#and then they tried to splice it in the second half with the more focused story people were used to

[myrfing]

i said this to a friend and possible insaneous take still but as much as I like DT, i would have loved if after EW the game took on the format of older mmos like. pre big bang maplestory or latale or ff11 or even gw1 a but where there was no “msq”/the msq wasn’t the thoracic cage of the game and they were really big on being like omg you are a random ass adventurer in this great big world and you can go anywhere you want and there are side story questlines in different areas primarily about Getting to Know This Land but it really is mostly about exploring and doing your own thing. Now I also think this would have killed the game but that doesn’t stop me from wanting it

[wingsdreamt]

steeleidolon​:

Angeal notes the candidates’ attempts at at-attention, wounded as they are, and he returns the gesture in kind with a solemn nod, affirmation that his order was heard and understood. Even in the rumbling quiet of the aftermath, they are a spectacle as they depart the Public Security wing, traversing the hall in a procession made formal by a First’s presence alone. The sergeant leads a line in sulking contrast, the two parties split in opposite directions.

Kunsel’s face bleeds. Facial injuries always do. A deep cut carves his cheek at the orbital, splicing his brow, painting him in red, red. It is not all his own, not given the smear across his mouth, down his chin. He sways some as combat adrenaline fades and as they move to follow.

One eye swollen shut - skin bruised, splotched, and somewhat pale - he cocks his head to look at his interlocutor, leading into a stagger-recover-sidestep to his right. To Zack’s right too. At least this way he can see with his diminished depth perception. Footsteps are a rhythm, a meter to keep, one foot in front of the other. Focus. Focus helps.

It does not take a great deal of deductive reasoning to understand what might have happened and why, but Angeal listens, adjusting his gait. He towers over many, over most, and his pace can be punishing if not tempered. The pair has endured enough punishment at the hands of supposed allies for the night. They are not the first to endure harassment when making an exit from the Infantry to step into the SOLDIER program, and despite every effort they may not be the last. A grim thought. There is no honor in harming one’s own.

If they can endure this intact, perhaps they are resilient enough to survive and thrive through the challenges to come.

“…hey,” Kunsel rasps, wet and incredulous. “You make it a habit of jumping in when you’re outnumbered?” The edge of a pained laugh comes with a squeeze of ribs, of boot-bruised abs. Tension hurts, but if he stops moving, stops focusing, the fuzzing-darkening at the edges of his vision might just close in. “The more the merrier. Gonna have to keep an eye on you. Just one though.” He assuages something of a wheeze with a smooth of palms down the front of his scuffed uniform. “…thanks. Name’s Kunsel. I’d shake your hand, but-”

He isn’t certain he could manage it while marching along. He tries anyway, and nearly runs into the divider between door frames as they round the corner and through the airlocked double doors opened with Angeal’s security clearance. On the other side, the destination of their trek becomes clear: a medical bay.

They will need their strength for the induction process. Angeal checks them in with calm familiarity, and prepares to stand by. He clears his throat and looks the two battered younger men over with a warmer aspect, with concern amid the firmness of command.

“Zack. Kunsel. We’ll debrief after. Try not to give them too much trouble, hm?”

The damage seems beyond the pale of schoolyard play. Blood flows from the split skin over Kunsel's brow, tracking bright scarlet lines down his face like war paint. Zack has half a mind to reach out, to abate the sway in the other teen's walk, but– it's fine. Step for step, Kunsel manages more or less of a line with acceptable deviation. 

So they march on, and Zack does not appear the slightest bit ashamed as heads poke out from their doors and the hallway's remaining occupants stand at attention for Commander Hewley's three-man procession. 

"I dunno," Zack answers unhelpfully. The real answer seems awfully tacky to share right this very moment. His head is angled just enough that Kunsel can see his mouth move. Keeping his eyes forward is particularly critical to prevent tripping up over his own feet, especially when the world still seems extra spinny. 

"I've always been kinda bad at math." 

He looks dead serious. At least for a second or two. Zack starts to laugh at his own joke, but the sound that leaves his mouth instead is a stuttering exhale that he cuts short with a grimace. Not the sort of ribbing he was looking for.

His grin though, is unbroken as he extends his own hand. “Woah, hey!” The handshake becomes more of a grab and pull to prevent Kunsel from making friends with the metal beam separating the steel doors that recede into the wall. 

Hearing the sound of his own name without having given the Commander a formal introduction comes as a shock. Zack blinks in wonder at Hewley's apparent ESP before the more rational part of him comes to the understanding that Hewley likely overheard their conversation through the din of shuffling boots and barracks side-conversations. And then he continues to stare in wonder even as a medtech comes up to them with a tablet in hand.

“Yessir! Commander Hewley…sir.” 

Okay, that had gone a little better in his head. 

The tech, whose name tag on her breast pocket reads ‘Dr. Cecilia Halsey,’ glances back at Angeal once to ensure he’s finished speaking before addressing the battered recruits in front of her. Clinical, assessing, Halsey’s eyes measure them from top to bottom. She tucks a curl of brown hair behind her ear as she taps a finger along her screen before calling a nearby aide to bring up a gurney.

“Sit,” she orders. “You two were roughed up pretty bad. I’ll need to run some diagnostic tests…” The brunette leans forward to examine Kunsel’s face more closely through the mess of blood, then shakes her head. “That one’s going to scar. Need your employee numbers, if you remember it, names, date of birth.”

 “Zack Fair, September 29th, 1978, ma’am! Um, my employee number…30A9-C91A-4969.” 

That sounds about right.

[chryzure-archive]

don’t leave me, don’t leave me

ALT TITLE: feverish + whiny and vulnerable jacks is... whew. something! anyway. 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this only came about because i was procrastinating w/ the vampire!jacks fic. anyway, this got out of hand. 

— — —

Jacks couldn’t properly process a single word Chrysi nor Simeon was saying. It was important, he thought. Or maybe not. Maybe it meant everything in the world, or nothing at all. 

He couldn’t tell. And he couldn’t properly read their expressions as they talked over his head. His vision swam too much—nothing too distorted, but lagging half a second instead, and every movement left a ghostly trail behind, until it dissipated into nothingness to accommodate for the new trail that took its place. 

His head hurt. His body. He couldn’t feel his jaw, his mouth, beyond the occasional pulse of distant, dull pain. 

This wasn’t right. 

He didn’t know much about being a mortal, but he’d never felt like this before. Unless mortality was officially settling in… 

Jacks didn’t think he was capable of chasing down that train of thought. As soon as it flashed into his head, it was gone, twisting and sprinting away from him. It was far beyond his reach now. 

His head lolled forward, just slightly, and he forced himself to catch it before he crumpled. 

It required far more effort than it should’ve. 

Jacks wanted to sleep, but the idea of sitting still and being victim to this overwhelming ache until unconsciousness sounded a whole lot like the mortal concept of Hell. 

Simeon’s voice raised in an inquiry, and when silence lingered instead of Chrysi’s voice, Jacks glanced up. 

His entire body hated him for moving so suddenly. 

Chrysi and Simeon stared back at him. Simeon had that familiar wrinkle in his brow, the one that brought his left brow further down than his right, and he repeated his question again.

Like everything else, it came to Jacks with a half delay.

“Are you listening to anything we’re saying, Jacks?” 

The words didn’t match with the movement of his lips. Exasperation pulled the words tight and sharpened them, just enough for Jacks to understand the meaning in the midst of his brain fog. 

His head mixed and muddled. Words spliced through one another, cutting them in half and replacing them and racing to the finish line, where they hardly made any sense at all. 

Jacks wrangled them into submission: “I don’t think I need to.” 

He definitely did need to be listening to them. This was important. Probably. Maybe. 

It would’ve been flippant if he had any presence of mind.

Jacks didn’t want to think. 

Simeon’s eyes darkened, his face becoming sharp, and Chrysi—

“Jacky?”

He had to untangle everything to look in her direction, and even then, it took him about three seconds too long to focus on her face. All that his mind could make sense of was the general curl of her hair, the shadow of her brows knitting together. 

By the time he properly focused, she’d wrapped around the table and hastily thrown herself next to him on the bench. Her mouth pinched, bleaching white. Her hand blurred, lagged, until he felt the back of her hand and her cold, cold rings press against his forehead. 

Jacks would’ve jumped. He wanted to jump at the cold, the startle—but that reaction died with a half-hearted flop in his heart. His limbs remained heavy where they lay. He couldn’t imagine moving them. 

Wrong. This was probably wrong. 

His head felt too light. Too heavy. He was half outside of his body, everything through a blurred lens, and he wanted to cry out at the way dullness ached at him. It had weak teeth, barely more than gums, but it gnawed at him relentlessly, like rats. 

“Jacks!” 

He realized her mouth had already moved. The meaning of her cry sank in an entire second later. 

“Princess,” he tried to say back, but his mouth was clumsy, and all that came out was an ambiguous mumble. 

The sensation of her arms wrapping around him processed sooner than the image to match it. His head bumped against her shoulder and then her hand secured the back of his neck with cautious gentleness. 

The world began spinning right about then. Not the slow, merry-go-round kind. The kind that felt more like a swing set coiled too tight, and letting go only to submit to nausea-inducing speed. 

Jacks didn’t have it in him to keep from whining quietly. 

A questioning murmur from Simeon, but Jacks wondered if it sounded clearer to Chrysi than to him, because her words resonated through him as she urgently said, “He’s burning up!”

She held him closer, tighter. 

“No,” he said clumsily, because even though he could never read Chrysi’s emotions as well as anybody else’s, he could taste her anxiety alongside the dull pain on his tongue. “I am… fine… I’m completely…”

Another pair of hands brushed over his forehead—more practiced, and Jacks knew Simeon had a lot more experience with ill siblings than Chrysi, that Simeon knew how to coddle them, how to nurse them, but Jacks was fine, completely fine, and they didn’t have to worry at all. 

“Fuck.”

That wasn’t Chrysi. 

That was… 

Simeon cursed? 

Jacks wondered if he should’ve reviewed his own personal assessment on his health. 

He didn’t get the chance to before black spots began to dance over his vision, red-rimmed like burning film, and the holes got bigger and bigger until the dull ache spiked, sparked, and grabbed at him with claws. 

He was dragged into horrible airless blackness, just like the feeling of that card he’d been trapped in all that time ago. 

The worst part was that his panic didn’t get the chance to bolt through him before restless oblivion overtook him. 

***

For Chrysi saying he was burning up, Jacks felt cold. 

For all the sweat dampening his hair, Jacks felt cold. 

For Simeon muttering about needing to cool him down, Jacks already felt cold enough. 

But then he’d slip and fall back into blackness and it didn’t matter that lukewarm rags were laid over his head, dabbed over his body, that he was only given one blanket when he felt ten would be better, that a fan pushed cool air through the room that felt more like a cave in the depths of winter than a room. 

The nightmares were a million times worse than the cold anyway. 

***

His eyes opened even though he was pretty sure they were just closed. Or were they? He could’ve sworn the last time his eyes had opened had been in that blurry room with moving shadows and dim lights, but this time, they opened to the lakeside that Chrysi almost drowned in, before Jacks decided to almost-drown in her stead. 

It looked a lot less threatening in the daylight—even if that daylight was tinged grey from a thick slate of clouds choking the sky—with its shoreline clear even across the entirety of the lake. 

It didn’t look deep. 

It didn’t look dark.

It didn’t look too dangerous. 

It didn’t look like it could kill. 

His heart still seized. 

Chrysi was sitting in the middle of it, on a kayak. At his panicked catch of breath, she tilted her head questioningly at Jacks. She looked like the picture of peace, lazily skimming her oar over the surface of the dark grey-blue water. She wore the baby blue hoodie she forced Jacks to wear at her birthday celebration. 

A smile twisted her lips upward.

“You’re not even going to save me this time?” she asked, and even though she was so far away from him, he could hear it as if she were right next to him. 

Jacks didn’t bother to ask her what she meant. 

He sprinted for the waterline instead, moving so fast it tore the air from his lungs, surging forward for Chrysi, Chrysi, Chrysi—the only person he cared about, the only person his for whom his heartbeat mattered, the only person he’d die for and die for again and again and again. 

But as soon as he’d sloshed up to his hips, Chrysi had disappeared under the smooth surface of the lake, and he couldn’t see where. 

Ghostly hands grabbed his wrists and yanked him down too. 

Blackness, blackness, blackness, and water pouring down his throat, and no air, and Jacks was dying all over again. 

Again.

Again.

Again.

***

He coughed up water, spluttering hard, even though pain exploded through his body so fiercely it blinded him. 

He writhed. 

He fought back. 

He hit something hard and glass with his lip, catching his teeth, and the pain turned to agony. 

“Shit!”

The taste of blood filled his mouth. It drowned him just as assuredly. 

Jacks tried to cry out, but all that came out was a miserable whimper. 

A hand with the familiar unforgiving lines of rings lifted him further upright, and he realized he was half-sitting up with the help of Chrysi. 

He tried to open his eyes, but thick tears almost glued his eyelashes shut. It was hard, anyway, to even breathe, much less to engage in any sort of voluntary movement. 

A small clinking sound barely registered in the roaring of his ears. Another hand came up to caress the line of his face. 

“Jacky,” she murmured reassuringly, but her voice caught and it wasn’t reassuring at all, “Jacky, you’re fine. You’re alive. You’re not drowning. But—” Her voice caught again, more strangled this time, more unnatural. “But you need to drink something. You need to stay hydrated.”

He didn’t want to drown again. 

Jacks fought against the claws dragging him down again, fought against the horrible memory of those ghost hands tearing Chrysi from him, then dragging him to the bottom of the lake and leaving him for dead. 

He lost the fight. 

***

His eyes opened to a cracked rib cage, internal organs on display, with bloody lungs still inflating and deflating, with a heart still pumping, even if all that blood was dripping to the ground instead of circulating through the body. 

Jacks didn’t want to look up, but it was like those ghostly claws hooked into his ocular cavity and forced his gaze upwards. 

His heart dropped at the sight of his own face. 

Marble white, eyes glazed and grey, totally and entirely dead. 

Then his dead copy’s eyes flickered, flashed to him, and he—

—smiled. 

Crookedly, wickedly, complete with sharp dimples that looked so much worse in death. 

With jittery, uneven movements, his copy’s hand slipped into his open rib cage. The heart protested against being torn from its home, but the other Jacks didn’t care. He just pulled, pulled, pulled, until it came loose with a sickening pop! and his lungs shuddered with breaths that went nowhere. 

“Stop,” Jacks hissed. No, begged. 

He was pathetic, broken.

Fuck. 

The other Jacks’s expression didn’t twitch. Just the same dead smile, the one that looked more like a skeleton grin than a smirk. “Why should I?” His hand lifted, bloody, still holding his own heart, and he pointed right behind Jacks. “It didn’t stop you when you tore out hers.”

Jacks didn’t want to turn, so he dropped his gaze to his hands. 

It was worse than turning to see what he’d done. 

His hands were soaked in gold and red blood, glittering with faetelle, so painfully Chrysi’s blood that he almost screamed right then and there—almost screamed in the way the Prince of Hearts never would’ve screamed, never should’ve screamed. 

No. No, I wouldn’t have. I couldn’t have. I love her. I love her, I love her, I love her. 

