when talking on the feed.

·         During killware attack in ES, Pin-Lee, Mensah and two crewmembers each has portable manual feed interfaces they used to shore up SecSystem; allowing them feed access without using their personal on-body interfaces.

·         MB says in AC that killware and malware can’t do anything to humans or augmented humans; the killware attack in ES hurts augmented humans enough that one needs rescue breathing. This could be MB’s lack of knowledge, or it could be because the ES killware is rare, essentially a disembodied bot and an extremely uncommon/unheard of tactic.

Other Bots/Machines

·         Agricultural bot: almost 10 meters (~32 feet) tall, covered with spikes. Lower body has 10 long spider limbs for moving around without crushing anything, upper part is a long curving “neck” with a long head also covered in spikes

·         Pathfinders: like drone for space. Active scanners that can zip around a planet collecting environmental information and terrain imaging, plus looking for comm signals, possible energy sources, and hostiles. Can relay audio as ART uses it to threaten Targets. Very expensive.

·         Drones used by NE Targets: model MB is unfamiliar with. Round and as big around as MB’s head, any holes for cameras or weapons hidden despite size. Made of stealth material (or pattern) that can’t be spotted by camera, but regular vision OK.

·         Drones used in ASR, pulled from the hopper: “They were the small kind, barely a centimeter across; no weapons, just cameras.”

·         Also in ASR, MB mentions that there also exist drones that aren’t much bigger than the hopper drones but include a small pulse weapon (but as far as availability through the company, you have to get an upper tier package)

·         MB’s regular drones: small enough that it can have a flock (at least a couple dozen?) land on it and not impede movement in an EVAC suit. MB mentions technique where it can have drone accelerate a drone straight at a target’s face, and if hit an eye or an ear it goes straight to the brain, so probably fairly small. They are also easy to visually overlook when perched in a room recording people, or sneaking through a doorway. They’re also easy to store in MB’s many pockets.

[doctorfiction]

Hi! I have a character that is shot in the head by assassins and ends up permanently blind, but without any other brain damage. As currently is, the bullet goes through the optic nerves - but is this realistic? Is there enough room between the optic nerves and the frontal lobe for a bullet to pass through? Or would it make more sense for the bullet to go somewhere else, like the occipital lobe? Thanks!

Hi! I have a character that is shot in the head by assassins and ends up permanently blind, but without any other brain damage. As currently is, the bullet goes through the optic nerves-but is this realistic? Is there enough room between the optic nerves and the frontal lobes for a bullet to pass through? Or would it make more sense for the bullet to go somewhere else, like the occipital lobe? Thanks!

This is a fantastic question and shows a good basic grasp of neuroanatomy. While a gunshot to one of the optic nerves would result in partial blindness, it would also most probably result in death, or at the very least, a devastating loss of cognitive function. Rendering the victim totally blind would require a second assault on the other optic nerve. The sum total of these combined injuries would be death or at the least a persistent vegetative stage with no conscious brain function.  Occipital lobe injury is a more plausible scenario. Even so, it’s still a very densely populated building with some very sensitive neighbors.

We will approach this dilemma in our usual manner: a minimal number of needed terms, simplified anatomy, physiology and pathophysiology with a drawing to answer your question and a twist that you might find useful in your story.

PROBLEM:

An assassin’s bullet renders a character blind but otherwise sensate with minimal to nil collateral sequelae.

SOLUTION:

What you are looking for is cortical blindness. I am going to give you a plausible scheme for this and present a related condition called blindsight that you may find applicable to your protagonist.

TERMS:

Sight: The special sense by which the color, shape, position and form of objects is perceived when the light from those objects strike the retina.

Blind: Unable to see, lacking the sense of sight.

Cortical Blindness: Loss of vision with an undamaged eye due to injury to the Occipital Cortex.

Blindsight: The ability of individuals with blindness to detect and respond to visual stimuli despite lacking awareness of having seen anything.

Occipital Cortex: Paired region of the brain divided by a sulcus (a narrow tract separating organs). It is located in the posterior and inferior aspect of the brain and takes its name from the nearby occipital bone. It is the site of Visual 1.

ANATOMY, PHYSIOLOGY, and PATHOPHYSIOLOGY

A brief (as humanly possible) explanation of vision as it applies to your scenario; Use this in conjunction with the Illustrations for a walkthrough of the pathways for sight and blindsight.

Retina: Located at the “back” of the eye, this structure creates 2D image and converts it into electrical impulses to be transmitted to Visual 1 in the Occipital Cortex for processing. The receptors include Rods for light-sensing and gray-scale imaging and Cones for the perception of color. This organ then compresses the data to allow transfer along the limited capacity of the Optic Nerve.

Optic Nerves: Known as Cranial Nerve II (CNII), they carry monocular (one -sided) input from the Retina of each eye to the Optic Chiasm where they are converted to binocular signals.

Superior Colliculus: Paired structures in the midbrain that receive input from the optic nerve. Loosely, they allow the cortically blind to perceive and react to movement even though they cannot “see” it in the conventional sense.

Optic Chiasm: The X-shaped area where the Optic Nerves cross and combine the images from both eyes allowing for binocular and stereoscopic vision.

Optic Tracts: These continuations of the Optic Nerves carry information from both left and right eyes from the Optic Chiasm to the LGN.

Lateral Geniculate Nucleus (LGN): One of the nine nuclei the visual inputs pass through on their way to Visual 1; this nucleus is the major relay center for impulses to Visual 1.

Optical Radiations: The sorted fibers from the LGN represent the final transmission pathway to Visual 1.

Visual 1 (V1): Located along the Calcarine Fissure, this structure is the primary processing center for visual data associated with basic sight perception.

Calcarine Fissure: Narrow openings along the medial aspects of the paired Occipital Cortices where the Optical Radiations from the Lateral Geniculate Nucleus link to Visual 1.

SIGNIFICANCE:

So, the take home is this: To result in complete cortical blindness, an injury occurring prior to Visual 1 would need to be penetrating and duplicated on the contra lateral (opposite side.) Due to the other critical structures in this area, the result of the direct contact and “shock wave” of the penetrating missile (bullet) would be gross deformity, loss of cognitive and midbrain function and at best, survival on a respirator.

The only plausible scenario for a single insult resulting in bilateral cortical blindness without gross deformity and loss of cognitive and motor function would be a midline non-penetrating or minimally penetrating injury to the posterior occiput bone.

PATHOPHYSIOLOGY:

A gunshot anywhere along the described pathway will result in a visual defect, but only one spot will cause total Cortical Blindness while preserving the appearance of the eye and giving a chance to avoid catastrophic collateral damage or death.

Both Eyes: This would indeed result in total blindness but would grossly disfigure both eyes and  almost certainly be fatal.

Optic Nerve through the Optic Radiation: To cause total Cortical Blindness would require a shot on both sides and would pass through the Frontal and or Parietal Lobes. Damage would again be catastrophic with a near one-hundred percent certainty of death.

SOLUTION:

The only real possibility would be a single shot through the center of the Posterior Occiput. If the bullet were small bore (22/25 ACP) and round nose, (take a look at my previous post on the effects of different size bullets) there is the possibility that the bullet would not penetrate the occipital bone, but rather the shock wave would shatter the occiput and drive fragments through the narrow sulcus to the Calcarine Fissures bilaterally and result in total Cortical Blindness with little collateral damage.

This is a “long-shot” (excuse the pun,) but it is the most viable scenario and there are anecdotal accounts of precisely this mechanism and outcome.

Fictional Applications:

The fact that this injury leaves all of the “upstream” transmission, integration, and coding intact  allows for some interesting story applications:

Blindsight:

The protagonist is able to “see” things that others cannot:

The protagonist cannot see what’s in front of them …

 . . . but now has the ability to “see” events that are occurring elsewhere. These could be events happening now, events that are about to happen, or “cold case” events that have gone unsolved.

This provides a ready-made opportunity for introspection and character arc:

           Egocentric — Altruistic (Dr Strange)

           Bully — Protector (Pretty Woman))

           If you need a Superhero:

           Powerless — Powerful (Spiderman)

           Or if you need a Supervillain:

           Meek — Aggressor (Megamind)

 Consider the possibilities with a smashing title such as 2020 Blindsight, or Visual 1.

doctorfiction

The Doctor is In

“When to call me: you’ve been stabbed, shot, poisoned, separated from an appendage, knocked or beaten unconscious, run over by a tractor mower, or generally about to bleed to death. Otherwise, leave me alone.”  

— Aurelius Hogue MD, Doc Hollywood, 1991

Welcome. This blog belongs to a long time MD, a short time MFA. Doctor by profession, novelist by habit.

What I do on this blog: Every week, I’ll design infections, injuries, psychoses and neuroses for your fictional characters. You tell me the effect you want and I’ll tell you how they get there. Think of it as medical care in reverse.

What I don’t do on this blog: I do not diagnose or treat your real life infections, injuries, or psychiatric conditions. I do not help you undertake real-life nefarious pursuits. This advice is meant to be taken only in the spirit it is intended: helping bad things happen to good characters, fact meeting fiction.

Ground Rules: My ask box is always open, but the Doctor is only in once a week. Please keep your novel’s specifics out of your message. No character names, keep the scenarios general — we want it to be useful for more than one writer, if we can. Please do provide age and sex and any pertinent pre-existing conditions. I don’t need to see your character’s insurance card.

What is your chief complaint?

The Doctor is in.

— The Doctor

[ladyfogg]

May I? - 23/?

May I? - 23/? 

Fic Summary: Ensign Faith Diaz struggles to hide her mental illness from her fellow shipmates aboard the Enterprise until an intrigued Data goes out of his way to try to understand her behavior. At his insistence, Faith tries to figure out what she’s truly passionate about and eventually seeks the professional help she needs. Fic Masterpost.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Data/Female OC

Warnings: tw: depression, tw: anxiety, fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut

Screenshot by @geekygwen​

Sharing a space with someone else was a new experience for Data. He had spent hours on end with Faith in the past, however, having her there with him after his shift or on his days off brought a new level of intimacy. His bed was now their bed and his quarters were now their quarters. 

Her clothes hung in the closet next to his. He even had set up a terminal for her across the room from his and occasionally they worked together. 