“Of course you love her,” the other Jacks scoffed. “You love her just like a Fate would. Just like the Prince of Hearts would. That’s why you’ve killed her. That’s why you’re killing yourself. It’s perfect, isn’t it? Dying together.”

Jacks didn’t want to tremble. It didn’t make sense to. He had other things to worry about, and this wasn’t real, it couldn’t possibly be real—

He turned around against his own volition. He fought it, tried to stay stationary, tried to close his eyes, tried to look beyond the horribly beautiful gore that he recognized in a way that he shouldn’t have. 

Chrysi, laying in a broken pile. Her eyes stared sightlessly, pearl-gold, tears streaking gold lines over the bridge of her nose and into the tangled mess of her white curls. Her chest had cracked open just like the other Jacks’s had, but nothing remained in that cavity besides cracking crystals. 

She was a statue, carefully carved from a monolith of marble, with quartz crystals for a chest. Not real. Not real. Not real. 

But the other Jacks laughed.

Jacks looked down. 

Two hearts, one in each hand. 

One bloody red, painfully human, still trying to beat despite everything. 

One crystal gold, threaded with pale crystals, and cold, cold, cold. 

His heart. Chrysi’s heart. 

His own chest wept blood, pooling on the floor beneath him. 

He let that scream out now, but the sound was swallowed up by the other Jacks laughing and crying bloody tears and breathing out a final death rattle. 

***

Doing anything besides breathing and moaning in pain was out of the question. 

The cold replaced itself with fire incarnate, weighted down by lead. Jacks couldn’t even move his finger if he tried—and he didn’t want to. Not in the slightest. 

He could hardly be aware if he was awake or asleep. His eyes remained shut, despite all his best efforts otherwise. 

His body was a trap. A cage. Just like that card, just like the thing that kept him unmoving and seething and desperate. 

The panic that didn’t settle properly began to build now. Everything jumbled inside his head. 

If this wasn’t real, then that meant Chrysi drowning was real. No—wait. Chrysi had woken him after that, and she’d told him he wasn’t drowning. So that meant Chrysi wasn’t drowned. 

But if this wasn’t real, then that wasn’t real, and that meant Chrysi was drowned and he’d torn her heart out afterward. He’d held her heart in the palm of his hand, until he dug through his own chest to rip out his heart in kind.

Did he die next to her? 

Did he curl up around her inhuman body with his human one, until he finally died? 

Did he wake up as a new Fated object, magic reconstituted as something else? 

He couldn’t move.

Jacks wanted to cry. He wanted to cry the way the Prince of Hearts never cried—with real tears, clear and salt, devoid of the blood that poisoned everything about him. 

It was only when he felt the tears on his face that he realized he wasn’t dead, that he was still in a human body, and that a hand was stroking his hair with a comforting intimacy, a familiarity. 

Chrysi. 

She’d curled around him. One arm supported his head as a pillow. Her leg hooked over his torso. He could hear her heartbeat over the pulse of pain in his head. 

She was alive. 

She was breathing. 

She was worried about him. 

Jacks moaned softly. 

A kiss pressed to his brow. It was so perfectly cool against his skin that he tried to nestle towards it. He wanted all the comfort Chrysi could give. He wanted all of her. He wanted… 

“You’ll be alright, Jacky,” she whispered into his skin. Her hand swept through his hair again, light and cool against his sweaty scalp. “I’m right here.”

He wanted to ask her to stay right there, to not move an inch, to keep right by his side. 

He couldn’t speak. 

He mumbled something unintelligible—more of a whimper, more of a whine—and Chrysi kissed him again. 

“I love you, Jacky.” She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, smoothed his hair down. “I love you.”

He tried again, more tears spilling down his cheeks from closed eyelids. 

“Don’t leave me,” he begged in barely more than a breath. “Don’t leave me.”

As sleep dragged him away against his will, he felt Chrysi shudder around him, heard a catch to her breathing. She pressed closer around him. 

All that comfort flew right out the window. 

Another kiss granted him passage into his nightmares once more.

***

The black void pulsed with claws and teeth. Awareness pulsed alongside it, and Jacks suddenly wished he was in those horrible hellscapes instead. This was too familiar, too similar to what he once knew. 

Centuries of emptiness was enough. He couldn’t bear one second more of it. 

Jacks curled his hand into a fist. His nails cut into his skin, harder and harder, until blood pooled in the cavity, until it trickled through his fingers and wept scarlet from his knuckles. 

“Why did you bring me here?” 

He didn’t know who he was asking. The Stars that made him, maybe. The witch that trapped him. Some new creature that wanted to hurt him, keep him trapped. 

His heart stammered at the thought, his newfound heartbeat betraying him yet again. 

Nothing replied. 

Just a black emptiness that stared back at him, eyes wide and full of darkness, until it swallowed him whole, until it drowned him. 

Jacks lifted his hand, still clenched, blood trailing down his forearm. The rest continued to pool in his palm. He stared blankly where his hand should’ve been, where blackness was instead, and allowed the sensation of the puddle of blood lead him. 

Once his hand overflowed with far too much blood, he offered it up to the black. As quickly as his blood collected, it drained away. 

He tried asking his question again. “Why—?”

“Are Fates even capable of falling in love?”

Jacks flinched at the echo, the sound of Chrysi’s voice in the cold blackness. It didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong here. 

What—?

“Not in the typical way,” came the reply, bored and cold and in Jacks’s own voice. “Immortality doesn’t leave much room in terms of true love.”

He could hear his own sneer in his words. 

His hand dropped to his side uselessly. 

A memory. He was listening in on one of his memories. From the time of his denial, from the time he’d thought he found Chrysi to be more of a temporary plaything. 

This was his answer? What kind of answer was this?

Chrysi groaned. “Oh, god. You’re going to be elitist about this, aren’t you?”

His past self breathed a half-amused laugh. The other half vibrated with an edge of irritation. “Only somewhat. But what I say is true—you can’t have immortality and true love in the same space. The very concept is poison to immortals.”

“Huh. Didn’t know that.” A beat. Then, suspicion. “Why would you tell me something like this? That’s a damn significant weakness. I doubt you should be shouting it out to the world.”

“Please. You think it’s easy to use that weakness?” 

The echo of Chrysi didn’t answer. 

Jacks remembered Chrysi had replied silently, with a rude gesture that he wasn’t quite sure how she made with her hands. He remembered the flash of surprise that had gone through him, the intrigue following closely after. 

Past Jacks continued, “Try as you might, you couldn’t get an immortal to fall in love if they don’t want to. Even if you’d tempted one to love, they’d kill you. That’s the nature of creatures selfish enough to live forever.”

“Oh, trust me—I do not want a Fate falling in love with me. Call my question morbid curiosity, if anything.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t think a single Fate would be enticed by you, princess.”

“Thank Coelhm,” Chrysi muttered.

“Thank the saints,” he said, just as coldly. 

The voices filtered away, swallowed whole by the blackness. 

Jacks wanted to laugh at himself until he cried. 

At the time, he’d really thought himself above Chrysi Solstice. 

Little did he know that he’d fall in love too fast, that he’d become mortal before he even worried about killing her, that he’d be pining after her silently while she barely even looked his way, that he’d become poisoned by the very thing he claimed Chrysi could never convince an immortal to embrace. 

“Was that all?” he asked flatly, dry-eyed in a dangerous way. “Some nightmare this is.”

The blackness froze. The seething, the clawing, the drowning stopped mid-motion, like a thousand puppeteering threads pulled tight. 

His blood dripped on the black ground. 

Drip. 

Drop.

His heart slowed, then sped up, then sped up some more. Independent of his own conscious thought, his hands began to tremble. 

Drip, drip. 

Drop, drop. 

His blood came faster now. 

That shouldn’t have been the case. 

Drip, drip, drip.

Drop, drop, drop. 

Jacks searched the line of his palm with his other hand, feeling at the wounds. The feeling of fever began to steal across his body again. 

His blood began to pour. 

Drip, drip, dripping, and it wasn’t just from his hand, and he tasted it cascading from his nose, spilling from his eyes. Copper and salt began to creep up his foot, until it hit his ankle, until it reached his shin, until it began to crest and crash like waves on the ocean. 

Jacks tried to open his mouth to cry out, but all he got instead was a mouthful of blood. And even then, more of it produced itself from his mouth. 

He choked on it. He swallowed just as much down as it filled the blackness around him. 

He was drowning, drowning, drowning. 

As the warm copper waves reached his head, he sank down to the melody of Chrysi’s voice mocking him, again and again and again, with the words, “I do not want a Fate falling in love with me, I do not want a Fate falling in love with me, I do not—”

Horrifying relief filled him once the blood closed over his head and Jacks drowned in it properly. 

***

His limbs were difficult to move, as if they all had a new iron core to their bones, all pulling him down and pinning him deep into the bed. Fire burned at his forehead, scorched within his chest, and yet he shivered, goosebumps washing over his skin. The blanket that had been so carefully draped over him as he faded into messy dreams now twisted around him, sweaty, tangled, and not at all helping warm him up. 

Jacks didn’t want to get up. And yet, when he loosely twisted his head into the pillow, he found Chrysi nowhere to be found. 

An ache independent of his fever began to pulse where he presumed his heart was beating. It was hard to tell, when his head pounded just as assuredly, when his limbs all ached with the throb of a heartbeat. 

“Princess,” he rasped, as if she’d hear his cry from where he lay—as if she’d come to his side in a heartbeat. 

She, obviously, did not. 

His head burned. Jacks pressed hard into the pillow, his eyes closing halfway. Sleep urged at the edge of his consciousness, much more inviting than the painful, dull awareness burning through his veins. 

Jacks didn’t want to move. 

But he wanted to be with Chrysi just a little bit more. 

Gritting his teeth, he reluctantly pushed himself up. 

The world tilted violently in response. Nausea overcame him, and it was all Jacks could do to keep from heaving up the clear bile that remained within him. 

He gasped, sweaty hair falling across his forehead, falling into his eyes. 

Bloody saints. He shouldn’t have been moving. 

Jacks wrestled with the blanket and draped it over his shoulders. A chill swept through his bones regardless, sending his teeth chattering. Despite how hard he tried to clench his jaw, it continued. 

He pulled it tight around him. Screwing his eyes shut, he waited for the shuddering to pass. 

“Princess,” he mumbled again, to himself this time. 

Pushing himself up from the bed, he stumbled down to the kitchen, slowly, slowly, slowly. The floor rolled under his feet, moved in a way to spite him in particular. His feet were cold. Freezing. Too hot, too cold, and the world hated him for being awake right now. 

He held onto the stair railing with as strong a grip as he could muster up—barely enough to bleed the color from his knuckles, barely enough to keep him upright. 

Everything was spinning. 

With a shuddering breath, he paused and collected himself, right there, on the staircase. God, his body hurt. It didn’t feel like his—it belonged to the fever now, and he was trapped inside with it. 

Fucking hell. Fever. He never should’ve been able to catch one. And it had to be worse—so much worse—than fevers normally were. Everything fought against him, trying to keep him caught in the bed, trying to keep him from standing up, trying to keep him away from Chrysi. Only a furious illness would do this to him. 

He was too human now. How much Fate even remained in him? 

His brow furrowed. His head ached in time to the movement, almost sending him crumpled to the ground, clinging desperately to the railing. 

He hurt, he hurt, he hurt.

Jacks wanted nothing more than to curl up in a little ball, tangled in the blanket, left there to be found by Chrysi or Emery. Maybe Chrysi would join him, or… 

He heard a little hum down below, unmistakably Chrysi. An absentminded singing, a song that he couldn’t recognize in the muddle of his fever, but one that was well-suited for Chrysi’s voice—haunting, elegant, and so bitterly exposed that it made him want to wrap her in his arms and hide that song from everyone else but him. 

Slowly, he finished the trek to the living room. More locks of blue hair fell into his eyes, almost obscuring his vision of Chrysi that he desperately wanted—needed, he corrected himself. He needed the presence of her, anything to anchor him.

Her back was to him as she placed a clean cup in the cupboard—the final part of an anxiety-cleanse Chrysi had to have torn the house up in. Because of him. Because of his fever.

A blanket draped over the crook of her elbow. 

She’d been on her way up.

A knot he hadn’t even known he’d had eased in his chest. He settled heavily against the wall, tightening the blanket around his shoulders. He trembled, much to his distaste. 

“Princess,” he called quietly, his mouth fever-dry and his head spinning from speaking. 

Chrysi yelped, leaping almost two feet into the air. Her hand spasmed, and had she been holding something, he knew she would’ve dropped it. That cup would have scattered across the floor, drawing gold-red blood and making a mess of everything Chrysi had just deep-cleaned.

Whipping around, her white hair almost cloaked the way her face blanched, the way her eyes widened. His mind lagged from the burning pain in his head, but his heart dipped low in his chest on an instinctual understanding. 

She didn’t see him, not properly. His hair was still dark—a blue he’d thought would look entrancing, but a blue that he now knew reminded her of a different person he didn’t want her to think of at all. 

Another pulse of pain went through him—the kind that combined with his fever ache, the kind that made it hard for him to breathe, the kind that forced him to brace himself against the wall. 

The moment passed, and that person faded back into the past. She secured the blanket over her arm with a steadying hand before it could fall to the ground. 

After a beat, concern animated her face, turning her lips into a beautiful pout and knitting her brows together in a charming way. “Jacky!” 

She hurried forward and took his hand in hers, until she’d pulled him even with her and she was wrapping her own blanket around him too. 

Jacks let out a shuddering breath. He reached from the confines of his blanket to brush his fingers over her face. 

Chrysi glanced up at him and frowned. “You’re burning up,” she scolded, “and you look like hell. Didn’t I say you needed to rest?”

Perhaps she had. Jacks didn’t remember much outside of his fevered nightmares. 

Her expression broke a fraction more. She looked down and smoothed the blankets around him. “Why are you down here?”

“I missed you,” he mumbled. 

“I—well, that’s actually very sweet.” She looked up at him with that look lined with silver eyelashes and worried gold and the lips he wanted to kiss so, so bad. “But that doesn’t matter.” Tilting her head to the side, Chrysi wrapped her arm around his waist. “I was going to be up there soon,” she said softly. “I’m sorry I didn’t get up there sooner, but you didn’t have to come down here—especially not when you look one step away from keeling over.”

A shudder went through him at the very mention of death. Chrysi probably didn’t mean it in that way, but… but. 

He felt those blood waves, crashing over him, sinking him under copper weight until he submitted all air in his lungs to the drowning salt.

…Well, regardless, Jacks didn’t like thinking of death. Not when it stalked around him, closer and closer every day. 

He wished he could feel her touch better through the two sets of blankets around him. He wished she were holding him directly, no more barriers between them. 

He shuffled, but his limbs were too weak to open up his arms and invite her into the confines of his blankets. Fever made his vision blurry. 

Instead, he said, “You were singing.”

Chrysi paused, a jolt of gold flashing through her eyes. She tightened her arm around him, but she didn’t look him precisely in the eye. 

Jacks looked at her through his fuzzy vision. “Why don’t you sing more often?”

“That’s…” Chrysi lightly tapped a pattern on the curve of his lower back, barely making any notable pressure through his loose sweater and the blankets. Her mouth slumped in a pretty frown. “I find it… difficult.”

“Your voice is beautiful.” 

Jacks wanted to rest his head against hers and close his eyes and drift off into dreams far less nightmarish than they were before as she sang. 