The transition did have a few minor inconveniences as sharing a space normally would. However, through communication, the two were able to establish boundaries. For example, Faith would pick up after herself and Data would not rearrange her belongings without asking.

All in all, it was a positive experience. 

They had not told many people about the arrangement. Data had improved on keeping the details of their relationship private, limiting any questions to a select number of confidants. 

With his and Faith's relationship on solid ground, Data turned his focus to his upcoming art show. The closer the date approached, the more it consumed his thoughts. He found himself having difficulty narrowing down which paintings to showcase as he had painted thousands over the years. Faith helped with the event details themselves, such as food, decorations, etc. It was turning into a wonderful joint effort between the two.

Data sat at his console, running diagnostics while simultaneously organizing his artwork yet again. He heard the door open and glanced up to find Faith entering their quarters.

"Ten Forward is looking great," she said. "Guinan took over decorating and kicked me out." When she saw him at his console, she sighed. "You were there when I left hours ago. Shouldn't you take a break?"

"You are well aware I do not need to rest." Data continued to work. "The show is twenty-two hours away and I have yet to decide on which paintings to display. Aside from the ones involving you, of course."

Faith crossed the room and moved to stand behind him. Her hands ran up his arms to rest on his shoulders. "There is such a thing as over-thinking, babe. You need a distraction."

"There is not much that can consume my thoughts enough to qualify as a distraction."

Data found his console blocked by Faith as she slid her body onto the smooth surface. Her legs moved to trap him between them, forcing Data to look up to meet her eye.

"I can think of one thing," she said with a flirtatious smirk.

Intrigued, Data studied her. "You are attempting to seduce me in order to take my mind off my problem."

"Correct." Faith cupped his face as she leaned forward, eyes shining with excitement. "Also, I believe making love in a work-like setting was on your list. Number thirty-two, right?"

"Thirty-three," Data corrected. "Thirty-two involved the armchair, remember?"

"Mmmm, yes I do."

When she kissed him, Data closed his eyes and surrendered to the sensation. He had grown used to the strange tugging feeling in his stomach when they touched and the way his hands seemed to move on their own accord, coming to rest on Faith's thighs. 

Before they could go any further, however, Data found his mind too preoccupied. He drew back and gave her an apologetic smile.

"I am afraid it is not working."

Faith smiled back, running her hand through his hair. "It was worth a try. I figured it would be a long shot. Do you want me to leave so you can keep working?"

"I would rather you stay."

Faith slid off the console and placed a kiss on his forehead. "Whatever you need."

Data returned to work. "I would appreciate your input on the pieces for the show."

"Of course! Did you narrow down which ones you want to focus on?"

"I have settled on one-hundred and twelve possible paintings and combinations."

Faith blanched. "You might want to pair it down a little further."

"I am aware."

"Have you tried laying them out and looking at them?"

"I do not understand how that will help."

Faith smiled at him while she stroked his hair. "I know you have your lists running through that amazing mind of yours, but an art show is about visuals. So, maybe you should choose based on that."

Data had not considered such an approach. "It is worth a try."

He stood and the two of them went into the next room. Every surface aside from the bed had paintings either propped up on or leaning against it. Each time Data thought of a painting, he had taken it out of storage and the result was a room filled with various works of art. 

As Faith spread the potential paintings around, Data studied them closely. All he could see were the change in techniques. How his style shifted each time he studied another artist or how the colors changed when he focused on color theory. 

Remembering Faith's comment about visuals, he concluded that style and color were not exactly what she had been referring to. So he focused on the subjects instead. Once he began following that train of thought, he started to move the paintings around himself. 

Faith stepped back and let him work as he picked up speed. Eighteen minutes later, he stopped, taking a few steps back.

Without realizing it, Data had selected paintings of his friends and family. He stared at the collection of faces, reliving his memories of each one.

In the beginning were Dr. Soong and his wife; his parents whom he had never really gotten to know. There was one of Lore, his brother and rival, yet no less a part of Data than anyone else.

Commander Riker followed, someone who Data looked up to and came to think of as one of his closest friends. Lieutenant Worf, Wesley, Dr. Crusher, were showcased as well. He had learned so much from each of them and cherished their friendships. Guinan and Counselor Troi had been instrumental in his growing relationship with Faith. Their advice and wisdom was something he would always value.

Captain Picard's place among the collection was well-earned. He was not only Data's captain but had advocated for him when no one else would. Without him, Data had no doubt he would not be where he was. 

Spot was no less important than anyone else. Through his cat, Data had learned to take care of another being. Geordi was his first and best friend. Data had come to think of him as family and hoped the sentiment was returned.

At first, Data had hesitated to include Tasha due to their intimate history. However, she was and always would be special to him and Faith knew of their past. When he first told her, they spoke for hours about Tasha. Data felt if Tasha were still with them, she and Faith would have been fast friends.

Lal stared up at him from the painting, captured exactly as she had been when she was alive. Data still had her memories and accessed them from time to time. The idea of creating another android child had not left him, though it was a discussion he and Faith would have to have when they were further along in their relationship.

The final paintings were of Faith. The first one of her he had even done, leading up to the stars one he had shared with her weeks ago.

As Data was studying his work, Faith came up next to him and slipped her arms around his waist.

"I love it," she said.

"Does this look visually pleasing?"

"It's more than that. It's beautiful to see all the people who made a difference in your life."

"Then, these are the paintings I will display."

Faith beamed up at him. "I'm so proud of you."

The way her face lit up as she looked at him gave Data that feeling again and he bent his head to kiss her. 

"I must go relieve Commander Riker from the bridge, and you must sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day for both of us," Data said.

"Don't remind me. My brain is already spinning with everything that still needs to get done."

"I shall make you your tea before I leave. Do you wish for me to stay until you fall asleep?"

"No, no. I'll be okay. Besides, you have duties to attend to." 

Data replicated Faith's evening tea while she changed into her sleep clothes. Once she climbed into bed, Spot slunk out from behind the chair where she had been hiding and took her usual place at Faith’s feet. It pleased Data to see his cat warm up to Faith so much. 

"Thank you, babe," Faith said, taking the teacup from him. "If I'm not awake when you get back, feel free to wake me. I have some diagnostics I have to run before preparing for the show."

"Faith, you should set aside downtime for yourself as well. I appreciate all your help but I have noticed you have not properly rested in many weeks."

“What do you mean? I’m sleeping better than I have in years.”

“Sleep is not always the same as resting.”

With a sigh, Faith leaned back against the headboard, hands clutching her steaming mug. "Deanna said the same thing. I agree but I just don't know what I could do to take my mind off things."

"Perhaps we can spend time on the holodeck."

"Yeah but what program? My mind is blank."

"I can create a program for you if you trust me."

Faith smiled softly. "With my life. I'm sure I'll love whatever you come up with."

"Then I shall do so." He leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "Goodnight, mi alma."

"Goodnight, babe."

Data began creating said program by the time he left their quarters. He wanted it to be perfect, not just because he cared about Faith but because she had been such a big help with the show. 

When he arrived at the bridge, Commander Riker smiled at him. "There he is! How is the planning for the art show going?"

"Very well. Faith helped me decide which artwork to display."

"That girlfriend of yours is a gem." Riker stood to allow Data to take the captain's chair. "You're a lucky man."

"Thank you, Commander. I believe so too. Will you and Counselor Troi be able to attend the show?"

Riker smiled wider and clapped him on the back. "Wouldn't dream of missing it."

As he turned to go, Data realized he would like Riker's advice on helping Faith relax. "Commander, may I ask you a question of a personal nature?"

Riker stopped, his eyebrow quirked in amusement. "Sure, what's on your mind?"

Data stepped closer and lowered his voice to avoid others overhearing. "I have offered to create a holodeck program to help Faith relax. As you are aware, it has been a stressful time for her and she has difficulty resting when she’s not working. What would you suggest?"

"A program is all well and good, Data, but what Faith really needs is shore leave. She needs time off the ship and not spent in a crashed shuttle or being held captive."

"It is difficult enough to convince her to take time off on the Enterprise. It will be a task to get her to leave the ship."

"Well, I assumed you'd go with her. You both have plenty of personal shore leave available and you deserve a romantic vacation."

Data could follow Riker's logic. "That is an interesting idea. I shall work on that for the future as it will take some planning. In the meantime, what would you suggest for a holodeck program?"

"Sunset dinner on the beach," Riker said without hesitation. "Soothing, romantic, and leaves room for a moonlight swim if you catch my drift." He winked.

Data did not but he assumed the commander was referring to something intimate. "I see. Thank you, Commander."

Riker gave him another pat on the back and a smile before he took his leave.

Data had to switch his focus to his duties but kept building Faith's program in the back of his mind. His subroutine had specific perimeters for showing appreciation. He needed to put as much work into thanking Faith as she had put into helping him. He had often heard from his various male colleagues that anticipating their partner’s needs or showing adequate appreciation was difficult in a relationship. Data had thought as much for some time but that was no longer the case. As his and Faith’s relationship progressed, he found it easier to do so. His urge to make sure she was happy and healthy outweighed most anxieties about failing. Most. Not all. 

His shift was routine and once it was over and Captain Picard arrived to relieve him, Data returned to his quarters. Faith was still asleep when he returned, which pleased him. True to her earlier statement, she had been sleeping for longer, uninterrupted periods of time which he knew was good for her overall well-being. 

As he sat beside her, he admired her relaxed features. He appreciated seeing her void of the anxiety that so often took hold. Sometimes when she thought he was not paying attention, she would let her anxiousness show and her forehead would crease with worry. It was those times that Data was concerned about. With many good things happening around her, it made him curious about what could still be plaguing her ever-working mind. Counselor Troi had explained to him that anxiety and depression did not simply disappear because things were going well. But when Faith slept, Data noticed that was all gone.

He reached out to stroke her wavy hair. A moment later, she stirred, opening her eyes and giving him a sleepy smile. "Good morning." Her voice was soft and hoarse.

"Good morning, Faith. You asked me to wake you when I returned."

She gave a large yawn and a stretch. "I did, didn't I?" 

Data could tell sleep was not leaving her as quickly as it usually did. "Perhaps you should remain resting. No one would fault you for taking advantage of the time."

"But, I have diagnostics…"

"Are they urgent? Do Geordi or the captain need them today?"

"Well, no."

"Then go back to sleep." Data readjusted the blanket. "You can run them later."

She pondered his response before giving him a sly smile. “Or you can slide into bed with me and we can make out a little.”

Data was intrigued by her switch in priorities. He had known sex and physical contact could distract humans but it was interesting to witness it firsthand. Faith was quite driven and focused when it came to her work, but it seemed the thought of being sexual with Data was enough to change her mind about continuing her rest. 

He saw no reason to deny her request and found the idea acceptable. He stepped out of his shoes before sliding into bed with her. Once settled, he pulled her close. When their lips met, she no longer had any traces of sleep. Her body curled around his, her hands clinging to the front of his uniform. Per his program, his eyes closed while he kissed her and he focused on using his other senses. Her smell invaded his nostrils and the way her mouth moved against his activated his sexuality program. However, since Faith had not specified whether or not she wished to engage in intercourse, he shut the program down. 

“I love kissing you,” Faith mumbled, her sleep-addled brain making her more vocal about her feelings than she normally would be so early in the morning. “I can kiss you for hours.”

“While physically I will be able to do so, I do not believe you will.”

She chuckled, peppering his lips with kisses. “I can try.”

Data knew she was being facetious so he let the comment go without discussing exactly why that would not be advisable. He cupped her cheek and kissed her deeply, the way he knew she liked. At least, he concluded she appreciated such action. Her pulse tended to race faster and she often let out a small noise of appreciation. 

The results were instantaneous. Faith clung to Data even tighter, throwing her leg over his hip. He may have shut down his sexuality program a bit prematurely…

Before they continued, however, Data wished to discuss with her the idea of taking shore leave. Since she was so obviously relaxed, he thought she may be more agreeable to the idea in such a state. 

“Faith,” Data said in a hushed voice when she pulled away to catch her breath. “May I ask you a question?”

“Now?” Her response was not said with any annoyance or malice. It was more of a whine as she attempted to kiss him again. 

Data gently stopped her. “I realize my timing may interrupt our current intimate session, however, I promise it is relevant.”

“I was only teasing, Data. Of course you can ask your question. What’s on your mind?”

“While our duties on the Enterprise do not allow us to indulge in such intimate activities on a regular basis, I was wondering how you would feel about taking shore leave with me sometime in the near future.”

Faith pulled back to look him in the eye. “You want to take a vacation with me?”

“Is that not an activity most couples participate in?”

“It is. I’ve just never been on vacation with someone I’m dating. And the thought of taking shore leave always makes me feel so guilty. I mean, the Enterprise—”

“Can function without us for several days. It has done so numerous times in the past when neither of us was on board.”

She pursed her lips as she usually did when Data made a valid point. He allowed her to take her time answering, not wishing to rush the process or put pressure on her answer. “I’ll definitely consider it,” she concluded after a time. “It’s not that I wouldn’t love to have several long uninterrupted days with you in a comfy bed somewhere tropical. It’s just…” She trailed off. 

“Is your anxiety a factor?” 

Faith nodded. “I tried taking shore leave when I first joined Starfleet and for some reason, I could never relax enough to enjoy it. The guilt of being off having fun while my colleagues worked just felt wrong. it was always difficult to turn my brain off.”

“I do not believe humans can do such a thing. It is my understanding, that would be fatal.”

Faith chuckled, stroking his cheek. “Not literally. Figuratively,” she explained. “What I mean is, when I’m on vacation, I can’t help but worry about all the stuff I should be doing on the ship. What I could be helping with. It got to the point where shore leave made me more stressed than staying on board. So I stopped taking it.”

“Perhaps with me accompanying you, that can change,” Data suggested. “You do tend to lose track of time when we are in bed together.”

She gave him a sly smile as she drew closer once more. “Are you saying that I’ll be so distracted by your sexual prowess that I’ll forget all about the Enterprise?”

“When you phrase it that way, it does seem as though I was boasting,” Data realized. “I can assure you, that was not my intention.”

Faith chuckled and gave him a small peck on the lips. “I will take shore leave with you, but I’ll need some time in advance to get used to the idea. Is that okay?”

“I only wish for you to be comfortable and happy.”

“If you want me to be happy, kiss me again.”

Data obliged. 

They did not spend much longer in bed as there were still many preparations to complete before the art show. Hours later, after Faith assisted Data with carefully packing his paintings and transporting them to Ten Forward, she stepped away to get herself ready for the show. Data did not know what she meant but was unconcerned. He set about putting the paintings on display himself, readjusting them to account for the flow of the room or certain lighting. Data had just put the finishing touches on his work when Guinan approached him. 

“These look wonderful, Data,” she said with a proud smile. “Everyone is going to love them.”

“Thank you, Guinan. And may I say, you and Faith did a wonderful job with the decorations.”

Ten Forward had been transformed into an elegant art gallery. Faith had insisted on having what she called “finger foods” and various kinds of synthehol, all for the guests to graze at their leisure. 

Guinan looked around. “This was mostly Faith. She was adamant about making sure your art show was ‘perfect’. Her word, not mine. Said she even researched what other art shows look like. She really cares about you, Data.”

“That is good to know. She is special to me as well.”

“It’s more than that,” Guinan said, linking her arm with his. “Her feelings for you run deep. And while I know you are just developing feelings yourself, I want you to know how serious she regards her relationship with you.”

The tone of her voice led Data to believe her intentions were serious. He had known Guinan for some time and she would not make such a statement for no reason. 

“I appreciate your concern,” Data said. “But you need not worry. I am serious about our relationship as well. In fact, Faith and I have been sharing quarters for some weeks now.”

Guinan actually looked surprised. “Really?”

Data nodded. “We did not want to tell many people as Faith values her privacy. I am learning to appreciate it as well. I am also eager to continue this relationship with Faith. She is…” He could not find a word sufficient enough to describe exactly what Faith was to him. 

Thankfully, Guinan did not need him to finish his thought. She patted his hand, her smile widening. “I understand, Data. You better get ready. Your guests are going to be here shortly.”

There was not much left to do so Data took the time to do one more walk around the room, making sure his paintings were in the exact position to give them the best appearance. Eventually, Guinan opened the doors to Ten Forward, and Data’s friends and colleagues began to arrive. 

To his surprise, a large number of people began to file in. He imagined if he was capable of feeling nerves, he would certainly be feeling so. Having others experience his creative endeavors tended to heighten his senses to a degree. He found himself focusing on their expressions and stances, trying to decipher what they thought of his work. 

Geordi was among the first group of people to arrive. Data watched him walk through the show, admiring each of the paintings for a significant amount of time before approaching Data to congratulate him. 

“Data, this is spectacular,” he said, giving his friend a smile. “I’m really proud of you, buddy.”

“Thank you, Geordi. I hope you do not mind that I included a painting of you in the show.”

“Not at all. I’m honored and touched. I think these are some of your finest work.” Geordi looked around. “Where’s Faith?”

“I do not know,” Data admitted. “She helped me bring the paintings down and then said she had to go get…” He spotted her the moment she walked in and almost lost his train of thought. “...ready.”

Faith looked stunning. She was not dressed in her Starfleet uniform or formalwear. She had opted for a dark blue sleeveless dress that hugged her curved frame. While the front did not dip as low as the dress Fajo forced her to wear, it still accentuated her breasts. When she turned to greet Counselor Troi, Data noticed the back of the dress dipped provocatively, stopping just above her lower back. The skirt of it folded around her long legs when she walked, occasionally showing off a smooth leg through a slit in the side. Her hair was pinned up in a simple style which highlighted her natural waves. 

She was a vision of pure beauty.

Geordi followed Data’s gaze and smirked. “I’ll leave you to it,” he told his friend, before disappearing into the crowd. 

Data did not notice him leave. 

Faith caught Data staring and gave him a shy smile as she crossed the room to him. “Sorry I took so long,” she said, fidgeting with the dress. “I wanted to try something new and had to work up the nerve to actually leave our quarters.”

“Faith…” Data was speechless which was a strange feeling for him. “You look beautiful. I am honored you dressed so…” His eyes scanned her frame once more. “...exquisitely for my art show.”

“Well, it was more for you than the show.” She slipped her arm around his and smiled. “Shall we mingle then? Everyone seems so excited.”

Data had to admit, he found it difficult to focus on anything else with Faith on his arm. He found his gaze constantly drawn to the stray curl around her ear or the way the dress draped over her backside. Thankfully, she was more focused than he was and was able to draw his attention to those who were speaking to them. The compliments on his paintings came one after another. Person after person approached them to congratulate him on his work. His friends were each thrilled to be included. 

At one point during the evening, when Faith was engaged in conversation with Beverly, Data slipped away from her to approach Captain Picard. He had seen the captain enter Ten Forward some time ago but had been reluctant to engage with him until he had time to study the paintings. 

“Hello, Captain,” Data said, coming to stand by his commanding officer. “Thank you for taking the time to come to my show.”

“Data, I have to admit, I didn’t know what to expect when you told me you were putting together an art show,” Picard said. “This is wonderful. Seeing all of us depicted by your own hand is very moving.” They walked down the line together and Picard smiled at the image of him. “I will say, you could have at least made me look a tiny bit younger.”

Data recognized the light tone of Picard’s voice as a teasing one. “I shall keep that in mind for the future.”

At the painting of Tasha, Picard paused. Data recognized the sadness in his eyes. He often wondered how the Captain handled so many losses under his command. In the past, Data himself lacked the emotion to really dwell on such matters. But when Tasha died, that had changed. And now that he was with Faith, he could not imagine losing her in the same manner. It was a scenario he did not entertain. 

When they reached Faith’s paintings, Picard’s demeanor changed to a lighter one. He gave Data a look out of the corner of his eye, his eyebrow cocked in amusement. “You and Ms. Diaz certainly have come a long way in such a short time.”

“Sir, do you think our relationship has progressed too quickly?” Data asked. “I had my concerns about such a thing but was assured we should move at our own pace.”

“Mr. Data,” Picard said, giving the android his full attention. “I may not know a lot on the subject but I do know this: love is love. It is going to happen whether we wait or jump right in. I envy you, Mr. Data. What you and Ms. Diaz have is special.”