A huff of a laugh left her, but it sounded strange. “Thank you, Jacky.” She lingered against him, tilting her head forward, as if she wanted to lean against him. 

But she pulled back, her hand slipping around his waist, then abandoning him entirely. 

He bit back on a plaintive noise. He fell back against the wall for support again. 

“Let’s get you back upstairs,” she murmured. “You need to rest some more.”

Jacks wrapped his arms around himself. His body ached, begging him to agree with her request, and he almost complied. 

He stayed the urge.

“Can you sing to me?” he asked instead. 

Chrysi paused. Her brows raised, baffled. 

“You want me to…?”

“Please,” he said around his cracking voice and fever-slowed tongue. He pressed harder into the wall. “I want to hear you sing. Properly.”

“I…” She looked at him, looked up the spiralling staircase, and looked at him once more. She looked troubled in a way that he didn’t have the mental capacity to untangle. “…Let’s get you upstairs and then—”

“Please don’t make me go up the stairs again.” The spinning world hadn’t ceased in its vigor, and the thought of attempting to brave them again almost tempted him to think about the death creeping around him, chilling his spine, cooling the back of his neck. “And please… stay with me this time?”

He hated how childish he sounded. 

Chrysi looked doubly startled. 

Glancing over her shoulder, she studied the couch. A wrinkle appeared in the space between her brows. 

She spun around and took him by his hands. They crossed the room in messy, shuffling strides, and Chrysi gently laid him over the couch. 

Jacks screwed his eyes shut to fight off the rippling world, to stave off the overwhelming dizziness, and when he opened them, Chrysi still hadn’t settled against him. She instead knelt by the chest and sorted through its contents. 

“Princess!” And this time, he couldn’t find it in him to be embarrassed by the whine in his voice. 

Why in the unholy hells was it always so hard to get Chrysi to stay with him, to curl up beside him, to kiss him?

Chrysi hummed and raised a finger. “One moment.”

He stared at her, too exhausted to scowl or pout or any of that. He just ached, desiring her next to him more than anything he’d ever wanted, devoid of unnatural obsession or longing. 

His fever kept him company instead. Misery torched his skin. 

He leaned his head into the couch, trying to chase away the headache stealing through his temples. His eyes flickered closed. 

Chryseis…

A soft thump! startled him from his fading sleep, and the familiar shape of Chrysi settled against him. Jacks didn’t have the energy to jolt up. 

He blinked at her slowly. What energy he had was quickly flagging. 

She smiled faintly and lifted her hand to show him three pillows, of much higher comfort quality than the throw pillows she’d placed on the couch already. “I know you don’t want to move, love,” she said softly, “but let’s get set up and then you can go to sleep.”

He softly touched the curve of her waist. “The song…?”

Her smile softened, until it was more a look of love than simply just a smile, and he would’ve pulled her into a hug had his body not revolted at the very thought of moving so quickly, so assuredly.

“If a lullaby is what you need,” she started teasingly.

Jacks gave an affirmative hum before she could tease him further. With creaking joints, he tightened his grip around her slightly. 

“Please,” he whispered again. 

He’d said “please” more times in the past ten minutes than he’d ever said over the course of his entire life. 

“Up,” she said. 

Reluctantly, he lifted his body from the couch. Chrysi slid a pillow behind him with dizzying speed—one of those giant throw pillows that was meant to act as a decoration, but it served much better for comfort. It felt nice and cool against his fevered body, even though he could feel himself heating it up much faster than he would’ve liked. 

Saints…

He’d always been so cold before. Jacks distinctly remembered Chrysi yelping every time he’d brush his icy fingertips along the back of her neck, her jumping around whenever he tried to take her hand in his. To be so burning hot was an agonizing difference. He hated it. 

Tucking herself around him, Chrysi supported his aching bones and listing head with her careful hands and body. 

He pulled the blanket around the both of them, eyelashes fluttering closed in the relief of Chrysi warming him. She fit nicely against him—not perfect, and Jacks doubted he’d ever feel they were perfectly fitted to each other—and with her like this, he could feel the fever retreat, just a little. 

Chrysi brushed his hair from his forehead and kissed him. Her fingers slipped down the line of his face, caressing, gentle. 

Jacks moved imperceptibly into the kiss, all aches faded to background noise. 

As if in harmony with it, she began humming against his lips. Her voice resonated within him, dancing in his rib cage slowly, to the beat of his heart. 

He let his eyes slip halfway shut. He sank into the pillows, the blankets, the feeling—the sound of Chrysi.

With another caress along his jawline, she pulled back a fraction of an inch. Her breaths, her musical vibrations, still brushed over his mouth, like aftershocks.

Jacks wanted to take in her face, wanted to memorize it. He wanted to run a hand through her long white curls, to kiss a constellation across her freckles, to nestle into the crook of her neck and listen to her song straight from the source, until he slipped off to sleep.

His fever didn’t let him move with grace. His fingers tangled, little more than tearing their way through her hair. His kisses were more of awkward pecks, their noses bumping more than his lips connecting with her skin. When he settled against her, he could feel her laughter vibrating under her music, wanting to be let out.

But she settled closer to him as well. She caught his hand—still tangled in her hair—with deft movements, and she threaded her fingers through his.

She sang, and Jacks felt his nightmares flicker, flicker, and gutter out entirely.

His eyes closed entirely. He held Chrysi, she held him, and finally, finally, finally he fell into a dreamless sleep.

[geminimoon14]

Sanders Sides Space AU Part 2

It took Remus and Janus no time to settle into a routine with the crew of the USS Sanders. There was no surprise amongst the crew when Remus was revealed to be directly related to Roman, though it was convenient to be able to report the former’s antics to the Captain directly. Fortunately, Janus and Remus were successfully incorporated into the crew with hardly a problem.

Virgil was walking by Logan’s office, ready to deliver Roman’s research request when he overheard, “You drink POISON!” Virgil rushed in, ready to call up Dr. Patton for an emergency treatment when he saw Logan calmly sipping from his mug. 

Remus’s eyes were wide in admiration as he exclaimed, “Dren! I didn’t know you could do that!” Virgil rolled all four of his eyes as Logan continued looking over a report and drinking from his mug. The Araneus held out a small disc to the Human and informed him, “Princey wants some info on the fauna of Dronter. Something about toxic blood?” 

Logan took the disc and scanned the information before replying, “Very well, let the captain know he should have the information in a few microns.” Virgil nodded, ready to leave when Remus asked, “Did you know he could drink poison? Deathworlders are incredible!”

Before Virgil could ask, Logan sighed and told the other, “For the last time, coffee is not toxic! It helps my general awareness!” Virgil went rigid as he exclaimed, “You WHAT!” His hand went to his communicator as he called Patton and shrieked, “Emergency! Logan drank coffee, nearly a half a mug! We need help now!”

Logan had no time to protest as Patton responded, “I’m on my way! Get him to lay down to slow its course!” The scientist tried to speak but was pulled onto the floor of his office before he could register. Logan huffed and folded his arms across his chest as he waited for Virgil to focus enough that he could help. 

Remus seemed on edge as Virgil’s panic spiraled. Just as it seemed to be getting worse, Logan’s voice called out, “Virgil! In for four.” The Araneus froze at the order and took Logan’s hand as the Human repeated, “In for four...“ Virgil struggled for a moment before inhaling as Logan counted and continued speaking, “Good. Hold for seven… Breath out for eight... Now do it again. In for four…”

Patton arrived just as Virgil started to calm and loaded Logan onto the gurney. Still holding Virgil’s hand, Logan glared and told the medic, “I. Am. Fine! Coffee is not going to kill me.” Patton placed his hands on Logan’s temple and scanned his mind for abnormalities. Logan sighed as he asked, “Is this like the capsaicin thing again?” 

Remus looked to a medical assistant as they revealed, “Human’s purposely eat things that make their mouths feel like they’re burning.” Remus turned back in time to hear Patton ask, “You’ve been drinking that stuff every day!” 

From the gurney, Logan casually checked the time and replied, “Humans drink it as a way to heighten their focus when tired, some to the point of addiction. I utilize it as a way to help my mind prepare itself for early morning cognitive function. I was not aware it was toxic to other species.” Virgil seemed to become a little more anxious as he exclaimed, “Your species and literally eat a deadly poison and all you get from it is a little boost of energy!” Logan nodded along, finally allowed to sit up and slide off the gurney as he remarked, “That seems to be correct, yes.”

Virgil huffed and walked away as he shouted, “Frelling Humans! Never know what’s gonna kill you!” Logan seemed perplexed by the proclamation but shrugged and went back to his desk. Patton pulled up Logan’s medical file on his Holowatch and made a few adjustments on the projection, muttering about heart attacks.

After the incident, Remus stuck around Logan more often than not. Crew members would often find him following Logan with questions about Deathworlders or the study he was involved in. The Human would usually answer to the best of his abilities, not one for discouraging learning and study.

It was only a problem when he asked these questions in public. Such as the infamous question asked in the cafeteria: “Is it true that your mouth bones fall out and grow back?” Everyone in the vicinity had shuddered and fully freaked out when Logan answered, “Yes, we lose our baby teeth when our adult teeth grow in.” 

There was a loss of appetite so sudden that Patton and the other medics had worried an epidemic was sweeping through the ship. When he heard about the incident, Roman ordered Logan to only answer Remus’s questions in private and for Remus to stop asking Deathworlder questions in public. His brother pouted but Roman was steadfast in his decision.

There was no surprise when Remus made it a point to ask the questions while in the Command Center in front of his brother. Logan found it difficult to not answer his curiosities, especially when he would purposefully spout incorrect facts in an effort to get the Human to answer. 

As the only Human on board meant that Logan had to answer all the questions the crew put forth, the reason he had been sent on this voyage was to act as a source of information to his crew on the habits of Humans. 

Being labeled a Deathworlder only proved to further Remus’s interest and most of the crew was protective of their Human. Logan had been fairly awkward in his interactions but the crew had found his honest attempts to learn their cultural behaviors endearing. 

He taught himself Virgil’s language after the security officer had forgotten galactic common in the midst of an anxiety attack. When he learned that Emparas were a touch-oriented species, he had routinely offered Patton hugs at regular intervals and drew the crew’s attention to his need. The scientist had personally saved Captain Roman’s life by mocking an invader to divert his attention from the captain’s struggle to maintain shape under stress; one blast while destabilized would have killed him.

There had been a particular incident which had firmly solidified their need to protect the Human. Unlike most species onboard, the average Human could only hold their breath for a maximum of two minutes; Logan could only hold his breath for a few seconds.

They had landed badly on a planet's ocean and the lower decks had been flooded. No one had been too concerned until Logan, caught in the flooding when he had gone to speak with Virgil, started thrashing desperately. Thankfully, Virgil’s quick reaction had gotten the Human to air quickly.

Janus allowed Logan to look him over with Patton’s aid despite his previous experiences with scientists. Logan had been careful to telegraph his movements and inform Janus what he was doing every step of the way. The hybrid appreciated his efforts, especially when Logan would inform him of his findings and check in that a test was alright.

Together, Patton and Logan had discovered that Janus would have difficulty thermoregulating and scheduled time for him to lounge beneath a makeshift sun-lamp. They also found that his DNA was Human spliced with a reptilian species not local to Earth. 

Logan’s prodding did make Janus a little uncomfortable but it was always done with explicit consent and awareness of the details of the tests to prevent unwanted surprises. Janus seemed even more comfortable with Remus in the room, which was allowed with the promise that he did not not interfere. That promise did not stop Remus from asking questions that made Patton squirm uncomfortably and make him glow purple in embarrassment.

As a result, the crew had become extremely protective of their fragile but strong Deathworlder. Sometimes, crew members would drop by to check in on him or to remind him of personnel meetings when he was distracted. 

Even though the USS Sanders was a science ship dedicated to the exploration and discovery of new lifeforms, it did still have protective measures for emergencies. Such as when space pirates boarded.

Logan grunted as the leader of the mercenaries knocked him to the floor. His wrists were cuffed behind his back and a boot pinned him down. Virgil hissed as they trained their weapons on the scientist, only staying where he was because of how many weapons were trained on the others.

A hand grabbed a fistful of Logan’s hair and a voice hissed, “A Human, huh? There’s a big market for these, especially fighters.” Logan’s face remained impassive as he remarked, “I doubt I would be worth much.” The invader shrugged as they commented, “Not like I’d care. C’mon Deathworlder.”

Logan winced as the alien hauled him to his feet by his hair. Roman struggled to stand, a head wound sluggishly bleeding from the impact of the pirate’s ship firing at them. A pirate used the butt of their rifle to knock the captain down. Patton wrapped his arms around Roman, hiding his face behind the captain.

Janus stayed hidden behind debris, looking like a body crushed during impact. They had kicked his boot, unaware that Janus had only been battered by the force, and determined him to be a casualty of their boarding. 

The leader of the mercenaries kept his hand in Logan’s hair and started towards the exit of the command center as he told the crew, “If anyone follows us, we’ll kill the Human. We got enough to keep us happy that we wouldn’t mind losing this piece.” He placed the barrel of his pistol against the scientist’s temple in demonstration.

Virgil let out a low hiss but stayed where he was as the leader ordered, “Start moving, Deathworlder.” Logan lurched as he was pushed into the corridor and forced to walk away from his friends. Roman tried to sit up but his mind was more focused on maintaining his form while the pirates walked away.

Patton tried to concentrate on locating the damage but found his mind straying as he cursed under his breath. Virgil jumped at the profanity before looking around the command center. Janus was slowly coming around, another crew member helping him sit up, and Patton was tending to Roman. The Araneus made a mental tally, trying to recall who he had seen during the raid before asking, “Has anyone seen Remus?”

Logan tried to stave off the panic trying to creep in as he realised the likelihood of his crew rescuing him in their condition was low. The leader grinned as he muttered, “A Human! And out here of all places! We’re gonna be rich!” Logan bit his lip to stay quiet as the pistol prodded his spine in a silent warning.

There was a choked off sound to the left and the gun against Logan’s back pressed harder against him. One of the pirates was no longer there, along with several others. The leader wrapped one of their four arms across Logan’s chest and jammed the pistol under his chin. Logan let out a grunt as his face was forced up to accommodate the weapon under his chin.

While the mercenaries searched the walls for their allies, Logan’s eyes found a familiar slime that coated the ceiling of the corridor. A pair of eyes surfaced for a moment to send the Human a wink before vanishing back into the mass. Logan kept his breathing steady as the leader called out, “I’m not frelling kidding, I’ll kill him!”

A set of tendrils wrapped around another pirate and he vanished into the shadows of the corridor, the eeriness increased by the damage done to the electrical system when the raiders arrived. 

The other three remaining mercenaries tightened into a defensive circle as their leader proclaimed, “Show yourself or I’ll blow his frelling brains out! One... “ 

The one behind the leader was silent as they were pulled into the shadows on the floor.

“Two... “

The one on the right was yanked to the wall and coated in the slime on the ceiling.

“Three... “

A muffled scream to their left drew the leaders attention away long enough for Remus to slide down the wall in front of them. 

Remus wrapped his hand around the barrel of the pistol and tore it away from the pirate’s hand. The pistol went flying as Remus’s tentacles wrapped around Logan and pulled him away from the pirate. Hands wrapped themselves around the leader’s throat as Remus assumed his humanoid form, tentacles obscuring and protecting Logan, and spat, “Not so fun being the prisoner is it!”