“You are not the first person to tell me such a thing.”

“That’s because it’s true. We can all see it. And we’re all happy for you.” He gave Data’s shoulder a brief squeeze before pulling away. “Now, tell me about this one here…”

By the time the last of the guests left Ten Forward, Data was ready to retire to his quarters. He imagined he was as close to tired as an android could be. Talking to so many people in such a short time was a lot. But there was another reason he was eager to leave. The entire evening he had been watching Faith and planning how to show her his appreciation for everything she had done for him. Guinan offered to clean up and all but shooed Faith and Data from the room. 

“That was wonderful!” Faith gushed as they stepped onto the turbo-lift. “Everyone loved your work. It was a magical evening. Some people even want to know when the next one will be. I don’t think I have the energy to even think about that let alone—”

Data silenced her with a deep kiss. Faith let out a noise of surprise, almost stumbling from the force of it until Data’s strong arm looped around her waist to catch her. He was overcome by a strange sensation pulsing through his body. When her mouth opened in surprise, he immediately slid his tongue past her lips. He could not understand it or contain it, causing him to kiss her with almost bruising force. Thankfully, he caught himself before he could accidentally hurt her. 

When he drew back, she was panting, her brown eyes wide. “Where did that come from?” she asked, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. 

Data’s eyes followed the movement. “I do not know. But I have been wanting to do that since the moment you stepped into Ten Forward.”

Faith smirked, slipping her arms around his neck. “Oh really? What else have you been wanting to do?”

The doors to the turbo-lift open and without warning, Data scooped her into his arms, making her squeal in surprise. "Data!" 

He wanted to experience her sexually. Their intimate moments had become a comfortable and enjoyable part of their relationship which he looked forward to. It was not only because of the feelings that emerged during their time together but because of the closeness it provided. 

Faith had shared a similar sentiment with him so he knew the feeling was mutual.

Feeling. It was strange for Data to use the term so frequently. Desire and happiness were the emotions he associated most with Faith. When they were engaged in intercourse, most of his background processes were shut down or filed away for later. 

As he carried her down the hallway towards their quarters, his hand found a slit in her dress, coming to rest on her thigh. He touched the warmth and smoothness, wondering if it would feel different if his hands had human nerves. 

Would his skin goose pimple like hers did? If he had a heart, would it race? He noticed her pupils dilated when she was aroused so he had adjusted his sexuality program to do the same when they were intimate. Faith had not mentioned it but he noticed she seemed to smile wider when it happened. Even then he saw it happen right before his very eyes. 

“Faith,” he said as they approached their door. “May I make love to you again?”

“I want you to do more than that, Data,” Faith told him, her voice dropping into the low register she only used when they were intimate. “I can tell you’re feeling something and I want you to give into it. Don’t think. Don’t analyze. Just feel.”

The doors opened and Data carried Faith over the threshold. “I could not stop this feeling even if I tried.”

[painted-crow]

I haven't been on tumblr in a hot century so it feels a little weird to be writing a submission to you... but I just bingeread most of this blog and your way of explaining the shc system is so gloriously comprehensible that I really want to pour my brain out at your feet and have you explain the bits to me.

I hope life is treating you well and thank you for the awesome blog you run. The way you describe things and the way you help people sort themselves is clear and clever and so very kind of you to do, and that's what I appreciates about you. :)

(This was a chunk of a submission from someone who ended up sending in a second version that I answered in depth, but the fan mail portion from this first version was so sweet that it seems mean to just delete it. So here it is, as a #cutie post. 😊)

[sharpnothashtag]

The Good Ship CrushWay, Chapter 47

Bridge: KJ, Data, Daneel, Tasha, Tom, Patrick

KJ: Conn, current speed? Tom: Warp 3. KJ: Helm, current heading? Ro: 315 mark 47. KJ: When will we be there, Number One? Data: At current speed, 2 weeks, 4 days, 7 hours. KJ: Daneel, any word from Dukat? We'll be entering Cardassian space soon. Data: In 4 days at our present speed. KJ: Thank you. Daneel: (looking down, multitasking) Dukat's last message was a strange one--we'll be picking up a couple of people who need to be ferried to DS9. His neck was very tense, and he was more articulate than usual. Patrick: Was he annoyed, perhaps? Daneel: (clearly working on something else and not concerned about this) Unclear. KJ: (blinking...realizing she is going to have to get used to someone who doesn't read emotions that well) Are there any ships we need to be aware of in sensor range? Daneel: No. (KJ turns away) However (KJ turns back, fake smiling to put her best foot forward with new Lieutenant) there is a Gamma Class Nebula right (bringing it up on the viewscreen) here if you would like to study it. KJ: Would you like to study it, Lieutenant? Daneel: I have been. (buttons) There are some dilithium crystals that could be used as bargaining chips with the Borg, provided they are in a dire enough state to need them. I have also found trace elements of Galantium. KJ: Data, isn't Galantium the normal antidote given for Lyantirum poisoning? Data: Galantium Byzantride, yes, however it is only used for extreme cases. KJ: You saw the elevated Lyantirum levels from the weapon they were using. Are those levels severe enough to cause poisoning? Data: Yes, but all the drones rescued thus far have not needed the treatment. Hypothetically, with their method and frequency of travel, it would have taken a full year for the effects of Lyantirum poisoning to take effect. However, at the rate the drones were dying due to the phase variant disease, many of them did not succumb to the effects. KJ: Tom, take us by the nebula. Collect all the Galantium we can store. I have a feeling that the Borg we are about to encounter need help, and lots of it. Janeway to Seven of Nine. Seven: Yes, Captain? KJ: Coordinate with Dr. Crusher on the information I'm sending to both of you now. We need to know how the Borg reconstruction surgery could be altered due to the effects of Lyantirum poisoning. Communicate with headquarters that we have found a large cache of Galantium and are collecting it in hopes of using it for treatment. Janeway out. (turning to Ro) Ensign Ro, you and Commander Data figure out the most efficient way to dispense the treatment to as many drones at a time as possible. Lieutenant, you're in charge of harvesting the Galantium. Get down to Engineering, and make sure everyone is on the same page. Daneel: For clarity's sake, what page is that? KJ: (typing into the padd on the arm of her chair, over this before it even starts) The page where we save the Borg's asses. Again.

(throw to commercial)

B'Elanna: Emptying the Bussard collectors is going to take time, Lieutenant. Miles: We'll be here another 6 hours just making sure that they're ready--apparently no one at Utopia Planitia thought they were important enough to test before we left. Daneel: Understood. The Captain sent me to help in any way I can. (B'Elanna nods and takes them off to help clean and test the collectors. Miles is left in Engineering to deal with the programming side of things.)

B'Elanna: Can you hand me that plasma spanner? (Daneel hands it to her. B'Elanna clearly feels awkward.) So...Miles tells me that you and Data hung out last week. Daneel: (blushing deeply) Yes, we did. B'Elanna: May I ask you in what context? Daneel: We went on a date. B'Elanna: (beaming) I like the two of you together. You are both very sweet--almost innocent. Daneel: Innocent? B'Elanna: You're both consenting adults, so it isn't a "young love" situation, but it does feel like you two are generally inexperienced. Daneel: I don't come across as cold and jaded? B'Elanna: I don't think so. But I'm not really one to judge. Daneel: You aren't? You seem neurotypical. B'Elanna: That's true. But that doesn't mean that I trust the way I interpret people's characters. If I were fully Klingon, I think I would be a better judge. But (shrugs) I'm half human. Daneel: I kind of thought that I came across that way. B'Elanna: Why is that? Obviously something in your past has scarred you, but I do wonder why you think of yourself in that way. Daneel: Have you ever found someone who understood you in a way you didn't understand yourself? B'Elanna: Yes. Daneel: Besides Tom. B'Elanna: Strangely enough, yes, besides Tom. Daneel: Wesley Crusher is that person for me. (B'Elanna cocks her eyebrow.) We met while we were in the Academy. One day at lunch, I was studying for my robotics class with the textbook that Data wrote. B'Elanna: (sarcastically) A real page turner. Daneel: (enthusiastically) I know, right?! Anyway, the seat next to me in the cafeteria was open, and Wesley just interrupted my study session.

Flashback (Those of you who know me know I am not a huge fan of Wesley Crusher. That isn't Wil Wheaton's fault. I'm about to try to do him justice. Please bear with me, nonexistent readers and Wil Wheaton.) Wesley walks past Daneel without looking at them. It is as if he isn't allowed to go past--like a video game character hitting an invisible wall.

Wesley: I know this is a really weird thing to say, but I feel like I'm supposed to sit here. Glasses: (Daneel doesn't look up from their book) Go ahead. Wesley: (blinking in surprise, sits down. Notices the book.) Oh, Data's book! I really miss him. Glasses: (deeply surprised, about to fan-person) You know him?! Wesley: Yeah, he's on the Enterprise where my mom was assigned. Daneel: Cool! What's your name? Wesley: I'm Wesley Crusher. He/him/his. Daneel: Wesley? (Wesley nods. Daneel sticks out his hand.) Daneel Akares. They/them/theirs. I have a potentially strange series of questions to ask you. Wesley: (smiling, sitting back in the chair with finger guns) Shoot! Daneel: (hearing the screams of their friends as they exploded; immediately panicked, ducking under the table) Who's shooting?! Wesley: (surprised, talking to them slowly and calmly as he sits on the ground with them) I'm so sorry--I thought you knew that slang term. I just meant to go ahead and ask me the questions you want to ask. No one has weapons here. You're safe. Glasses: I'm sorry. (Daneel is hugging their legs to their chest) I'm still processing a lot of stuff from the Occupation. Wesley: That's okay. (He scoots around under the table to sit side by side with Daneel) What did you want to ask me? Glasses: (looking around) Do you know someone called "The Traveller"? Wesley: (shocked) Yes. He and I know each other well. Daneel: He saved my life. I think he was looking for you, though. Wesley: What makes you say that? Daneel: He called me by your name. He said he was "here to help find her." Wesley: I know when that was. I'll never forget it. Stardate 44161.2. The day my mom disappeared. Daneel: Did the Traveller find her? Wesley: Yes. It was one of the scariest times of my entire life. Daneel: I had a bomb inside my chest. He defused it. Wesley: I'm so sorry. (Daneel puts their head on Wesley's shoulder, still shaking a little.) Do you want to come to my quarters and get to know each other? Daneel: I would like that. However, you should know first that I am not romantically or sexually attracted to you. Wesley: (laughing) Nor I you. Come on, let's go. (Wesley gets up, dusts himself off, and offers Daneel his hand to help them off the floor. Daneel accepts.)