Logan could hear shrieks and growls but Remus’s tentacles kept him from seeing anything. The noises continued for a few moments before everything went quiet. Logan squirmed a little, shoulders aching from the prolonged position the cuffs held his arms in, but sat and waited for Remus to finish the fight.

“Remus?” Logan called, “Can you let me go?” There was a beat but the tentacles slowly withdrew as Remus felt Logan for injuries. Logan smiled as Remus pulled out a familiar code lock and pressed it against the cuff’s scanner. As soon as he was free, Logan rubbed his wrists to work feeling back into them. Remus helped Logan roll his shoulders and ease the ache from how he had been pushed around.

 From around the corner, they heard Virgil yell, “Remus! Did you get him?!” Remus sighed as he called back, “Yep, the nerd’s safe!” Close behind the security officer was Patton, freckles a bright yellow and a scared look on his face.

Patton kneeled next to Logan on the floor and examined his wrists, glow turning red at the marks from the cuffs, while Remus spoke with Virgil. As they exchanged information, Patton focused on wrapping Logan’s wrists and looking him over. He noted the faint mark beneath his chin but realised it would fade. 

Once he was sure that Logan’s wounds were treated properly, the Empara wrapped the Human in a hug. Logan jolted as Patton exclaimed, “Thank Nara you’re okay! I thought they were going to sell you and Roman was hurt and they had a gun pointed at your head!” Logan soothingly ran his fingers through Patton’s hair, careful to avoid his antennae.

Remus sighed as he told Virgil, “ I honestly wanted to tie their insides in a knot but I didn’t want to do it in front of Logan.” Virgil nodded as Remus pointed to all the spots he had shoved unconscious pirates, mostly holes in the walls caused by impact damage. Virgil tried very hard to keep amusement from showing up on his face but, based on Remus’s proud expression he had failed.

Crew members hauled the invaders from their hiding spots and placed them in specimen cages for lack of a better containment center. One of the crewmates in Command had sent a distress call to the local authorities, who had signaled their approach. 

Logan allowed Patton to carry him to Medbay himself, obviously upset about the experience and Logan was not unwilling to let himself be held. However, the Human was not looking forward to Virgil hovering to reassure himself that Logan was safe or Patton’s need to oversee his recovery.

Roman was sitting up in one of the beds waiting for them, in spite of Patton’s order for him to rest. He saw the scientist allowing the medic to carry him and let out a sigh of relief. Virgil, always willing to help Patton with difficult patients, pushed Roman back against his pillows and scolded him. Roman retorted with something that Logan did not catch because Patton was fussing with his bed.

He reclined onto the pillows, letting out a satisfied groan when a tense muscle released, and listened as Virgil reprimanded, “I don’t care if your Faera healing is still working! If Patton says rest, you rest!” He heard Roman scoff as he countered, “Like you should be resting because we both know you’re about to freak out!”

“I’ll be fine! Just lay back down!”

“Not until you start your breathing exercises!”

“You are literally in no shape to be ordering me around!” 

“I will do what I have to if it means my crew will be alright!”

“You’re barely maintaining your form!”

“That doesn’t matter right now. Sit down and breathe!”

He heard someone, most likely Virgil, inhale to deliver a counterargument when Patton cut in, “Both of you take a breather! Virgil, you sit with Roman and Roman if you don’t rest right now I swear to Nara I will use my power!” They both went quiet and Logan only just managed to smother a laugh as Virgil sat next to Roman, who instantly settled against the pillows.

A few minutes later, Remus walked in and dropped himself on Roman’s bed without a word. Roman cringed a little but moved over to make room as his brother wrapped his arms around him. Virgil smirked, clearly about to tease, but jumped when Remus’s tentacles laid themselves over Roman.

Patton smiled as he cooed, “Aww, so it is a Faera thing.” Roman glared but did nothing to remove his brother. Patton moved to a different bed and spoke in low tones to one of the other medics. After a hushed conversation, Patton returned and informed them, “Janus is alright, just a little tired and in his room now. A lot of people were injured but I think we didn’t lose anyone, thank goodness.” 

He turned to Logan and said, “A few of the staff wanted me to tell you they’re glad you’re okay.” The medic shifted his gaze over to Roman as he added, “Remy said you’re an idiot but thanks.” 

Logan recalled the officer as the one wearing a special visor to prevent their ability from affecting anyone. Officer Remy Sono worked in security under Virgil but recalled him as one of the best. Logan remembered that Remy had been in command when the pirates boarded. The insults he had spat at the leader was quite impressive, if a bit foolish. Logan would hate to think what could have happened if Roman had not drawn the pirates’ focus onto him.

He was drawn back to the present when he heard Roman reply, “You can tell him not to frelling mouth off at pirates like that and then he can call me an idiot.” From across the room they heard a voice call out, “Fight me you hingemot!” They started laughing as Roman called back, “You’d lose that fight, Officer Sono!” 

There was laughter from the medical staff and a few conscious patients as Remy held his hand up in a gesture that made Patton gasp and scold, “There’ll be no using that hand sign if you don’t want me to confiscate that poison you’ve been drinking!” Remy let out a whine as Logan protested, “Coffee is not poisonous to everyone, please stop talking about it like that!” 

There was more laughter as patients and staff began mocking the coffee drinkers in the room, both of them pretending to have gone to sleep to avoid the teasing. Eventually they relented when Roman remarked, “If you can mock our poison drinkers, you can get back to fixing the ship. Unless you want me to put Virgil in charge.” 

The Araneus grinned at them and laughed at their horrified expressions. The crew returned to their tasks while their Captain, Head of Security, and Lead Scientist rested. The pirates were picked up a few minutes after Roman had finally fallen asleep. 

Remus had pulled Virgil into the embrace with his brother while sleeping so the latter had no choice but to stay. Logan snickered loudly at the panicked expression when the tentacles had pulled Virgil on top of their captain. When Patton was not looking Virgil threw Logan the same gesture Remy had used earlier. The scientist smiled, almost smug, before settling in for a nap, thankful to still be on the USS Sanders and safe in Medbay.

[susiequaz12]

Carrot Top- 4: Hold Still

Alrighty, part 4, here we go! I’m constantly torn between writing new stuff for this, or editing the past stuff I already have written. I don’t want to post everything too fast and then have nothing left to post. I have so many ideas for this already that I want it to keep going.

Tags: @imagination1reality0 and @just-a-raccoon-with-wifi

Side note, this is a lot more whumpy compared to the last chapters, just a slight warning. 

CW: Defiant whumpee, kinda intimate whumper, dehumanization, torture, blood, beating/manhandling, choking, knives, waterboarding, hand whump. (I think I got it all, let me know if I missed any.)

Splice quickly realized mere whipping wouldn’t cause Andrew to beg. He wouldn’t break him that easily, and Splice was getting tired. So he ungraciously dropped the boy on the ground, removing his restraints as he crumpled into a heap.

 Andrew lay face down on the floor, in a puddle of his own blood mixed with his sweat, tears, and the vomit that he couldn’t hold back. He’d instantly felt sick to his stomach as soon as he felt the blood oozing down his chest and back, but then when he fell into it on the floor, all the contents of his stomach came pouring out. As much as he tried, it felt like he couldn’t breathe. Like he was being forced to suck all his air in through a straw. 

Splice sat on the stool across the room. Watching. He tutted to himself as Andrew lay gasping on the floor. “It’s a pity. We can’t be done so soon, I really thought you had more fight left in you.” 

Andrew wanted to be done. He wanted to be thrown back into that empty room, or just left alone. But at the same time, he felt so weak. Like he should be able to handle more. He shifted in an attempt to pull himself up to sitting but the pain in his back flared up once more and he groaned before crashing back down.

“Come on carrot top, get up.”

Andrew hissed through his teeth. “Don’t call me carrot top.” He pulled himself up on shaky elbows, placing a knee under himself before he managed to finally work his way into a sitting position. 

“There you go. Now just to stand. Come on, stand up. You’re not that pathetic are you? If you are, then these next few days are about to get a lot harder. I’ll toughen you up.” 

Andrew spat onto the ground beside him and hung his head. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and escape from this world. He felt so out of his surroundings that he didn’t even register that Splice had moved, until he was standing in front of him, looking down at the boy. 

The handle of the whip met the underside of Andrew’s chin, raising his head to look up at Splice. The man’s next words were slow and cautious, as if speaking to a child. 

“You will listen, when I tell you to do something. Understand?” Andrew said nothing. “Now stand up.” 

The boy shook his head away from the whip. “When I’m good and ready.” 

The butt of the whip connected with his jaw as his head jerked to the side. A soft thud was heard, connecting with teeth and bone. Andrew groaned and spat blood onto the floor.

Splice answered. “When I tell you to do something-” he gripped underneath Andrew’s chin with a long-fingered hand, forcing him to look into his eyes. “You obey.” His fingers closed around Andrew’s neck, moving from jaw to throat, Andrew shivered. “Understand?” 

“You told me to fight back.” 

Splice shook his head. “Well, I’ll have to admit that I am pleased with how well you are following that order. But now, I’m ordering you to stand. Come on now, it shouldn’t be that hard.” 

Andrew grabbed Splice’s wrist, an attempt to pull it away from his throat. “You can’t order me to do anything.” 

Splice’s fingers only gripped tighter, cutting of his air. 

The boy gasped, fingers grasping at his arm, clawing at Splice’s hands to get the air back into his lungs. The whip clattered to the ground as both hands locked tightly around Andrew’s windpipe, and the man forced the boy to his feet. He stumbled blindly as he was dragged across the room, and then thrown up against the table. 

Air flooded back into his lungs as Splice released his grip. He gulped in the fresh air like a drowning man, and then yelped as the harsh edge of the table pressed into his back, jolting the raw flesh even further. 

Splice scrambled for things on the table, grabbing a knife to hold up against the boy’s throat. Andrew slapped it out of the man’s hand and lurched all of his body weight forward, but he was quickly shoved back. 

With a heavy grunt, Splice swung back and punched the side of the boy’s  head with a sickening crunch. Andrew let out a groan as stars flooded his eyes, his vision going blurry. Splice grabbed his face in his hand and turned his head sideways, inspecting the mark from the blow.

“Oh that’s no good, that’ll bruise.” His hand moved up the side of the boy’s face, going to ruffle his ginger hair. “We’ve got to at least keep you presentable.”

Andrew squirmed to pull his head away. “Don’t touch me.” He hissed.

Splice’s fingers instead locked into the boy’s curls, pulling his neck back to force his head on the table.

“Now I thought I was the one giving orders here?”

Andrew said nothing. A cough erupted from his lungs as Splice’s fist met his stomach. He groaned and tried to catch his breath, but was only met with more punches to the soft flesh of his belly. His feet slid underneath him as he started to sink to the floor. His hands grasped at the edges of the table, a feeble attempt to keep himself standing. 

Splice wiped a strand of sweat from off of his forehead with the back of his hand and soon closed the distance between himself and Andrew. He shoved a knee up onto the boy’s chest, keeping his back pressed into the edge of the table, placing a hand on either side of the boy to keep him from lurching forward. 

“Now. Are you going to listen?” 

Andrew looked up at him with large eyes. Full of anger, and hatred and...and fear. Tears welled up near the edges and as much as he tried to look defiant, the boy was no doubt terrified. 

Splice chuckled as he reached across the table to grab the jug of water and a towel. Keeping the boy pinned to the table, he carefully folded the towel in half, placing it next to Andrew’s head, and then opened the jug of water.

“All you have to do,” Splice said as he placed the towel across the boy’s face. “Is hold still.” 

As soon as the towel covered his face, Andrew knew what was about to happen. And he was not going to let it. Using the amounts of energy he had left, he urged himself forward, wiggling and thrashing under the man’s grasp. The towel flew off of his face onto the floor, and Andrew stared up at Splice, defiant. 

Splice eased off of Andrew for a second as he bent down to pick up the towel. 

“I said hold still.” 

He stood up to find Andrew, poised with a knife in his hand that he grabbed from the other end of the table. The boy shook where he stood and all Splice did was laugh. “I guess you really do want to make this harder on yourself.”

Andrew slashed through the air, blindly aiming for anything to hit, but Splice dodged, grabbing his wrist. He pinned his arm to the table, ripping the knife from his fingers. Using his shoulder he kept the boy pushed down onto the table, his back flat against the surface, legs scrambling for floor to grip onto. Andrew groaned as the weight pushed onto his chest. 

Splice leaned in, turning his head towards Andrew’s ear. “If you won’t hold still, then I will make you.” 

Andrew watched in  anticipated horror, knees shaking as his wrist was pulled further back onto the table, raised above his shoulder just slightly. 

“Funny-” Splice began to say. “You picked the perfect knife.”

Andrew could barely tell you what happened next. Things seemed to go in slow motion as the knife moved through the air. Then he felt the table shake with a powerful thud, followed by a strangled, guttural, shrieking sound. 

It took him a couple of seconds to register that the sound was coming from him. 

The scream grew louder as his eyes fell upon his hand, pinned to the table with the knife. The blade sunk deep through his palm, and blood began to ooze onto the dark wood underneath it. His screams quickly turned into hiccuped sobs as the pain rushed through- red hot, searing throughout his flesh. It crawled up his arm, into his chest making him have to consciously remind himself to breathe.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be more inclined to remain still now.”

Andrew was so focused on that source of pain, that he barely noticed the towel being laid over his face again until the water came pouring through. Instantly his thoughts became trying not to suffocate. He thrashed his head from side to side, but almost instantly the same familiar hand creeped underneath his neck, latching onto a fistful of hair. It’s grip was tight, keeping Andrew’s head from moving about.

The water seeped through the towel, filling Andrew’s mouth and nose as he gasped for air, and relief from the pain. He thrashed about but felt the knife digging into the palm of his hand as he moved and tried to force himself to be still. However in that moment, all he could think was utter panic. It was get out, fight or flight, we need oxygen. Just as he thought he couldn’t take any more liquid pouring into his lungs, the water stopped. 

“Now that you’re here, there are a few things you’ll have to learn.” Splice placed his hand across the boy’s face, keeping the towel pressed down. “One of the first, is that no matter how much you fight back, it will be useless. You could continue though as I must admit I do find it quite entertaining.”

Andrew mumbled something under the towel, muffled through his coughs and gasps.

“What was that?” Splice lifted his hand off of the towel.

“You’re sadistic.” He sobbed.

“Oh why thank you for noticing.” Splice stated casually. He shoved the towel back into Andrew’s face. “While you’re here, you are under my care. My watchful eye, and under my control.” The hand moved the towel from off of his face and landed on his throat. “I control when you drink, when you eat, sleep, or even when you breathe.” His fingers constricted against Andrew’s windpipe, the boy’s eyes going wide, chest heaving. “Got it?” 

Andrew said nothing. His mouth gaped open like a fish out of it’s bowl as he gasped for air that wouldn’t come. The hand that was tangled in the back of his hair pushed his head towards his chest in a nodding motion. Splice released his grip around the boy’s neck.

“Got it?” Splice asked again.

Andrew spat out an insult, but it came out strangled, lacking of air. 

“I don’t think you understand me.” Andrew’s eyes flittered towards Splice’s hand, which was now holding another knife. Panic surged through his body as the tip of the blade met his chest. “I. Control. You.” 

The knife cut through one of the whip marks across his chest, gouging through the already raw flesh. It followed the red line perfectly, leaving behind another trail of blood that caused Andrew to let out a cry, followed by a whimper. The knife picked a new lashing, and then one more as a signature, trailing blood behind as the skin tore open further, leaving Andrew behind as he choked on sobs and strangled screams. 

Splice set the knife down after wiping the blood of on the side of Andrew’s pants. 

“Well, I think I got that point across. Now, remember to hold still.”

A new surge of panic came across Andrew as the towel was laid across his face once more. His head was grasped, and the water came flooding in.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

My Wild Heart Bleeds || Morgan, Adam, Blanche, Margot, & Constance

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: UMWC Humanities Dept

PARTIES: @walker-journal, @harlowhaunted, @g0t-ri5h, @constancecunningham, @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Constance sits in on Morgan’s lit seminar.

CONTAINS: Mild gore, death tw  

The afternoon section of Fear and Loathing: Western Literature of Speculation was crammed into a corner seminar room designed for intimate grad-level meetings half the size, baked into the side of the building through its set of large windows like a hothouse. Even with zombie strength, they wouldn’t slide up more than an inch to let in the cooling September air. Morgan smiled brightly at her students, as if enthusiasm alone could make the central air in the building work double time for them. “I really like the place you’re coming from with that point! Do you think it’s fair and accurate for me to rephrase your thought as, ‘the debate between Carmilla and Laura’s father in the dinner scene ends formally unresolved, with Carmilla having the last word, positioning her as a possible victor in the exchange, a position which then renders credibility to her reasonable points and, by extension, to her own perspective and humanity?’” Morgan nodded encouragingly at the girl, Maxine. Her rephrasing was a bit of a generous take on her thought, but not completely unfounded. 

“Uh...sure?” Maxine replied.

“Amazing! So, going off of Maxine’s thought, what possibilities open up for us when considering the figure of Carmilla? And, does recognizing the humanity behind her perspective complicate the more critical, even predatory ways of viewing her we discussed on Monday?”

The class trudged on in spite of the heat, fixated on passing through each moment that brought them closer to the end of the seminar. Around and behind them, the windows blazed with light. A fissure down the centermost panel glared like liquid metal as it spidered outward, spreading crooked fingers as far as they could reach, as if it meant to rip itself free, seemingly of its own accord.

The refulgent heat made Adam even less inclined to engage with class then was usual for someone who’d entered higher academia mainly to play football and have somewhere to stay while stabbing monsters to death after practice. Thus Adam had chosen his curriculum purely on the basis of what made it easier to flirt with his adamic advisor or what sounded vaguely tangential to his higher purpose of putting bullets in horror movie rejects. 

What was literature of speculation? Who knows? Adam, Terry, and Andros had privately speculated on Professor Beck’s ‘assets’ at various points. Thus Adam figured they’d satisfied the syllabus requirements. 

The DIE fellows were sweating in the back of the class and praying for death whenever one of their more enthusiastic classmate decided to ‘try hard’ on this Gothic Lesbian stuff. 

She just wanted to go home, but Blanche had to rush to work after class to help Mercy on some assignment - which probably meant she was going to be stuck on photography stake-out duty again. At least her car had working air conditioning. She was technically a nerd (Blanche had really done the reading), but it was too hot to really do anything comfortably - even listening to Morgan talk about Carmilla and humanity and thinking deeply. 

Blanche went rigid in her seat the second she felt the presence, her colored pen dropping down onto her notebook. She wouldn't have been overly concerned (she felt ghosts pass through campus all the time), but her conversation with Morgan after she warded up her house meant trouble or worse. As calmly as Blanche could manage, she tuned the lecture out as she sat back in her chair, quietly scanning the room with narrowed eyes as the temperature in the room plummeted. Fuck. Fuck. She swiveled around her seat, looking straight over the DIE boys and Adam’s head and straight into the ghosts’ angry eyes. 

Oh fuck. 

The color drained from her face as Blanche’s hand immediately shot into the air as she almost flew out of her seat. “Morgan-I-Have-A-Really-Important-Question!” Blanche blurted out immediately. 

Margot had all but fallen asleep in the sweltering heat of the classroom. It didn’t help that she’d been up half the night, awoken by her recurring night terror. Her mind was so tired. Still, Morgan was trying her best to be an engaging professor, to lead the class discussion in a formative direction. It was a pity Margot wasn’t interested in the class. She would Google the SparkNotes later.

Her eyes were just now closing, lulled by the dulcet tones of Morgan’s voice. It reminded her of a lullaby one of her nannies used to sing. So -- soothing… Sleepy...

Interrupted, jolted awake by the student behind her, knocking Margot’s seat as she stood up and began shouting for attention. Margot turned to give Blanche a hard stare, the girl flapping her hand back and forth. How rude.

Morgan was teasing out a comment from another student. Everyone was melting in their seats in the worst way but they were so close to stumbling upon the paradoxical existence of Carmilla’s complex humanity and the inhuman treatment she received in the narrative’s third act, the fear behind that swerve--- and then Blanche interrupted. “Uh...yes, Blanche?” This wasn’t usually her way, and neither was the two-notches-away-from-full-panic expression. “Go ahead. Unless the question is about excusing yourself because you’re not feeling well, because you can just...go, in that case.” 

Behind them, the window’s spider veins multiplied. The glass trembled in its pain, whimpering under the pressure of Constance’s grip. What had she expected when she drifted up to the campus, looking for signs of the woman? And yet, what could have prepared her for how blindingly smug she looked as she lectured her students? How shameless and bitterly ironic, to speak on humanity, on true feeling and justice? Constance barely noticed the blonde girl look at her. Her gaze was steadfast on Morgan, who sported neither a scratch nor an ounce of regret. Constance focused her energy on the glass, wispy tears running down her face. It wasn’t fair. If she didn’t get to have her life, she shouldn’t have to watch a Bachman run amok with theirs either. With a shriek, she  burst the window inward, hailing glass down on the whole class. 

Morgan ducked to cover her face gave Blanche a look that said, Oh, is that what you meant?

Adam’s eyes had flicked up when Blanche’s body language had changed, gaze scanning the room for anything new before settling back on her face. Adam was well aware that Blanche could perceive things he couldn’t. Just as Adam constantly felt waves of ice-hot inhumanity rippling off Professor Beck whenever he was in the same room as her, so too could Blanche be a sexier and less creepy version of that 6th Sense kid. 

Honestly Adam couldn’t tell if Blanche just was having a paranormal activity moment or was just nerdgasming about a vampy lesbian flick with a depressing lack of sex scenes. Blanche ticked off Miss Narcolepsy over there and for a few seconds Adam, Terry, and Andros sat up in mutual of some awesome cat-fight action. 

Then in one shitfuck moment glass was falling down and lots of people were doing the duck and panic thing. 

If this was a roomful of Hunter kids here, all Adam would have had to do was designate the extraction point at the nearest Safe Space and watch as everyone fell into a coordinated boot camp pace outta here.

Still he wasn’t sure if this was some structural thing, ghost stuff, or someone just popped some X-man powers from a Victorian sexual awakening. “Yo Harlow,” Adam said across the room as he tried to shake glass shards from his hair. “Got any Caspers?” 

Blanche had just grimaced at Margot when screams echoed from the surrounding students as glass scattered over the class. Pure driven panic flew through her, and she froze until she heard Adam yell out to her. Caspers. A much less important part of her mind screamed at talking about ghosts in public, but it was enough to check her back into reality

“Adam, she’s after Morgan!!” Blanche swore, clamping her hand over her ears as Constance let out another anguished scream. Fuck, that was disorienting. Students continued to panic, some running out the door as fast as they could as lights overheard started flickering and then exploding, the temperature dropping to a cool chill. Desks started flying towards their beloved professor, crashing against the whiteboard behind them. 

“Fuck, my bag, where’s my bag?” It had just been right next to her. 

The panicking students had punted her bag - full of salt, iron rods, an iron dagger, a gun, and wards-  away from her and she was trying to strong arm her way through to get to Morgan. Some poor student went flying as a chair was ripped from under him, a crunch of metal as the chair bent and snapped before their eyes. Blanche shoved someone out of her way, rushing toward the front of the room.

“Morgan, no!”

The sharp end of the now broken leg of the chair was rammed straight into Morgan’s stomach, pinning her to the whiteboard behind her. And then all hell broke loose.

Margot covered her head with her hands as glass sprayed across the room. She could feel the shallow cuts on her forearms where shards had spliced her skin, but the pain was an afterthought. Were her eyes deceiving her? Margot couldn’t fathom the chaos that was taking place. Flying desks, shattering windows; were they experiencing some kind of tornado?

While other students fled the room, Margot was frozen in place, watching as her professor was impaled by an invisible force and Blanche was shouting about her stupid bag. What purse was so important at this moment? “What the fuck is going on?!” Margot screamed over the chaos. 

None of this was real. She had surely just fallen asleep in class. Yes, this was all some part of her twisted nightmares. “This is a dream.” Margot whispered to herself. “You’re about to wake up.” She repeated this mantra as she pinched herself. Only she wasn’t waking up. 

The world shattered around Morgan. Sharp edges and razor points pinwheeled toward her face, too fast for her to catch her horrified reflection spliced through each piece. The fog around her senses parted; Morgan swore later that she felt every groove in the wood grain as it raced through her body, heavier and slower than the pole that had killed her, but no less painful. “Fuck you…” She hissed in a whisper, her lungs wheezing as they remembered the blood rushing through them, the bite of concrete at her back, and the numb feeling of death in her mouth. 

Constance screamed again as she drove the chair leg harder into the wall. “Stop! What’s wrong with you? Just stop! Stop and die!” The old overhead lights buzzed anxiously. Sparks burst and showered down on the class. Children. She hadn’t even been thinking about the children. Constance drifted back, staring with wild confusion as students phased in and out of her, neither seeing nor caring, much less understanding… What was she becoming? Constance reached out for a small one, squeezing himself under a chair as tightly as he could. “I’m sorry, it’s not you, it’s her. She’s making me do this, she can’t leave me alone!” The chair flew back against the wall and snapped in two.

Morgan’s body trembled, trying to fix itself and coming up against the chair leg in her chest. She gripped it with both hands and pulled, gasping as it inched out, dripping with dark, tar like blood. Her eyes found Margot’s as she struggled. “This. Is. Real,” she said between gasps. “Help Blanche or get out of here.”

Adam was a normally laid back guy, preferring to let non-monster life just proceed at its own pace. But he’d been conditioned to respond when the spooky side reared its head. He hollered to Terry, and Andros to get people out. Luckily instincts from the football field asserted themselves and the two other DIE started ushering students off. 

Adam’s backpack would probably be a national security concern and unfortunately most of the stuff in here could only harm physical threats. But nevertheless Adam withdrew a long cruel length of barbed wire that’d done more then  its fair share of strangling and trip-wire duty lately. The cold iron glinted beneath spots of rust and dried blood. 

Technically it was a weapon against Fae, but iron was iron. 

Adam could trust Blanche to do her ghostbusters stuff, while he could only help those he could see. He vaulted over twisted chairs as if they were track hurdles, trying to navigate a room quickly becoming a telekinetic warzone. Adam knelt beside Morgan, spooling out the suspiciously-stained barbed wire in a circle around them both. 

“Oh you’re still alive Prof ….cool, uh just a sec.” 

She’s making me do this, she can’t leave me alone. For a single moment, Blanche could almost understand Morgan inherently wanting to destroy Constance’s soul. There was no time, however, to dwell on Constance’s blatant hypocrisy woven in her rationalization of endangering a room full of people. She ducked under pieces of flying debris as Adam launched himself at Morgan. Blanche, already in a poor mood, wondered only briefly if she should be concerned about Adam killing Morgan for her obvious inhuman nature of surviving being impaled - would Morgan be necessary to kill for humanity?? - but decided that the only thing she could do right now was trust him, even through the underlying anger. 

Constance launched herself at Adam and Morgan, her infuriated scream echoing in Blanche’s ears as she realized she couldn’t pass the invisible wall the iron circle created. Blanche wasn’t thinking clearly as she frantically searched for her bag, head whipping around for the stupid thing. Before she knew it, though, she was throwing herself in front of Adam and Morgan just as a large piece of desk ripped from the floor and was thrown at them. 

Blanche’s hands raised out in front of her and there was a loud crash. 

She hardly registered the pain, she was used to it. Honestly, she was more thrown off by the large broken window in the back of the classroom the desk had flown out of. Whoops, maybe she had given that a little too much juice. The desk had sailed away from the three in front, going straight through Constance and crashing through the window. Screaming was erupting from the remaining students in the classroom.

“Please, get my bag!” Blanche snapped at Margot, breathing heavily. “It’s pink and white and it has things that can stop this. Now! I’ll try to stop her from doing any more damage to anyone else but I can only play ping pong for so long before I pass out!”

Despite Morgan’s words Margot couldn’t make herself believe this was reality. The black strands of blood that oozed from the professor’s wounds were enough to convince herself this was some kind of fever, probably the result of a concussion or even blood loss from her shallow wounds. Nonetheless Margot felt some kind of control, different than how her nightmares usually felt. 

Margot watched as one of the remaining students, she thought his name was Adam, bound over the anarchy that had taken over the classroom, before surrounding himself and Morgan in some kind of strange, ritualistic circle. Wow, her brain was so very good at conjuring things up, it had even given Blanche some Carrie-esque superpowers. Doing as Morgan had instructed, Margot turned to Blanche who was in the midst of quite the battle.

“Okay, okay! I can do that!” Margot yelled back to Blanche’s request. Pink and white, pink and white. She repeated the description to herself as she searched. Margot dodged the multitude of flying furniture as her eyes scanned the classroom floor for the bag. Margot thought back to where they had been sitting before all of this had started up. She looked in this direction, spotting the bag. Margot scrambled towards it on all fours, her palms and knees burning as she did so. “Blanche! I got it!” Just as her left hand clasped the object, she heard a deep crunch. A large overhead light had fallen, or rather, had been dropped onto her wrist by an unseen force. Margot could feel a shattering in her bones and glass in her skin. She cried out. For a dream, this pain felt so very real. She reached out with her other hand, taking hold of the bag. Margot shook the heavy light fixture off of her and cradled the injury. “Here.” She whimpered, holding it up as high as she could manage, the splinters and glass digging in deeper.

Morgan tugged on the chair leg in her chest. She could imagine how it splintered around her body and all the screaming she would’ve been doing if she’d still had a life to lose. Should she scream now? Would it make anything any better if she made a big ol’ holler and begged for someone to make this stop? Would any of this be any less ridiculous? Morgan started to laugh. It was a deathly, wheezing little rattle at first, but as the chair leg popped free and she fell into her student, it grew stronger. “Well that was weird and random and lucky, right?” She said to Adam. The classroom was still flying in chaos. Half the students had made it out but half a dozen remained, most of them cowering in corners or frozen in shock. “Class dismissed!” She called chucking the chair leg at Constance. It sailed through her and clattered against the wall, bopping Maxine on the head. “Apologies! But, seriously, go!” What else was there to do? There was some very gnarly looking wire around her and Adam that looked suspiciously purposeful. She gave him a sidelong look, brow arched in a silent question as she knelt down and reached outside it for her bag. “Can you see what’s going on?” She asked, running her hand through, but finding everything but what she was looking for. She undid all the zippers and flaps and started to dump the contents on the ground. “Don’t see many frat boys carrying this in their backpack. I’m not sure if that’s technically allowed on campus…” But anxious blabbering wasn’t actually making anything better. She needed to find-- her salt! “Perfect.” Morgan opened the velvet pouch and heaved the contents across the floor. The salt pattered the ground like rain. It spread thin, rolling wide across the dusty tile. Constance flew up to one of the chairs still standing, unharmed. She clenched her fists as she took in the double barrier between her and her ‘prize.’ “Sorry to keep disappointing you,” Morgan sneered, her eyes drifting downwards at her failed ploy. The feeling was mutual.