Conference room: KJ, Data, Ro, Miles, Bev, Tasha, and Tom

KJ: Data, report. Data: We have devised a solution. As soon as the threat of assimilation is neutralized, we will beam as many drones as possible into our six cargo bays. Galantium Byzantride will filter in through the environmental controls. Once the treatment is complete, Seven of Nine will take a sample drone, input the command to regenerate, and then we will head back to Utopia Planitia. KJ: How long will it take for the treatment to take full effect? Ro: Only an hour. It's a wonder no one has tried this method before. KJ: Tasha, I want security teams on those cargo bays nonstop until we get back. (Tasha nods.) Doctor, will there be any side effects that would affect the reconstruction surgery? Bev: There is a 30% chance of death with our current surgical routine. Data, Seven, The Doctor, and I will have to perform several holographic simulations in order for this to succeed. KJ: Understood. Lieutenant Daneel, are the Bussard collectors prepared? Daneel: Ready, Captain. Miles: Once the Galantium is collected, Dr. Crusher and I will need to coordinate on how to make the vaccine airborne. Bev: I have a plan in place for that--I'm in the final testing stages. KJ: Good work. Daneel, start the collection process. Ro, when we start the collection, drop the shields and immediately start recharging them. Tom, as soon as we're done, I want to be out of here. Ro and Tom: Aye.

Bev and Miles in Engineering

Bev: (typing in several codes) So, I heard the lovely pieces you, Data, Jean-Luc, and Patrick played at Worf and Deanna's wedding. Would you like to play for mine and Kate's? Miles: Sure. I'd love to. As far as the rest of the quartet goes, you'll have to ask them. Bev: Oh, I already have. I talked to Keiko before we left. She specifically told me to mention it while you were doing something else. Miles: (laughing) That's my wife, alright. She knows I do better when my brain is otherwise occupied. Bev: (laughs. Quiet settles in) So, this couple that we're picking up. Do you know them? Miles: Do I ever. Bev: ...do I get an explanation for that? Miles: (pressing a few buttons in a final flourish) Not at the moment. It's time to collect the Galantium! Bev: You can't just leave me hanging in suspense like that. Miles: I'll tell you this much: there is no more confusing couple in all of Starfleet, and of the same token, they are the most loving couple I've ever known. Bev: (smiling) I suppose I can handle that. Miles: (touching his combadge) O'Brien to Janeway. We're ready to start collecting. KJ: Acknowledged.

(Exterior shot of the ship. The Bussard collectors power up briefly, and then from the nebula, a Borg sphere emerges.)

KJ: (understandably pretty freaked out) Ro where the hell was that thing?! Ro: I'm picking up traces of...synthetic Lyantirum? Data: The cloaking device. Ro: We're being hailed, Captain. KJ: Take the damn thing. Borg: We are the Borg. Your technological-- KJ: I killed your Queen, you directionless drones. You report to me. Borg: Insufficient. Your simple human mind cannot possibly organize the thoughts of millions of drones. KJ: You look at me, Borg ship. I am the only person to ever negotiate with you. I am the one that has gotten away time and time again. You keep chasing me around the galaxy. Years ago when I was ripped away from my crew, it seemed that I was almost immediately forced to deal with you AGAIN. You're almost as stubborn as I am. But notice that I said almost. My efforts to help you have finally worked. Borg: We have noticed the voices disappearing from the collective. KJ: Yes, and that's because of me. And a few hundred other very important people. Patrick: (looking for permission) Captain? (KJ nods) My designation was once Locutus. Does the collective remember me? Borg: The collective recognizes Locutus of Borg. Patrick: Does the collective remember the plans of the Queen before stardate 16147.3? Borg: To research synthetic Lyantirum as a source for a superior cloaking device. Patrick: And did the collective achieve this goal? Borg: Affirmative. Patrick: How?

One drone's voice comes above all the others.

Drone: Because they assimilated us.

Three drones walk to the front of the viewing area.

Data: Sissun? Chuti? Keriss? KJ: The members of the Lyantirum think tank on Mars. Drones 1, 2, and 3: We were assimilated, and then the collective destroyed Jouret IV. KJ: I thought you weren't on Jouret IV when it was attacked. Drones 1, 2, and 3: We were not supposed to be. However, our transport ship was delayed by a plasma storm. We were assimilated. The colony was destroyed. We helped form the Lyantirum transport device and the synthetic Lyantirum cloaking device. KJ: Those devices are dangerous to you and to the space you use them in. Borg: Enough. This discussion is irrelevant. Assimilation is imminent. Resistance is futile.

The communication is cut off.

KJ: Ro, raise shields. Tom, prepare evasive maneuvers. Data: (on communicator) All hands, battle stations. KJ: The Borg have engaged us.

[a-stitch-in-time-and-space]

Headcanon: Julian Bashir is autistic and has frequent sensory overload, and the only two people who can help him are Garek and O’ Brien. Me? Projecting? It’s more likely than you think!!!

Ha, moooood. Which on that note I have a somewhat intense fic here in which Julian has a meltdown. It’s not related to sensory issues so much as “oh boy a lot of shit’s happened to him” but if you want more O'Brien helping him out after this – so because we gave that fic to O'Brien, let’s give this one to Garak.

Also can we talk about the fact that it’s canon that Julian and the other augments can hear sounds at decibels that non-augments can’t and that it causes them pain, but Julian just taught himself to not react, like fuck, how did someone write this and not follow through on Julian-Bashir-is-autistic-and-or-otherwise-nd!

sorry for taking so long, a. this got a bit longish so it’s under a cut and b. I got distracted by the fact that I always want to see everyone’s notes on reblogs in case of interesting discussion points and i have just now learnt that that cannot be done easily if a lot of people reblog at once… oh hyper-fixation how you get me time and again

this takes place post-Doctor Bashir I Presume and alludes to the fact that during this time Garak and Bashir’s interactions were gradually stripped away in the show (because it too gay) - Andy Robinson ran with that in A Stitch In Time and had Garak write about how much he regretted the two of them not remaining close/hinted that he was in love with him… so take that background as you will.

—— More Space ——-

Thank goodness, he thought after an indeterminate amount of time. O'Brien was here. He would be able to calm him down, he would know how to come up with some soothing description of exactly which of DS9’s pistons or pipes or programs was currently making that noise and he’d either fix it or stay with him until it sorted itself out. Or maybe the noise was gone and the residual whining was just himself recreating it perfectly in his head, or maybe he was just too far gone by now for it to matter, but O'Brien would help. Since the two of them had become friends and some of Julian’s old ticks had returned after his augmentation had come to light, Miles had been a surprisingly steady presence in his life.

“Doctor?”

No, not Miles.

Garak.

He couldn’t make himself respond. His body felt like it was compressing him into a vice, with all his ability to focus somehow splintered into a million shards, each of them painful to the touch. Oh no, what if Garak touched him? If Garak touched him right now he might shatter or scream or something else entirely outside of his control, but talking was also impossible right now, so he couldn’t ask him not to touch, please don’t touch-

Garak sat down in front of him, far enough away that it didn’t feel like too… much.

“Doctor. You don’t need to say or do anything.”

He could manage that.

“I was wondering why you’d missed our lunch date. Very pleased to find you didn’t simply opt not to come without telling me, although I find the alternative to be distressing.”  He stopped talking for a moment then. “Apologies for breaking into your room. Again.”

While Garak simply sat and occasionally spoke Julian was dimly aware of the fact that he could feel his edges hardening again. The shards were being pulled back together.

He also noticed now that he was freezing. It usually happened like that, having sat sedentary for however long or coming down from some emotional extreme. He shivered.

“This station is cold,” said Garak.“The temperature, the lights, the people… all too cold.”

Julian managed a smile and it was like his mouth was freed from a curse. “It is, isn’t it.”

“Not to mention loud,” Garak added.

“All that machinery,” Julian nodded and spoke slowly. His mouth still needed to unstick. “Every time an alarm goes it’s like a sharp pain… I used to be… much better at this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I used to… I used to get these all the time as a child. Meltdowns, shutdowns, I think. But then my parents told me later that it was a side-effect of the augmentations and I tried to… to will myself to stop them, to bypass my natural instincts in order to not be found out and it worked, in a way, or at least nobody found out. I familiarised myself with and categorised any sights, sounds, smells, feelings I came across on earth during my Starfleet training and ordered them into lists and sublists: What I could handle mostly, what I could handle sometimes, what I needed to avoid at all costs. I managed to… to pretend. And then I came to Deep Space Nine and for awhile it was all too much again, I had to make new lists, but I managed, I really… I really did, I really did, I really-” he was talking himself into hyperventilating again, he knew this, but he couldn’t stop now, “- and then I got captured and it was like everything just stopped. I barely- I don’t even remember most of it, but when I got back it was so much worse -”

“Julian,” said Garak and the sound of his first name coming from Garak’s mouth surprised him back to the now. “Julian,” said Garak again. “You’re here. With me. On a floor that is quite cold, I might add.”

Julian breathed out and mumbled under the exhale. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”

“What is that,” asked Garak.

“Counting my fingers. It… helps.”

“Noted,” and the easy way in which Garak seemed to have just accepted that he would be helping Julian again in future was another shock to his system, but then why wouldn’t he? Even if they hadn’t met up as often as they used to. Even if he was untrustworthy at heart and Julian could never figure out why Garak wanted his company at all. He found he missed Garak’s simple and complicated nature. It grounded him, somehow.

He got up off the floor, reaching out for Garak when he stumbled. He held him just tight enough to make sure that he wouldn’t fall. Not overcrowding – Julian suddenly remembered that Garak was claustrophobic. He must know how easily sensory inputs could become too much.

At Garak’s questioningly soft hold on his arm, Julian nodded and he helped him to the sofa. “Would you like some water?”