Adam had known Morgan was an inhuman since first being in class with her and feeling the frigid fire sensation her proximity set off all through his body. But though Adam had been born with the clairvoyant ability to sense all supernatural creatures, well those with physical bodies anyway, his Hunter vibes weren’t as specific as those who’d undergone more specific mutation. Morgan could have just been the world’s biggest pixie for all he knew. 

 But since the prof was taking this whole impalement thing like a champ, Adam was placing his bets on one of the undead. Since he’d seen her during the day without wickerman shit going down, the Hunter was going to very tentatively put his money on his gothic lit teacher being a zombie.

Was Morgan Beck actually a two hundred and twenty something year old Mary Shelly moonlighting as a Texan? Time would tell. 

Morgan asked some rather uncharitable questions of why a gentleman was carrying bloodstained barbed wire in his bag and if he could see anything. “Trying to keep cows outta the keggers,” he explained cheekily before turning to survey the madness going on. He wanted to help Blanche and not just chill in this iron circle, but the simple fact was: “Can’t see anything except shit flying everywhere and Harlow doing some cheer squad poses.”

“Morgan! Adam! Stay in the circle!” Blanche yelled frantically. Playing telekinetic interference was harder than she thought, and she didn't want them to get hurt chucking trying to chuck salt. Out of frustration, Constancee stopped aiming at Adam and Morgan and aimed at Blanche herself, seeing it faster to go through her. Debris was building up as Blanche redirected things to slam into the walls, Constance howling in rage at her failures. 

Finally, Margot yelled to her, and Blanche heard the best news of the day. Unfortunately, Constance wasn’t deaf. “No! Fuck -” She saw the light fall, and feared the worst - but Margot was okay, for now, holding her bag high enough for all to see. “Margot, run! Or take cover!!” Blanche reached out her hand, and her bag flew through the air. Constance tried to rip it down away from Blanche, causing salt and books and a small dagger to go clattering to the ground. Blanche tugged back, the pain in her head excruciating as she gave one hard mental yank, and it flew back into her. Blanche wasted no time; she finally grasped her iron rod tightly, throwing her bag to the side.  Constance threw things, trying to knock her off balance to get her away or worse. There was no use. Blanche ducked or threw them away herself before she was close enough to --

“This doesn’t concern you! Run like the others, why don’t you! Run, before I--”

Blanche cut Constance off with a hard swing of the iron rod. She dissolved with one last scream, and the presence faded away quickly. Blanche felt like her skin was on fire, but the tiny pin pricks in her skin were gone. They were alone. It was over. She looked back to where Adam and Morgan were, their figures blurring as the rod slipped from her hand. “She’s gone. It’s safe.” Blanche’s knees buckled underneath her and she collapsed, utterly exhausted. “Call 9-1-1, Margot’s hurt.” Blanche called quietly. She laid backward, unable to keep herself upright as she closed her eyes tight and sank into darkness. Time to rest.

The bag flew from her grasp, and at Blanche’s order, Margot reduced her form to a fetal position, not knowing if she could make it to the exit. She covered her head and drifted in and out of consciousness, her mind forgetting, or rather, repressing the memory of what had just occurred.

Margot was awoken by Constance’s piercing scream, her ears continuing to ring from the sound for minutes afterwards, but at least she was back to the real world. Finally she was out of the strange scenario her brain had conjured up after the tornado, or hurricane, or whatever it was. 

She began to stand, holding her head. “I’m okay. I’m fine!” Margot assured Blanche and the rest of them, though her body was throbbing. “Blanche?” Margot could see the girl’s crumbled frame on the ground. “Blanche!” Margot ran to her and kneeled beside her. She brought her head to Blanche’s chest and heard the slow thumping of her heart. At least she was alive. Margot took Blanche’s hand, not knowing how else to be useful. “Professor, are you okay?” She looked back at Morgan and Adam.

It never felt like it was over, with Constance. Morgan stayed still, trembling and on high alert. It wasn’t until Blanche’s body slipped to the ground with a thud that she snapped back into step with the rest of the world. All the wrecked furniture leapt out at her eyes, super saturated with violence, confounding her sense of space with their jutting wrong angles, dusty debris, and bloody ends… blood…

“I-I’m fine,” Morgan stammered, stepping over Adam’s wire ring. “Who all is still in here? Adam, you’re good, right? Margot--” She stumbled over to the girl, looking at the mess of her wrist. “You’re gonna need to get to student health, or the hospital. But you’ve in one piece, and you’re gonna be okay!” She squeezed the girl’s shoulder, nodding encouragingly. If it wasn’t for the dark stain of dead blood on her cardigan, you wouldn’t have known she’d been run through and stuck to the wall only minutes ago. “Blanche--” she sighed, shrugged, and stepped over the girl. She would be okay. Morgan could carry her out to her car and get her squared up in her own apartment easy. “Carlos!” She gave the boy a sharp look. 

He was grinning sheepishly, scrunched up in the corner, as if it would make him any smaller than his six feet two inches. “Sorry. It just seemed, like, better to try to be invisible?  But I’m going now. I’m--”

Carlos paled and bent double as he vomited cheetos, acid, and clear fluid on the floor.

Morgan followed his line of vision and found-- “Shit, Maxine! Maxine?” She pushed the rest of the classroom furniture aside and knelt down to where she lay on the floor. There was a deep gash in her head, soaking her sandy brown hair black. Her eyelid hung down the wrong way and there was some kind of matter sticking up through her hair. Morgan’s stomach clenched. She didn’t dare touch her like this. There was no telling how few barriers there were between her brain and Morgan now, or if there was any tender, fresh-peeled skin she’d crave taking a bite of-- Maxine had been quiet, depressed, wry humored, blunt when you could get her to open up. She really wasn’t good at explicating literature into coherent theory, but she was young and soft and struggling, and now she was nothing. “Carlos--” she said, voice shaking. “Please leave. All of you…” She turned around and collected Blanche off the floor and into her arms. “Grab your stuff, or don’t, but we’re not staying here. It’s not safe.” It was starting to seem like nowhere was.

“I’m alright Professor,” Adam quietly gathered both his and Blanche’s occult paraphernalia while the Medium was being attended to by Morgan. Though salt, iron, and other instruments were unlikely to arouse that much suspicion, it didn’t make sense to take any chances in this town. He packed up his backpack and Blanche’s bag and slung them as a shoulder as the room was vacated. 

But though Adam pretended to be wholly engrossed in packing and ushering the vomiting remaining students out the door, the Hunter kept an eye on Professor Beck. If Morgan was what Adam thought she was, or some other rarer variety of undead, then she’d have to be closely observed when around the wounded students. 

If she slipped up? Well with those gnarly injuries it’d be pretty plausible that a beloved literature professor perished in the hospital complication. There’d be a whole weepy story in the student paper and everything. 

With Blanche safely cradled in Morgan’s arms, Margot let go of the girl's hand. She sensed that Blanche was in safe hands with the professor. As everyone began to exit, Margot took a second to gather herself. She wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but she was not in any mood to find out right now. Using her one good arm, she hoisted her backpack over her shoulder. There was no way she was leaving her laptop behind. How else was she going to figure all of this out? 

The room was empty now, the rest of the class being ushered out by Morgan and Adam. Margot stood in the doorway for a few moments, admiring the destruction, before following the rest of the group out into the hall and presumably to the hospital. 

Constance screamed silently, reaching within her soul for something to sew herself back together again. The world broke into starlight flashes, too bright and formless to mean anything. Her mind blazed. Was she dying again? Was she going back to the purgatory before this new world? To hell? She wondered the same every time she was struck and dissipated. The magic of death was strange to her and she did not know when it would be ripped away as suddenly as it had been ripped into her. When the winds of fear that had scattered her to the wilds fell and the world was still once more, she could see the room where she had shattered it, and within, puddles of salt laid to tell her how much she did not belong and was not wanted, as if she did not spend her existence with that clarity in abundance. But beyond the salt, and dripping slowly into it, was the darkness of thick blood protruding from the head of a young girl.

Constance flew to the broken classroom walls. She would reach all the way through to the girl if her body would only will itself solid again. But she was only air, and the salt had spilled too close to the wall for her to come through. She spied the dead girl only from a distance, taking in the judgement from her unblinking eyes. What have I done? She thought. What have I done?

You have crushed me, the girl’s body seemed to say. You have proven them right.

If Constance could have wept for them both she would have. What cruelty was this, that she set out to strike down only one soul and take a life as miserable and innocent as her own had once been? She sent the thought away on the wind, lest it destroy her further. 

“I will show them,” she whispered to the air. “I will show them all what true monsters are.”

[miniaturemallow]

I don’t know how to write. But I did. 2526 words of Occu and Rizuki first meeting

That’s the story underneath the read more if you’d like to do so. 

(Warnings for slight gore and body horror stuff)

Two young men wake up from a blackout surrounded by blood. The same night, different streets.

Occu awoke, mind in a haze. Surrounding him was two eviscerated corpses, and after processing that information, he glanced down to see that he was naked.

“God DAMN it you guys” He grumbled, exasperated. A jumble of inane whispers gave the explanation to what happened.

“Trying to rob me?” Occu gleaned the gun that lay next to one of the corpse’s hands. “Dumb bastard. I didn’t even have anything on me” Occu looked back down to his naked form, then to the tattered ruined clothing around him and groaned “And now I have even less on me. You guys could have at least warned me, maybe let me take off my clothes. I just got those too.”

Occu began rummaging around what was left. Examining the corpses further, he noticed how much of them were missing. Occu suddenly became aware of the all too full feeling in his belly. “You didn’t…” he began to say, before the whispers in his mind chided him

“Yeah, yeah I know I haven’t been feeding us too good! It’s kind of hard to…Still, you guys know I’m not too down for…that…Yeah I know I didn’t technically have to eat it, but we share the same stomach idiots.”

Occu took the pants off of one of the corpses, and slipped on the grimy, ill-fitting article of clothing. He then recovered a bloody torn shirt. It wasn’t usable as a shirt, but it was something he could tie over the demon’s eyes. Surprisingly, he found his scarf almost completely intact. He wrapped that back around the demon’s mouth. “Well, we’re going to have to travel around the backways for now. Can’t go around looking like this.”

Occu ventured deeper into the darkened corridors of the alleyway he awoke in, being sure to take corners carefully.

“Now, which way is back to our penthouse, huh?”

 Not too far away, Rizuki regained consciousness, his mind reeling.  He knew the feeling all too well, and he didn’t want to look at the scene that surely awaited him. But, he couldn’t escape the smell of blood. Next to him, an eviscerated corpse. Chunks of flesh were missing, the chest and thoracic cavities ripped open. Rizuki felt that all too familiar full feeling in his stomach, which then turned. He promptly vomited whoever it was onto the pavement. Even if this was something he’d become accustomed to, he couldn’t help but respond this way every time it happened.

“I felt you waking up soooo I thought you might have wanted your body back” the shadow teased “I was done anyway”

Rizuki was usually fast asleep when his demon went out to hunt. But, for whatever reason, his consciousness returned to him at a regrettable time. The shadow probably could have kept his host subdued, but messing with his host was more enjoyable in this moment. Plus this meant Rizuki was the one who had to walk home. And the only fortune in this situation was that he knew the way back.

Tired, and still a little discombobulated, the two men didn’t notice the other’s presence until they were right across from one another. Now in an awkward staring contest in the middle of a desolate street, they’d taken too long a pause to walk by like they didn’t notice the other. And Rizuki couldn’t help but noticed the injured look of Occu. He wouldn’t feel right not offering some sort of help, or at least attempting to offer it.

Occu meanwhile, was thinking of the best exit strategy, hoping this person would just ignore his tattered appearance.

Rizuki did not fulfill this hope

“U-um, excuse me? Do you need a…hospital?” he asked unsurely.

“NO. Err…no. Thank you” His answer came out a little too strong, and he quickly tried to dial it back. He already looked suspicious. Didn’t need to make things worse. Although, he was noticing he wasn’t the only suspicious looking one. Occu’s eye met with the blood spatter on the man’s white sleeves.

“Do you have anything to tend to that wherever you’re going?”

Occu paused. He certainly did not. He didn’t have much of anything in that abandoned house he’d been sleeping in. And though he didn’t have any wounds that needed tending to, he could really use some clean bandages. And a clean change of clothes.

“Uh…No.”

“Well, if you want to, I’m headed somewhere that may be able to offer some help”

Rizuki extended this invitation, leaving it up to Occu if he wanted to accept it.

Rizuki was one who understood the need for help in dire straits. And having just recently been shown the kindness of help, he was wanting to extend that feeling. Even as Rizuki was beginning to think this man wasn’t hurt. Not only that, he could feel his other half lock onto him. Something about this man piqued his interest.

Occu’s gave a little half smile. Something about this man’s offer was so earnest. He sort of felt bad it was being extended to him.

He tried to give an answer back, but he kept getting distracted. Losing his train of thought. Every other bit of consciousness in him was beginning to alert to….something. Trying to shrug it off, he turned his attention back to the man who also seemed to be distracted.

Rizuki could suppress the shadow if he tried. But when the shadow REALLY wanted out, he was going to get out. He’d been less heavy handed with his takeovers as of late. Less searing pull back of chains into the recesses of his heart. But he could still feel him clawing his way up.

Rizuki was no longer focused on making himself look composed, now he was just trying to convince his shadow to stay back for now. He’d already had his fun. Had already eaten. So why now?

Staggering back and muttering to himself, Rizuki surely looked insane.

But Occu recognized that look.

And he could feel his own mind become crowded with a cacophony of wanting to be let out. He felt his flesh turn and writhe as the many eyes underneath cloth tried to get a better look. The teeth on his neck gnashing. Something about this person isn’t right. Something about him could be dangerous. The scent of different blood than his own on him. Occu’s thoughts entered the discussion Same thing could be said about us ya know?

Occu, now more curious than anything didn’t take this chance to leave.

Rizuki’s muttering ceased. And now, he addressed Occu again. With a voice that wasn’t his. It could’ve been his but it was so…off.

“So, whose blood is it?” the voice asked him in a sickly playful way.

The white haired man looked at him and his eyes weren’t the blue ones he had been looking at before. Blood red, nearly glowing. His grin felt unnatural. Occu had just met this person, but he could already tell this was not at all who he was just speaking to.

Occu kept his arms folded across his chest, staring down this new entity

“Was about to ask YOU that.”

The laugh that came in response was eerie to say the least. The sound stuck in his ears and sent a chill down his spine.

He took a step towards him, his movements uncanny.

“I smell those people but an odd, odd scent too. That one’s yours right? I can feel….things like me with you.” Shadow Rizuki stated gleefully “My host threw up my meal. Your scent is odd, but I’m hungry so you’ll have to do”

Occu was not shaken up by this person’s words. He hadn’t feared bodily harm for a while.  