Julian nodded. As Garak went to fetch it, he began to talk again. Somehow… he just needed to get it out now, like an excision. “After the truth came out my mother told me that they’d been lying. I mean, they’ve been lying about so much, but specifically about this. I’ve always been like this. Or. Some of it. The meltdowns. I thought… those memories weren’t real. But now they are? Some of them. I’m having trouble sorting them.”

Garak handed him the water.

“I developed a theory,” said Julian, forgetting to sip.

“Tell me your theory doctor,” said Garak, his tone of voice tender as he sat down beside him, again, close enough if he needed him, but not too close.

“I was wondering why a heightened inability to process inputs was a side-effect of the vast majority of augments, when I had this inability before my augmentation. I started to suspect that it was less to do with the augmentations and was simply… who we were. The augmentations gone wrong could throw that into extremes, but that may have more to do with medical trauma responses than… anyway, I can’t confirm until I have more data. I did research into my own developmental delays, the medical history – it’s fascinating how we repeat cycles actually, first it was considered a form of possession or changelings, then it began to be classed under a broad form of what would be known as schizophrenia, then divided into narrow and still somewhat inaccurate categories of autism, aspergers, adhd, add, high and low functioning etcera, and then was gradually broadened again under general brain-differences known as neuroatypicals or neurodiverse,” he took a breath and continued: “- I’m not too interested in 21st century history honestly, but I know the government upheavals affected medical classifications and concepts of what was known broadly as “disabilities” at the time, and that it fundamentally shifted again once we formed the federation. But then -” and here he started gesticulating widely in excitement or outrage - “it all becomes the same just repackaged, doesn’t? Stigma against augments who are overwhelmingly people like me is stigma against neurodiversity is stigma against the “possessed,” it’s…” he trailed off. “It’s all the same,” he finished lamely.

He’d become very aware suddenly that he’d done that thing that annoyed most of the people he ever conversed with, running his mouth while forgetting the other person. But Garak didn’t seem annoyed. He was listening intently, in fact. At the pause he even nodded and offered: “The history of such matters is different on Cardassia. Or rather, mental and developmental differences don’t get acknowledged on Cardassia.”

“Eugenics?” said Julian with a frown.

“Not as such. We don’t mind in theory, as long as everyone can perform the tasks they’re assigned to. It’s a… class thing. If you belong to a powerful family and are expected to do great things in the army or politics or the sciences, being unable to do so for any reason is usually – what is the term humans use? - “Swept under the rug.” But then someone like you, dear doctor, if you had been Cardassian it might surprisingly have been easier for you.”

Julian shook his head. “My abilities are due to my augmentations. I’d have been… I don’t know. Not me,” he said softly.

At that, Garak gave him a look that he couldn’t pin down. Something… surprised for a moment, almost? Then smoothed out into an enigmatic smile. “Perhaps. From what you tell me you’ve always processed like you do, you’ve just been given better tools to translate and more…” he searched for the word for a second, before landing on: “space.”

At that Julian burst out into an unexpected laugh. “I certainly have enough space out here. More than enough, I’d say.”

Garak’s smile deepened. “But it doesn’t matter. Either you were always going to be able to pursue medicine and the stigmas of your parents and surrounding society were preventing you from discovering that on your own, or your augmentations made you unlock new abilities. But on Cardassia someone with the kind of passion you possess would have done well, with or without them.”

“If I were born into the right class. And if I didn’t get arrested for being fundamentally against the militaristic state.”

“Naturally,” acceded Garak. “And I must say I’m quite relieved to find the incorruptible, perfect federation comes with its own flaws. One wouldn’t have expected it with the way humans constantly go on about it.”

“Oh, we go on about the federation? According to you Cardassia is superior in culture -”

“- oh, definitely -”

“- politics -”

“- without a doubt, my dear -”

“- criminal justice system?”

“- well, we’ve never brought a wrong case before the court-”

“- I know you’re just saying that to rile me up-”

“- my dear doctor, when have I ever been anything but sincere?”

“- when have you ever said anything you meant?”

“- I am offended, truly-” said Garak with a big grin on his face.

Julian found it the easiest thing in the galaxy to return.

“Remember to drink your water,” he was reminded, gently, before they continued their lunch discussion. It was a moment in which they both forgot that they had ever begun to drift apart in the first place.

—— The End ——-

[aerynwrites]

Liberation - II

Chapter 2: The Bounty

Author’s Note: I hate that this chapter is like the longest one I’ve written and I don’t even know if it’s that good lol. Well what’s done is done I suppose, so I hope you all enjoy it at least! let me know what you think! I think I am going to have to better plan on how to separate and split up the episodes so my chapters aren’t so long...okay enough from me. Enjoy this new chapter, feedback is always appreciated! (Let me know if you would like to be tagged or if I forgot to tag you, i may have missed some people!)

Word Count: 5.4k (I AM SO SORRY!)

Warnings: Cursing, injuries, violence, attempted murder of a child?

Chapters: Prologue, One, Two (here), Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight

///

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

You comment earns you an elbow to the side from the Mandalorian as you both take in the storm troopers around you. Your hand had instinctively gone to your blaster, brief memories flashing through your mind before Mando’s action drew you back to reality. You followed him as you both slowly stepped into the room, brushing past a few troopers.

“Greef Karga told me you were coming.”

An older man, who you assumed to be the client, spoke up from behind a desk.

Mando took a few more steps towards the client before stopping, you at his side, “What else did he say?” he asked.

“He said you are the best in the parsec,” the man states.

Before either you or Mando could say anything, a door to the left of the room hissed open. Mando immediately drew his rifle from his back pointing it at the man who entered from the door. You followed his actions aiming your blaster at a nearby trooper.

“No!” the new man exclaims.

The troopers around you immediately draw their weapons on you, “Freeze, drop your weapons!” one of them shouts.

“You first,” you sneer.

“No, no, no,” the man who entered spoke, “Pardon, uh-sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm,” he stutters.

The client rises from his chair and walks over to the man, hand raised submissively.

“This is Dr. Pershing.” Neither you nor Mando lower your blasters, “Please excuse his lack of decorum. His enthusiasm outweighs his discretion.” The client is in front of you now, “Please lower your blasters.”

“Have them lower their first,” Mando insists.

A storm trooper to your right speaks up, “We have you six to two.”

“I like those odds,” Mando states confidently.

You cast him a sideways glance, concern clear on your features, “You do?” you whisper.

Mando doesn’t say anything to you and you see the client step closer to Mando, your finger twitches on the trigger.

“He also said you were expensive…very expensive.” He takes a step back, “please sit.” He finally motions for the troopers to lower their weapon, and Mando nods for you to do the same.

You cautiously holster your blaster and stand beside Mando as he takes a seat, watching as the client follows suit, sliding a small item across the desk towards you both. You watch curiously as the man unwraps the red cloth slowly, revealing a rectangular piece of metal.

“Beskar?” Mando asks.

“Go ahead. It’s real.” The man assures.

You furrow your eyebrows together, beskar was extremely rare, and very expensive. You feel your stomach drop slightly at what that might mean for you both, and you watch as Mando picks up the piece of metal and rubs his finger over it lightly, as if testing the metal.

“That is only a down payment,” the client reveals, “I have a camtono of Beskar waiting for you upon delivery of the asset.”

The feeling in your stomach intensifies at his words. The storm troopers, this client who was clearly empire, this absurdly expensive payout for this…asset. It was not sitting well with you. You had your fair share of dealing with the empire and you had no intentions of working for them. Not if you could avoid it anyway.

“But it has to be alive” Dr. Pershing spoke up, breaking you from your thoughts.

The client looks from Pershing to the both of you, “Yes. Alive.” He leans forward on the desk, “Although I acknowledge that bounty hunting is a complicated profession. This being the case, proof of termination is also acceptable for a lower fee.”

“That is not what we agreed upon,” Pershing argued.

“I’m simply being pragmatic,” the man explained.

You looked to the doctor, taking note of the emotion that you deemed as worry evident on his face. That seemed odd for a client to be concerned for its bounty.

You finally speak up, ready to get this bounty and leave, “Is there a puck?”

The client looks to you as if just noticing you’re there as well, “I’m afraid discretion dictates a less traditional agreement. We can only offer you a tracking fob.” The man motions to the doctor who hands Mando said tracking fob.

“What’s the chain code,” Mando takes the fob.

“We can only offer the last four digits.”

Mando pauses looking up at the client, “Their age. That’s all you can give us?” Disbelief laces his voice.

“Yes. They are fifty years old.” The client informs, “We can also give you last reported positional data. Between that and the fob, a man of your skill should make short work of this.”

“I’m here too ya know,” you mutter under your breath.

If Mando hears your comment, he doesn’t acknowledge it. He just stands from his seat and starts towards the door, and you follow without hesitation.

“The beskar belongs back in the hands of a Mandalorian,” the man’s voice speaks once more stopping you both in your tracks, “it is good to restore the natural order of things, after a period of such disarray. Don’t you agree?”

Neither you nor Mando respond as you continue on your path out of the building. As soon as you reach fresh air you take in a deep shuddering breath, something the Mandalorian doesn’t miss.

“You have a problem?” he asks.

you snap your head in his direction, “Do you not have a problem?” you ask incredulously, “That whole deal was shady, and if you failed to notice those were actual storm troopers, alive and well and ready to blow our brains out!” you run a hand through you hair before placing both hands over your face, “I can’t do this. I can’t do this.” You state, pulling your hands from you face you look to Mando, a panicked expression donning your features.

“Thank you for all your help,” you say breathlessly to the masked hunter, “But you are going to have to do this on your own, this-“ you pause, pushing past a lump in your throat, “This is more than I bargained for. I’m sorry.”

You go to walk past the Mandalorian and try to find transport off planet, but a hand firmly grips your arm stopping you from going any further.

“You want to be a bounty hunter, right?” Mando’s modulated voice fills your ears.

You turn to look at him and nod curtly, jaw set.

He releases your arm, “Well this is what it takes. I hate the empire as much as you do, but this is the job. You get the information, you find the asset, you get paid and you don’t ask questions.”

You feel your breathing start to calm slightly as he speaks. He was right. You just have to do what you’re paid to do and move on. No emotion involved. He did say the asset was fifty years old, and if they were willing to pay that much for this one person, then they must have done something pretty bad right? At least that’s what you told your self as you followed Mando down the streets of Nevarro.