“So, you’re a demon that lives inside that guy or something huh? Well that’s not fair, his demon lets him keep that pretty face of his.” Occu let the makeshift t-shirt face cover fall to the ground. “No…your eyes looked a lot better before.”

As Occu quipped, the six eyes that took up the left portion of his face shifted and took in every possible angle. Next, his scarf was taken off. The seventh eye and rows of teeth stretched the flesh of his neck.

Occu hadn’t noticed the chains beginning to slink out of the shadows, but they had. And they helped pull Occu’s body away from the first strike made by one. It was an odd feeling, like his muscles were being pulled by thread, but he appreciated it greatly when it meant not getting stabbed.

Shadow Rizuki laughed that horrid laugh of his again. He took in the sights of this man. And to toy with him, sent in simple waves of chains. For how slow he needed to dodge, Occu knew he was being toyed with. He was trying to tell the demons not to go too berserk. But, the demons insisted they wanted to subdue him before he actually tried anything. Occu couldn’t stop the transformation once it started. His last conscious thought was him asking them NOT to kill this guy. He might be trying to kill them, but that nice person who was offering him help before was still in there. And he kinda wanted to talk with him again. Take him up on his offer. Besides, I know what it’s like to have my body taken over by some demonic jerks.  

There was a little grin on Occu’s face, before his face was over taken in a warped stretching of skin. The sounds of bones snapping and crunching filled the night air, as his body grew and lengthened. The ulna and radius of his forearm separated, and his hands deformed into claws. Another rib cage seemed to form underneath his original one, another pair of arms bursting through the menagerie of flesh and bone. His back legs took more of a quadrupedal appearance as they too lengthened. Skin stretched over a jutting out spine Occu’s head had become a horrific splice of something reptile and canine. The six eyes had distributed to three on either side of his snout. The teeth of his neck stayed to keep serving as a second mouth. The creature poised itself after forming, and made a hissing guttural growl at shadow Rizuki. Shadow Rizuki was engrossed in watching this transformation. The creature barely gave him enough time to process what they’d become before darting over to pounce on him, a clawed hand slamming itself on his chest. Not enough force to crush him, but certainly enough to knock the wind out of him.

The demons had formed into one creature, and this creature was heading Occu’s request in not killing the little psychopath on the spot. But, shadow Rizuki didn’t have to know that. For all he knew, one wrong move and he’d be torn to shreds. Shadow Rizuki was really just thinking how easy it’d be to subdue this creature. Stab it in the back. Slam it into the concrete. Rip that disgusting claw off of him.

But a more amusing thought came to mind. His host seeing this thing. He could recall a thought forming in the back of Rizuki’s mind that the man he’d met in the alley was kind of nice looking. Not so pretty now is he? He giggled, the eyes that had locked on with the creature went dim, and then his body went limp underneath their claw. The creature thought for a moment the’d actually knocked the guy out, but soon after a gasp of air filled his lungs, and his body tried to move, not realizing he was restrained.

Blue eyes focused in on what was happening, and they widened. It was a frightful sight to be sure but, it wasn’t one Rizuki was unfamiliar with.

“I-I’m sorry!! He attacked you didn’t he? And this is…you’re um…the same person I was talking to right?”

His voice was wavering in the face of this massive creature but, he wasn’t scared senseless.

The creature cocked their head, and took their claw off of Rizuki, who sat up and gave himself a moment to catch his breath.

“Sorry again. For him. I don’t know if the person I was talking to before is listening too but um...” He gave a weak little laugh as he trailed off. His laugh was a much more pleasant sound.

Occu wasn’t exactly around to listen but, the creature sensed the danger was gone for now, and would return Occu to have this conversation. They weren’t very good at conversation.

Rizuki watched as this massive beast began to shrink down. Bones receding back. Walls of flesh and skin blurred around until a human form was once again standing before Rizuki, who now saw the extra eyes and teeth he had kept hidden before.

Occu took a moment to regain consciousness, wincing as he felt some lingering bones snap into place. He looked to see the man with blue eyes once again.

He rubbed the back of his head “Hey! Long time no see right? So uh….guess we’re kinda in the same boat huh?” Not the same boat. We aren’t as rude as he. said the whispers.

Rizuki smiled, and kept his eyes focused on Occu’s one eye, thinking it might be rude to have him darting his own eyes to look at all the others. Occu’s eye was a lovely shade of brown.

Rizuki also kept himself focused on Occu’s eye, because looking down would be glancing Occu’s now naked form. Which would most certainly be rude to stare at.  

“That offer I gave is still open if you’d like! I know now that you weren’t hurt any but there might be some um…things you may want at where I’m headed.”

Occu realized now that he was once again, naked. And now in front of someone. A very courteous someone thankfully. But also a very cute someone, which for some reason had Occu extra embarrassed. He frantically bent down in the most concealing as possible way, and snatched up the only thing that remained in usable condition, his scarf. He held it in a way that draped over his crotch.

He could hear laughter in his head. Transforming before he was able to strip down seemed intentional now.  

“Ya know, think I’ll accept that offer. The way to this place isn’t through any major walkways right?” Occu asked, as he walked over to stand at Rizuki’s side, hanging back a bit to let him lead the way.

Rizuki nodded and assured him

“All backways! And it’s not a long ways away either.”

The two began to walk together

“Don’t think I caught your name by the way. I’m Occu.” Occu introduced himself proper

“I’m Rizuki!” Rizuki said, returning the favor.

Even after an absolutely bizarre first meeting, there wasn’t much awkwardness while they traveled. There was a lot to talk about after all, not a lull of silence between the two. Rizuki’s demon seemed to be resting now. Occu’s demons were still a bit on edge, but began to settle as they listened to the humans converse.

[blog-sliverofjade]

Omega Protocol 27: Interrogation

Summary: In the mid-21st century, the elite decided to cement society’s strata into our DNA, creating a genetic caste system. One of the early Omegas is cryogenically frozen and forgotten. Revived nearly two centuries later, she has no idea what she has become and has to navigate a strange new world while surrounded by Alphas, whatever those are.

Leading the military arm of his people in exile on a dangerous planet is no easy feat for Captain Niklaus Reed.  He has to build and secure a settlement against megafauna straight out of the Ice Age before families start arriving on the distant planet.  When an Omega is found in an old research base, things become… complicated.

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10  Chapter 11  Chapter 12  Chapter 13  Chapter 14  Chapter 15  Chapter 16  Chapter 17Chapter 18  Chapter 19  Chapter 20  Chapter 21  Chapter 22  Chapter 23  Chapter 24  Chapter 25  Chapter 26

Word Count:  1592

Much love to my awesome beta @pandabearer

“Talk to me.”  Emma looked up from where she was idly tracing invisible designs on the ridges of his abdomen.  It was the first time the Alpha had solicited her thoughts on anything.

“About what?”

“What happened last night.”  Pulling away from him, she curled in on herself.  Or rather, she tried to.  Niklaus let her withdraw slightly, but his half-embrace held firm when she would have turned away.  “Nice try.”

“How did you know…?”  That I tried to literally curl up and die?  He merely looked at her.  Right, the thing between them that she’d been studiously trying to ignore.  “I thought that they’d threatened to string you up by your thumbs if you didn’t leave me alone?”

“I think it involved honey, rope, and those giant fire ants.  Or was it the death wasps?”  She giggled at the mental picture, which was no doubt his intent.  “I couldn’t just sit there with my thumb up my ass while you destroyed yourself,” he admitted once the laughter subsided.  “You’re not talking to anyone.  I figure I’m already on your shit list, might as well make you talk.”

“You’re going to interrogate me?  Kinky.”

He didn’t dignify that with a response.

She lay there stiffly.  Bracing his free hand behind his head, he tilted his face, eyes half-lidded, a little more towards the faint light filtering in.  One could have been fooled into thinking he was dozing if they couldn’t see him rubbing small circles against her back.

When she finally did speak, her voice was raspy due to a dry mouth and being quiet for so long, not because of any lump in her throat.  “I didn’t fight.”  The words were barely even a breath.  He waited until it was apparent she wasn’t going to continue.

“What did you do?”  Turning to shelter her with his body, he petted her hair.  This was a softer man than the one she’d first met, yet neither was he treating her with kid gloves like nearly everyone else was.

“I threw Fluffybutt at his face and ran.”  Nik chuckled and she joined him, although hers was partly a choked sob.

“I knew something was wrong when your damn chicken came back squawking her head off.  For that alone, she’s earned a stay of execution.”  For all that she’d threatened to fry the bird at the time, Emma had to agree.

“I should’ve fought back,” she murmured to the scar on his chest that had suddenly become fascinating.

“With what?  A chicken and harsh words?”

“There were sticks.”  She wasn’t being defensive, she was pointing out facts.

“He was twice your size and had a spear,” he said in the same flat manner he did when dressing down one of his people for doing something mildly stupid.  It had very rarely been directed at her.  “You did the smart thing.  Chances are he’d have killed you where you stood for challenging him.  Running was your best choice.  He was still faster, but you didn’t just stand there, did you?”

“No.”  God, she’d rather go through chemo again than have this conversation.

“And the head wound didn’t help, did it?”  Worrying at her bottom lip, she shook her head.  “What else do you think you could’ve done?”

“Don’t patronize me!”  Her ire lent her the fortitude to meet his gaze.

“I’m not.”  A low, hard statement.  “I’m trying to break you out of this spin you’re in.”  When she would have ducked her head again to hide her vulnerability, he gripped her chin and stared into her eyes.  “You’re too focused on what you think you should have done when the truth is you chose the course that ensured the greatest chance of survival.”  The steely commander was back, yet there was nothing cool or distant about him now; the fiery intensity that lay just beneath the surface wouldn’t permit that.

“I’m tired of feeling weak.”  She shook her head and her hair fell across her eyes, reminding her that she always suffered from the most horrendous bedhead.  Sitting up, she worked her fingers through her hair in an attempt to get it looking less like a camel had chewed on it in her sleep.  How does it manage to be both greasy and frizzy?  “I’m tired of not having control over anything that happens to me.  They took me from my home- my planet!- and changed me without my knowledge. then to freeze and forget about me.  I’m still not sure how to feel about… my heat.”  She had hated feeling that helpless and out of control.  “Then that happened, and you did this!”  A hand waved at the scar on her neck.  “I don’t even remember the last time I could make a major decision for myself.”  Her voice broke and trailed off.  “I don’t even know if I can trust you.”

Reed felt like someone had cut him off at the knees and allowed a herd of moofalo to run over his body.  His mate didn’t trust him, and he’d given her precious little reason to.  She had scooted away from him to sit with her back against the wall.  Already he missed the warm weight of her against him, leaving him cold, which was a rare sensation for him.

“From what I understand this is permanent.”  There was no divorce for their kind.  “What are my choices?  Do I get any or are you going to keep dictating to me?”  The hunch of her shoulders was a knife to his gut.  “Makes me wonder what the point of living is if this could even be called a life.”  He had taken bullets that hurt less than her speech.

“Don’t you dare give up now.  You’ve survived too much for that.”  It came out roughly, bordering on a growl, but she didn’t flinch.  “Besides, you still have a chance to make me regret claiming you.”

“Spite as motivation to live?”  A wry twist to her mouth.

“If it works.”

“You’re saying you don’t already regret this?”

“Not yet,” he smirked.

“Oh, you are going to regret saying that.”  A small smile bloomed but faded before reaching its fullness.  “What were those things?”

Blowing out a breath, he sat up to sit against the other wall, perpendicular to her.

“Not all of the original test subjects were as successful as you.  The original batch of Alphas and Betas were feral, attacked the research team, and escaped.”  They had also committed unspeakable acts in the process, but she didn’t need to know that when she had already had a glimpse of it.  “Those are their descendants.  We call them ferals or nomads because they cycle through different outposts depending on the season.  Rooster started calling them nad’s, short for Nasty Ass Dickriders.”  The term wasn’t one he’d normally use in front of an Omega, but the crude phrasing startled a chuckle out of her like he’d suspected it would.

“They’re like cavemen, like they devolved?”

“The going theory is that when they were tinkering with the genetic code, they went a little too far back in our evolutionary timeline.  The next team thought to get around the intelligence issue by splicing in animal DNA to get the strength and stamina they were looking for,” he explained.

“Wait, you’re saying they killed the first team and then sent another?”  Her eyebrows climbed towards her hairline.

“It was merely a ‘setback.’”  His lip still curled at the memory of the classified reports he had been privy to as part of his training.  While those back on Earth might not want their kind around, they still wanted to experiment with a colony on an exoplanet, just not with “proper humans.”  That meant certain information had to be shared or else risk inevitable failure.  “The second succeeded, despite another concerted attack from the ferals.  They decided it was safe to return because at that point they could argue that we counted as an extra-terrestrial species and thus exempt from the ban on tinkering with human genetics.”

“That’s a twisted sort of logic that sadly makes sense.”

“No one told you?”  They had agreed to keep the nads’ existence from her to avoid adding to her stress load, no one suspecting that she would wander beyond the protected core, but he’d assumed that someone would have told her after the incident.  Part of him was glad that she had come to him, hoped that she trusted him enough to tell the truth.

“I think Barbie tried, but I really didn’t feel like talking.”  She smoothed a pillow and fussed with its placement.  “Where do we go from here, Nik?”

He knew what he wanted to do, which was keep her close where he could protect her.  What he said was, “What do you want?”

Emma was silent for so long he wasn’t certain she would answer.

“I want to learn to defend myself.”

“We can start this afternoon.”  The response didn’t even require thought, it was automatic.  Like any Alpha, he wanted to be the one to protect his Omega, but he wasn’t arrogant enough to think that she would stay within a protected bubble anymore.  “First, we get some food into you.”

She opened her mouth, most likely to argue, but the rumbling of her stomach interrupted.  “Um, would you mind stepping out so I can get dressed?”  Instead of pointing out that he’d already seen her in her birthday suit, he slipped out into the hallway and tried not to think of her wearing nothing but his mark.

[fantasticnewtimagines]

Splinched

Living-kaycaste asked: ohhh! do one where newt and the reader are running away from grindelwald’s fanatics and newt has to quickly disapparate with you and the reader get spliced in the process. it’s like ron’s but it’s still really bad and newt gets all worried and tries to heal you asap, and they somehow reveal their feelings in the process.

Keeping your eyes set on the cobalt blue coat in front of you, you ran as fast as you possibly could. Your wand was gripped tightly in your hand and your lungs felt as though they would explode at any moment. Behind you ran some of Grindelwald’s followers; their wands raised high and casting various curses and spells in yours and Newt’s direction. Thankfully, you had been able to avoid them all. But, the others you had come with to fight in this battle had either fallen or separated from everyone else, leaving you and Newt alone to face more wizards than you could manage.

“Take my hand!” Newt shouted to you. He came to an abrupt halt and you nearly slammed in to him and knocking the two of you over. Given the force you had hit him with, you were still able to manage to find his hand and grab it tight. Without a word of what was about to happen, you began twisting through the air, being pulled in all directions before landing with a thud. It was suddenly quiet and the sound of spells ricocheting off walls and causing loud blasts was gone.