“Where are we going?” you ask, “The ship is that way”

Mando stops outside of another building at the end of a small market and turns to you, “I have something to take care of before we leave. Stay here.” He instructs.

You throw your hands up in the air, “What do you mean stay here? Why can’t I just come with you?” you ask, frustrated why he kept being so secretive about everything.

Mando tosses you a small bag of credits, “Just go…entertain yourself. I won’t be long.” And with that he disappears behind a curtain and into the building.

You let out a huff before looking down to the bag of credits in your hands then to the battered and broken pieces of metal you called armor. You shrugged before turning back into the market to entertain yourself.

* * *

You are leaning against the wall of the building when Mando emerges, and you immediately take note of his new pauldron. You give him a small smile and push off the wall as he notices you.

“Looking snazzy with that new piece of beskar,” you comment, tapping the metal lightly, “Wish I could have me one of those.”

At this comment he looks over you quickly, “You have some new equipment yourself. Nice cloak,” he says a teasing hint in his voice.

You shrug and adjust the cloak around your neck sheepishly,  “Yeah well my old stuff was a sore sight, and you looked bad ass in your cloak so I figured…” you trailed off, before gesturing to your unarmored right arm, desperate to change the subject, “wasn’t able to complete the set though,” you roll your eyes, “this vendor was a total scam, and I wanted to save some of these just in case.” You toss the left-over credits back to Mando who catches them swiftly.

“You’ll get the last piece eventually,” his voice is dismissive, “Come on.”

You both once again fall into, what seems to be, a regular silence as you both walk back to the ship and get settled on for the trip. You watch as he inputs directions to the planet and you quickly take a seat as he puts the ship in hyper drive and on the path to the asset. Neither of you speak for a while, busying yourselves with other tasks. Him flying the ship and you cleaning and doing various maintenance on your blasters.

“You know your way around guns pretty well for being new to this,” He speaks up finally.

You startle slightly at his voice before you shrug his comment off and click another piece of the gun into place, “I just know my way around mechanics is all,” you offer lamely, not really wanting to talk about.

But he doesn’t drop the subject, “most mechanics can’t tell a blaster from wrench if you set it in front of them,” his voice is full of suspicion.

You flounder at his observation and set your blaster on your lap letting out an exasperated huff, “I just know my way around them okay, I used to deal with them a lot before this and also mechanical stuff,” you explain vaguely, you really didn’t want to talk about your past, “just drop it okay?”

You assumed the finality in your tone is what made the Mandalorian nod and drop the subject, but in reality, it was the desperate plea hidden behind your words that made Mando drop it. He knew what it was like to want to forget, he knew better than anyone he supposed. So, he didn’t say anything else as you both returned to your tasks at hand. You finally holstered your blasters just as the ship dropped from hyperspace, and you approached a red and brown colored planet.

Yay, desert, you thought scornfully.

You stood from your seat as Mando begins to land the ship and grip the back of his chair as you take in the bland surroundings, “Why does it feel like all these bounty’s hide in the most hot, boring, dry places?” you comment, “Why can’t the ever hide on a forest planet, or a planet with super cool cities?”

The man in front of you doesn’t comment but you could have sworn you heard him chuckle under his helmet. But before you could think too much about the unusual reaction he is standing from his seat and grabbing his rifle. You both walk down the ramp and exit the ship, and you watch as he holds the small tracking fob out in front of him. The device is beeping low and steady as he moves It from side to side. He pockets the fob and you watch from a few paces behind him as brings his rifle up to his shoulder and looks through it, surveying the land. You landed on a small plateau, which gave you both a good view of the land in front of you, but it did create a small blind spot. Just as Mando moved his rifle sight back to the left to look once more you see a large grey beast stumble up over the blind hill.

“Watch out!” you call as you draw your blasters.

But your warning was too late, you watched as Mando dropped the rifle and went to blast the beast with his flames, but the large animal grabbed his arm in his mouth and tossed him about.

You quickly sprang into action and fired a warning shot above the animal’s head. The animal released Mando and you cheered silently but were cut short when the animal turned its attention to you. You raised your blaster to fire at the animal, but it was on you before you could aim properly. It gripped your arm in it’s jaws just as it did Mando’s. You cried out in surprise and pain as the animal held you in its grip. You used your free hand to punch the animal in the side of the face wildly as it continued to toss you around.

“A little help would be nice!” you called out.

You managed to catch a glimpse of Mando finally gaining his feet and grabbing his rifle, he lifted it to aim, but an electrical sound filled your ears instead and the beast holding you fell to the ground, your arm still in it’s mouth. You looked to the side as you saw Mando quickly come to your side as you struggled to get away from the creature.

He crouched over you attempting to help but a low growl drew your attention to another approaching beast.

“Mando, behind you!”

He turns swiftly and reaches for the blaster at his side, but the second beast falls still as a blast of electricity hits it and it slides across the ground coming to a stop at your feet. You look from Mando to the two fallen beasts, and then finally to the small Ugnaught riding up on a third beast. You sit up as he approaches and finally mange to release your arm from the fallen animal’s mouth as Mando approaches the stranger.

“Thank you,” he speaks, and he looks back to you, noticing you cradle your arm carefully.

You wince as you stand up, “Yeah thanks for that,” you moved to stand next to Mando, still cradling your right arm. Of course, the beast managed to get a hold of the one arm that was missing armor.

“You are bounty hunters.” The Ugnaught observes.

The Mandalorian nods breathing still labored, “Yes.”

“I will help you both.”

You look to Mando, a surprised look on your face as he turns to face you as well, before turning back to the man.

“I have spoken,” hes says finally.

* * *

Several hours later you and Mando are sat in your savior’s house after just hearing that you weren’t the only ones with the task of finding this asset. The Ugnaught offered to show you both to the encampment in exchange for keeping the two, what he calls blurrg, that you helped him capture. You shook your head as you remembered the conversation, turning your attention back to your wounded arm. While it should have been a simple task, trying to tend to your wound properly was proving difficult with your non dominant hand. You huffed in frustration as you dropped the roll of bandages once more.

“motherfu- “

“you can put a blaster together blindfolded but you can’t wrap a simple wound?” a familiar voice chides.

You roll your eyes and pick up the bandages not turning to face the Mandalorian behind you, “I can take care of myself just fine thank you, they just…slipped is all.”

Even you cringed at your lame excuse but attempted to finally cover the bloody marks on your arm once more. You had lasted this long without anyones help, and you certainly didn’t need his. At least that’s what you told yourself. The truth was that you we’re scared of asking for help, it felt foreign to rely on others when you had no one but yourself for most of your life. So, you remained stubborn, and made another feeble attempt to successfully wrap the bandages around your arm, but they fell from your hand once again. You bent to pick them up, frustration rising in you, but Mando had beat you to it. You opened your mouth to protest but Mando just grabbed your right hand firmly and pulled you, so you were facing him. Neither of you said anything as he swiftly wrapped the bandages around your arm and secured the end of it neatly, before tucking the leftovers back in your bag and standing to leave.

“Thank you,” you called after him gently.

He paused at the door to the room the Ugnaught lent to you, “Get some sleep, tomorrow we head for the encampment.”

Then he was gone.

The some what tender moment you shared leaving with him. you pursed your lips as you walked over to the small bed. The Mandalorian’s actions continued to baffle you. One moment he was insulting and snide, the next he was some what caring and kind. It was like having constant whiplash around him. You sighed as you laid down and pulled the covers over you deciding to take his advice and try to get some sleep, not looking forward to learning to ride the Blurrg in the morning. But as you rolled to your side and closed your eyes, sleep seemed to find you faster than you expected, and you drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

You watched as Mando was once again thrown to the ground by the Blurrg, landing with a loud grunt.

“Perhaps if you removed your helmet,” the Ugnaught suggested.

“Perhaps he remembers Mando tried to roast him,” you reminded, unable to stifle the giggle that slipped out from watching the great warrior be bested by an animal.

“This is a female. All the males are eaten during mating.” The Ugnaught corrects.

You scrunch your nose up at the information, “Ew.”

You watch as Mando jumps and straddles the beast and your eyes widen as he stays on for a moment, but he is thrown off once more with a frustrated grunt. You sigh, as he stands and approaches you and the Ugnaught.

“We don’t have time for this,” he said impatiently, “do you have a land speeder or speeder bikes we could hire?”

Before the Ugnaught could respond you step into the pen with Mando and the Blurrg, “Will you quit your complaining,” you groan out as you move over to the large beast.

“You think you can do better?” Mando challenges.

You shrug your shoulders, “Couldn’t do any worse than you,” you toss over your shoulder.

You hear him let out an exasperated sigh before he exits the pen and joins the Blurrg trainer, “Go ahead then.”

You give them both a slight nod before turning back to the blurrg, who was standing restlessly in front of you. She takes a menacing step forward, but you put your hand up in a submissive manner, showing the creature you mean no harm. However, it doesn’t seem to understand and gets more restless.

“Easy, girl, easy,” you sooth, as you take a small step forward, “It’s okay.”

The creature calms slightly at your low town and you take this chance to attempt to rest a hand on its snout, but the animal lets out a growl. You take a small step back.

“Calm down, it’s okay,” you mutter, “Settle.”

The animal responds calmly once more, and this time produces little fuss when you gently rest your hand on her snout. You let out an airy laugh before petting her slowly and gently swinging yourself up onto her back. The creature protests slightly to your presence but you calm her quickly and before you know it you are trotting around the pen. You let out a loud laugh and look over to the two men standing outside the pen. The Ugnaught had a surprised yet proud look on his face, and you weren’t able to tell what mando was thinking but he was following your form as you moved around the pen, hands on his hips, seemingly impressed.

You raised one hand in the air, “Look, I did it!” you called triumphantly, “I did it!”

Mando watched as you pulled the blurrg to a stop in front of them and slid off the beast, before turning to face them, an excited glint in your eye.

“I can’t believe that worked!” you admitted, as you looked to the Mandalorian giving him a playful nudge, “I can’t believe I beat the oh so famous Mandalorian at something either,” you jested.

He rolled his eyes under his helmet and brushed you off, “Well don’t get used to it,” he bites, “I’m a bounty hunter not an animal trainer.”

Your smile falls at his words, the playful glint no longer present and He feels a small pang of guilt at your shift in demeanor. He didn’t mean to sound so harsh; he’s just not used to this…companionship thing. You shrug your shoulders and speak before he can apologize

“I know,” your voice is low, any hint of teasing gone, “but she’s tamed right?” your attention was now on the Ugnaught, “so we can go?”

The Ugnaught looks between you and the Mandalorian, not oblivious to the scene that just unfolded and nods his head, “You are ready.”

You give him a small smile and move to go gather your things, leaving Mando alone with the shorter man.

“She looks up to you,” the man says, catching the Mandalorian off guard.

“What?”

“I have spoken,” is all he offers in explanation, before walking off to prepare the Blurrgs.

The Mandalorian stares after the small man before looking in the direction you headed off in, the ugnaughts words ringing in his head.

* * *

You and Mando crawl carefully to the edge of the cliff overlooking the encampment, having parted ways with the Ugnaught, who expressed his desire to rid his valley of the people in said encampment. Mando pulled out a small device and used it to get a closer look at the base. He took a few moments to asses the layout before holding it out to you. you took it from him with a questioning look.

“Tell me what you see.”

“Why? you already looked.” you were confused by the point of this.

you could almost feel the impatience rolling off of him, “You wanted to learn right? This is part of it. You have to asses your surrounding before you head in or your chance of success diminishes severely. so take the monocular and tell me what you see.”

“Jeez, okay,” you snatch the small monocular from his hand, “Didn’t have to me so snarky about it.” you muttered.

You look through the eye piece and take note of several armed guards, towards the front of the base and then some closer to a set of rusted bay doors.

“I see several armed guards,” you start and then pan back to the front of the base spotting a heavily armed droid approaching the base, “huh, and a…droid?” you note, hackles raising.

“A what?” Mando’s surprised voice fills your ears as he rips the eye piece from your grasp.

“Hey-!”

Mando quickly locates the droid through the eye piece, “It’s a bounty droid.”

You don’t respond as you both hear the distant voice of the droid before he starts shooting and kills several guards.

You and Mando both let out sighs and move to stand, “Droids,” you say in unison.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, “Not a fan of droids either?” you quip.

He shakes his head and motions you to follow as you descend the hill to the base, “Not particularly.”

You and Mando quickly reach the bottom of the steep cliff and approach the base as the droid repeats its earlier speech.

“Subparagraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild protocol waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset.” The droids voice echoes through the streets of the base as you and Mando round the corner.

“IG unit! Stand down!” Mando commands, raising his blaster.

Before you or the Mandalorian could react, the Droid had turned and fired his blaster at Mando, knocking him off his feet.

“Holy shit!” you crouch down to help him as he crashed into a set of empty barrels, “Are you okay?” you ask.

Mando just groans as he sits up and pulls the tracking fob from his pocket holding it up towards the droid, “We’re with the Guild!”

The droid lowers his weapon, “You are Guild members? I thought I was the only one on assignment.”

You grasped Mando’s hand as you helped him to his feet, “That makes three of us,” you say over your shoulder as you and Mando take cover behind a nearby pillar.

“So much for the element of surprise,” Mando snaps to the droid.

“Sadly, I must ask for your fob,” the droid states, “I have already issued the writ of seizure, the bounty is mine.��

You peak from behind the pillar at the droid, “Unless I’m mistaken you are, as of yet, empty handed.” You sneer.

“This is true.”

Mando leans from behind the pillar examining your surrounds before looking back to the droid, “I have a suggestion.”

“Proceed.”

“We split the reward,” Mando offers.

Your eyes widen, “Mando what the hell?” you protest, but before you can lay into him further the droid speaks.

“This is acceptable.”

“Great,” Mando says, false enthusiasm oozing from his mouth, “Now let’s regroup out of harm’s way and form a plan.” He motions to the droid to come over to you both.

“I will of course obtain the reputation merits associated with the mission,” it states walking over to meet you both.

“Can we talk about this later!” you exclaim irritation clear in your voice, “I’d like to not get blasted away if I can avoid it.”

The droid looks from you to Mando, “I require an answer if I am to proceed – “blaster fire interrupts the droid, “Oh no. Alert. Alert.”

You, Mando and the droid wordlessly return fire to the many occupants of the base flowing from what seemed to be every door and window. you manage to down several of them before Mando runs past you towards more cover.

“Let’s go!” he calls to you.

You follow him and the droid as you duck behind various cover and return fire to your attackers. As Mando approaches a side door you see it open behind him and a Nikto steps out of it. You take a step towards Mando and the person behind him and rear your arm back.

“Mando duck!”

He does so instinctively, and you bring your fist down on the side of the Nikto’s head, knocking him out cold. Mando nods to you in thanks before you both move to cover behind a nearby storage crate. He pulls the tracking fob from his pocket and the slow beeping indicates the asset is behind the closed bay doors several feet from your current position.

“He’s in there!” he shouts to the droid.

“Affirmative.”

With the help of the IG unit you and Mando move swiftly behind the pillars directly in front of the doors, firing your blasters back at the enemy the whole way. By the time all three of you are behind cover the blaster fire stops as the attackers continue to flood into the base and take positions behind you.

“It appears we are trapped.” The IG unit points out, “I will initiate self-destruct sequencing.” A rapid beeping soon fills the air.

“Whoa, you’re what?” Mando exclaims looking to the Droid wildly.

“Manufacturers protocol dictates I cannot be captured. I must self-destruct.”

“Do not self-destruct,” you call to the droid, “Cover me!”

“Hey, kid wait!” Mando calls, but you are already out in open and he has no choice but to cover you.

You head directly for the control panel on the door and rip it open. You start to fiddle with the wires inside trying to ignore the multiple blaster shots hitting the walls around you. Before you could connect the last wire, a well-aimed blaster shot hit the panel and fried the circuits. You ripped your hands away from the panel shaking them quickly as the heat seared your fingers.

“Shit! Go, go, move.” You called as you quickly moved behind cover again.

“There’s too many!” he quickly gunned down a few more people, “They’ve got us pinned.”

You snuck a peek from behind the pillar and saw a very big and destructive looking Gatling gun being moved into the center of the encampment. You ducked behind cover once more, eyes wide as you looked at Mando.

“Well we better figure something out because they just brought in reinforcements.”

“I will initiate self-destruct.”

“Do not self-destruct!” Mando commands clearly annoyed at saying the same thing, “We are shooting our way out.”

Finally, you follow as Mando and the droid step from behind the pillar but all three of you blanch at the sight of the large weapon.

“Okay,” Mando says surprised before you all step back behind cover and the gun rains blaster fire down on you all.

“Beginning self-destruct countdown.”

“No! stop it!” you exclaim, then look to Mando, “Well what do we do now?” You can hear the fear in your own voice, and you scold yourself mentally. You can’t be afraid, not now.

Mando seems to think for a moment before looking to the droid, “Draw their fire, and we’ll take it out!”

“Acceptable.” The droid agrees.

“Go!” The Mandalorian exclaims.

You follow Mando and watch as the Gatling was focused solely on the droid. Mando shot what looked to be a grappling hook from his gauntlet and ripped the large weapon from the creature controlling it. You quickly shot him before he could react and watched as Mando took control of the weapon and wiped out the rest of the Nikto in a matter of seconds. Once he was sure the threat was gone, he climbed down from the weapon and walked over to where you stood near the droid.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

you nodded, and holster your blaster, “I’m fine, you?”

he just nodded as he went to offer the droid a hand, “You’re not so bad…for a droid” he told the IG unit.

“Agreed,” you said, “but that blaster hit looks nasty, you okay?” you ask the droid.

“Running a quick diagnostic,” you watch curiously as his head piece beeps and spins momentarily, “it has missed my central wiring harness.” He comments.

Mando sighs, “Is that good?”

“Yes.” The droid assures.

“Well, now we just need to get the door open,” Mando comments.

“I got it,” you say walking over to the control panel once more, you reach your hand in and grab a handful of wires, as you hear footsteps approach behind you.

“That isn’t going to work,” Mando comments, “The circuits were fried when –“ his sentence was cut short when you gave a low grunt and ripped a handful of wires and parts from the door and watch as it opened with a hiss.

You stood, a smug smile on your face, and dropped the destroyed mechanism in your hand, “You were saying?”

“Never mind.” He recants.

You smile and follow the two others into the room. Another Nikto man runs from behind a nearby wall but Mando quickly shoots him.

“Anyone else?” he asks rhetorically.

You roll your eyes. You were quickly finding out that he had a thing for theatrics.

“The tracking fob is still active. My sensors indicate that there is a life form present.” IG states.

Mando raises his blaster and you pull yours from your holster at the information. You watch as Mando’s fob seems to lead you all to a small pod that eerily resembled a bassinet.

What they hell was in there? you ask yourself.

You take a small step forward and remove a piece of netting from the pod and click a button on the front, causing the doors to open. You took a step back slightly and you felt your mouth drop open at what was found inside.

“Wait. They said fifty years old.” Mando’s voice was filled with confusion, while you couldn’t bring your self to say anything at all.

“Species age differently. Perhaps it could live many centuries.” The IG unit informed.

You watched as the small creature lifted a little hand and pulled the blanket around it down. Your heart seized as your eyes fell upon the small creature inside. His large brown eyes filled with curiosity and confusion as it stared up at the three strangers in front of it.

“Sadly, we will never know,” IG raised his blaster to point at the child.

“No!” you exclaim hand flying to the droid’s arm, panic rising within you at the though of killing this child, “We’ll bring it in alive.”

“The commission was quite specific. The asset was to be terminated.”

You held onto the droids’ arm as he tried to lift it again, but Mando laid his hand on yours and pulled it away. You looked at him, anger rising in you. How could he let this happen? you refused to take part in this act of infanticide and turned away, flinching slightly when you heard the gunshot. you stood waiting the the droid to spout off some statistic but whipped around when you heard metal crashing to the ground. You looked from the now dead IG unit to the smoking blaster in Mando’s hand, eyes wide as he offered his finger to the child in the bassinet. You stood in shock at the scene before you.

What just happened?

//

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