Aparating wasn’t new to you. In fact, it was how you made your way places plenty of times. It was second nature and you barely had to put any thought in to it. However, this time you had no idea where you were going and in the chaos and fear, you didn’t aparate quite as you should have.

Rollinf ocer in your back, you sucked in through your teeth as pebbles and hard stone cut in to your skin. But it wasn’t that, that brought the excruciating cry that followed.

Screaming in immense pain, all you could feel was the sudden swarm of pain you had never felt before in your entire life. Your body was screaming and every particle in your body crying in pain. It was like nothing you had ever felt before. If there were any way for you to describe it, you would say it felt like knives were being stabbed in to your body.

Facing you from a few yards away, Newt saw you laying there, your eyes squeezed shut and your entire body splayed out on the hard rocky ground. “Y/N!” Pushing himself up, Newt ran over to you, finding you laying on the ground in a pool of your own blood. His heart nearly stopped at the sight before him.

Rushing over to you, Newt fell to the ground beside you. His trousers ripped on the sharp rocks and digging in to his own skin. But he didn’t notice. The wizard’s mind was focused you.

Screeching in pain, you continue to squeeze your eyes shut, too afraid to open them. You could feel the warm liquid pouring out and if there was one thing you knew, you didn’t want to look or see what part of you was injured. Or in this case... missing.

“Merlin’s beard...” shifting you ever so lightly, Newt leaned over to see half of your arm hadn’t successfully aparated. The horror of seeing such a thing caused panic to sweepthrough him and he watched as your face began to go pale. “H-hang on,” he struggled to say, “It’s going to be okay.”

Grabbing his case, Newt instantly clicked the latched and popped it open. He raised his wand with a shaky hand and with a quick flick of his wrist and the words, “Accio dittany!” he had the healing potion in the palm of his hand. The wizard had never dealt with this before, and his nerves raced through him as he tried to move as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Popping the cork out with his teeth, Newt gently began to pour the liquid gingerly upon your wound. His hand continued to shake and muttered out a curse as he tried to calm himself. You cried out in pain as the potion began burning and stinging. It was most excruciating pain you’d ever felt in your life and in this very moment, you believed this was it. This was the end.

“H-hang in there, love,” Holding back tears of worry, Newt watched as the dittany seeped in to your wound. He prayed fiercely; never blinking or turning his gaze away from you. Your cries lessened as it seeped in, spreading through the wound and slowly beginning to work. “Come on, Y/N...” placing the palm of his hand to your cheek, Newt kept his eyes glued to your face. “Please...” The sting of tears in his eyes began to win the battle of being held back, and Newt finally caved and allowed them to fall.

Warm steaks of tears slipped down his freckled cheeks, clouding his eyes. What if you had lost too much blood? What if the dittany wasn’t enough to heal you? Did he have anything else in his case that could work on such a wound? No spell could work fast enough to help close or stop the blood flow. The horrifying thoughts swirled around rapidly in his mind as if they were a swarm of bees. Merlin, Newt couldn’t lose you. Not like this. Not now. Not when he hadn’t even had the chance to tell you he loved you.

“Please,” he wept, “please don’t leave me... don’t you dare leave me. I need you.” The sting of his tears burned in the corners of Bret’s eyes and with each blink more slipped through. “I love you... I’m s-so sorry I never said it before.” It was nearly impossible to speak. His throat tightnened with each word he spoke. “I don’t know if you can hear me, Y/N. B-but if you can,” he paused, watching your chest rise up and down and giving him the consolation that you were still alive. “I’ve loved you since we first me. I was stupid not to tell you. You’ve been everything to me and I can’t go on without you... I can’t...”

Minutes passed, but they felt like hours before finally the silence was broken by the small, soft sound of your voice.

“N-Newt...”

Whipping his head up, Newt’s breath hitched in his throat. His hand still placed gently upon your cheek, he your head shift slightly as you used whatever strength you could muster up to turn your head to face him. Through your blurred vision you found his kneeling beside you, your head gently propped up on his leg. His curly hair came in to view and slowly, your vision blessed you with an almost clear visual of the man you loved.

Caressing your cheek with his thumb, Newt watched intently as you blinked your eyes. His heart leapt as your lips parted and again, his name slipped your lips.

“I-I’m here,” a quick smile flashed across his face as the sound of your voice filled his body with relief. “Im right here.”

It took you a moment to speak again, but when you finally did, the words that left your mouth were the most wonderful words Newt had ever heard you speak.

“I love you, too.”

A soft cry and a smile broke free from the wizard. The sheer joy of finally seeing the pain ease up and your confession made him feel as if he could soar.

Bringing his lips to your forehead, Newt kissed you tenderly before closing his eyes and bringing his forehead to rest against yours.

He hadn’t lost you. Nothing on earth could ever bring him the amount relief that he felt here in this moment.

His world that had crashed just minutes prior, had built itself back up.

—————

Hope you enjoyed!!!! :)

[jaeminrk]

[ MBC Dance Contest ] + Freddie Dredd - Cha Cha

Nana Jaemin uploaded a new video !

Description: Jaemin, better known as Nana, here! Since I only have 90 seconds to show off my dance skills among a sea of other people, I decided to go with this relatively unknown bop. Enjoy!

Jaemin hasn’t formally danced before. The last time he brought up the idea of taking dance classes to his mom, she exploded on him so the idea of dancing formally is somewhat of a fear for him. However, when MBC announced a dance contest for anyone over sixteen years old, he can’t help but give in and at least try to get some practice in. After all, if he really wants to be an idol, he’s going to have to learn at some point how to do hip-hop moves that are sharp and clean, rather than his current sloppy attempts. With only about a week to come up with something, Jaemin’s mind had been on overdrive thinking of not only a song but how to at least make the dance moves he picked up from college parties and TikTok look sharper than most people.

Focusing on the dance is most important to him so Jaemin quickly picks an artist he’s been listening to lately, Freddie Dredd. Dredd’s an edgy rapper with vulgar, annoying lyrics but his beats always are unique and sometimes sample something more fun than the actual song. After listening to a couple, he decides to go with “Cha Cha”, as it has the most versatility for him to work with. The intro starts off with a bossa nova sample that mentions dances like the “hula” and the “cha cha.” These dances aren’t hard and can add some humor to his dance; he doesn’t want to take this thing too seriously. The sample merges into Freddie’s verse. He figures this is when he can try to attempt some actual hip-hop moves, as the 90 seconds perfectly ends with the verse and another instance of the bossa nova sample. At home, Jaemin cuts the song to the 90 seconds he needs for his dance sample. For four days, Jaemin goes to the SKKU dance practice rooms and gets ready for “show day.”

Once he feels confident with his song and dance, Jaemin gets his props set up and checks out his outfit in the mirror. For props, he managed to find some blue LED string lights he can scatter throughout the back of the dance room he’s reserved on campus earlier in the week. He hangs them up haphazardly like a spider web, giving the cute lights a more ominous look. For his outfit, he contrasts the blue lights with a bright orange jacket and black jeans, with one leg accented by neon stripes by his ankle. He even did his hair and put in earrings into his usually empty piercings. Rather than people focus on his dancing, he hopes they focus on his look. After setting up his Bluetooth speaker to his phone and placing his camera on the tripod, he hits the record button. Instead of stopping between takes, he decided earlier to keep the song on loop and cut the take to the best performance.

He does ten iterations and feels like he hasn’t quite gotten it perfect. When the song starts again, he flashes a smile and dances the hula for a brief second before doing a purposefully silly, upbeat cha cha, which is just him swaying his hips as he steps back and forth while moving his hands to match the flow. As the sample fades, so does his smile and dancing. With a fierce face, he breaks into the hip-hop section. He pops and rolls his body to the lyrics. The lyrics accelerate, as does his moves. When Dredd breaks into a sing-song style, Jaemin sways back and forth, aware of the sharpness of his shoulders, until it transforms back into the intense arm and leg movements. He aggressively points at the camera at one point, while doing a running-man-esque move, and he almost cracks a smile at how "badass” he’s acting. As the end of the verse ends, he slows his moves down to a simple shuffle. Finally, the last instance of the bossa nova sample comes back and he flashes his bright smile again to match his excitable cha cha. As the sample breaks down in distortion, his smile fades until he lets his body fall loose and his head hanging.

After ten more extra tries, his body starts to feel exhausted from all of the effort he’s put in. With his body already loose, he crumbles to the floor. After laying on the floor after three more loops of the song, he finally gets up and collects everything. When he gets to his home, he can’t be bothered to edit the video until the next day. The take is only 16 and a half minutes but it had felt like he had been dancing for eternity. As he watches it, he subconsciously critiques himself and finds all the technicalities he could’ve done better. Regardless, he splices it to his best take, adds the 90 second sample of “Cha Cha,” adds a filter to make the colors more intense. Typing a cheeky description, he uploads the video. Nothing will happen but one thing’s for sure, Jaemin learned so much and he can’t wait to do another dance cover, even if it kills him.

[matrixaffiliate]

Ojalá - Aleatory

Chapter Update! FFN and AO3

From this lovely prompt by @writing-and-nutmeg  I've changed it up a touch but I've kept the most important bits.  Prompt: "You're famous and I'm a checker at Target so I never expected us to meet, but now it's three a.m. and you just waltzed up to the counter with a tub of fake butter, a package of water balloons, and a cart full of bananas and asked if I wanted to help you get revenge, so...Hi, I guess?" AU

Aleatory

Marlene hated working the late shift. It was torture to sit as the only employee in the small shop from ten at night until she could close at three in the morning.

She'd just finished the vast majority of the closing list and was waiting for the stupid clock to move all two minutes so she could close and go home when the door opened.

Marlene clenched her teeth to keep from yelling at the idiot who managed to make it into the store two minutes before closing.

The man went straight for produce, pulling bananas down into his trolley and then he made a b-line for dairy. Marlene sighed in relief when she saw him heading her way.

But words failed her when she saw his face.

"Hey, do you sell water balloons here?" He asked as he started unloading the trolley.

"Nnn, no," she looked closer, sure she was mistaken.

"You watch the Marauders?" He asked when he caught her staring.

Marlene nodded, most everyone watched the popular YouTube channel. They had started as pranksters while in A-Levels but had branched out to do a lot more in the last couple of years while they went to university.

"Are, are you really?" She stuttered.

He nodded and held out his hand, "Sirius Black."

"Marlene McKinnon," she shook it, still trying to resolve in her mind that one of the Marauders was standing in front of her with a cart full of bananas.

"You want to help me get revenge?" He grinned at her and Marlene found herself smiling back at him.

"I, well, I, er, I'd need a few minutes to close..."

"Great, I'll load up my car while you close and then we're going to show James what happens to men who think it's alright to hide my Switch at the top of a light pole."

Marlene's eyes went wide, "Holy shite, did you get it down alright?"

Sirius reached into his leather jacket and pulled out his phone. "It's a shitty resolution because I wasn't going to wait to get it down but you can watch the footage I took when we're done."

"You're, you're offering me the opportunity to help out with a prank and to watch uncut footage?" Marlene wondered if she'd slipped while mopping, hit her head, passed out, and was now experiencing a very strange dream.

Sirius grinned at her, "Seriously. I need help and I don't know if Remus and Peter were in on James' prank or not so I can't go to them."

"So you'll take any stranger?" Marlene chuckled as he paid with his card.

"I'm not taking any strangers," he held her eyes, "I'm taking my new friend, Marlene McKinnon."

Marlene bit her lip, feeling the butterflies starting to build in her stomach. "I can probably finish the rest of the closing list in five minutes."

"Perfect," he loaded everything back into the trolley, "I'll meet you outside."

Marlene watched him walk out before pulling her cash drawer and switching on the closed sign. She tried to hurry through the closing checks before coming to the door, finding Sirius waiting for her with his trolley.

"If you show me where this goes, I'll put it back."

"Right there," Marlene pointed to the neat stacks of trolleys inside the door.

"Great," he pushed off and jumped on the trolley, riding it to the stacks and making a ruckus as he crashed into them.

"Are you good to leave your car here?" He pushed open the door. "We can drop it off wherever you want if it can't stay here."

Marlene blinked, "I, you want me to ride with you?"

"Yeah, it'll be more stealthy if we're in one car. But we'll still need to be careful because James knows I'm going to get him back, so he'll probably be on the lookout for my car."

"We could take my car," the words were out of her mouth before she could think better of it.

"You're a genius!" Sirius threw his arm around her shoulders. "Follow me, we'll drop my car off at my house and then go to James' in your car."

"Alright," Marlene said it slowly. She had often thought that the Marauders played characters on their videos, that they were acting a part. But Sirius' behavior so far led her to believe that maybe he was more toned down in the videos than he was in real life.

"Here," he threw his arm off her shoulders to grab her hand and started writing on it. "This is my number in case we get separated."

Marlene stared down at the back of her hand.

"Let's go," Sirius winked at her and then climbed into his car.

This was so weird.

Marlene followed Sirius for nearly a half an hour before he pulled up to his house. He parked and motioned Marlene to pull in beside him.

"Let's load up," Sirius started putting his bags of bananas into her back seat. "James goes for early morning runs about six and we need to be far away from his place when he gets up."

"What is the plan here?" Marlene helped him transfer everything to her car. "You've got bananas and a tub of margarine, I'm not coming up with anything coherent."

"Oh, the water balloons," Sirius shut his car door and ran for his house. "Come on," he waved her forward.

Marlene hesitated only a moment before following Sirius inside.

Inside was exactly what his vlogs had looked like on the channel, except it was cleaner than she remembered on any of his vlogs.

"Ah-ha!" Sirius stuck his head out of a hallway cupboard. "I thought I had some."

He held up a small package of water balloons like a trophy.

"Let's fill them up here," he pointed to the kitchen sink, "then we'll head up the road to James'."

Sirius tossed her the bag before pulling out a camera.

"Hi everyone," Sirius spoke to the camera as he clicked it on. "It's," he panned to the oven clock, "3:38 in the morning and I'm here with my new friend Marlene." He moved to include her in the shot.

Marlene tried to smile like a normal human being and not someone whose stomach just plummeted at the realization that six million people were going to see her in this video.

"And I'll splice in some footage here of me rescuing my Switch that James managed to hide at the top of a freaking light pole." He paused for a brief second before continuing. "But Marlene is here helping me get some revenge."

Marlene tried to look natural as she focused on filling water balloons.

Sirius switched the camera off and slid it into his coat. "You're really photogenic, everyone's going to love you."

"How do you handle that? Knowing six million people are going to see you at least once a week?" Marlene tried to distract him from the blush on her cheeks that blossomed with his words.

Sirius shrugged, "It didn't used to be that way. It used to just be our mates. I try to remember that for the most part that hasn't changed. I'm not going to go grab a pint with all our subscribers, but a lot of our mates are still watching us and I feel like it's still for them."

"So I should just think about it as making a video for a friend?" Marlene tied off another balloon.

"With a friend," Sirius winked at her and Marlene felt the blush blossom again.

They made quick work of filling the rest of the balloons and then loaded them into her car. As she stared out into the early morning, Sirius flipped on his camera.

"Alright, we're here in the lovely Marlene's car and back here," he moved the camera to include her back seat in his shot, "is bananas, water balloons, and a tub of margarine. And we're going to have some fun."

He switched off the camera and grinned over at her.

"What exactly are we going to do?" Marlene asked as he pointed for her to turn.

"We're going to rig water balloons to fall on him when he leaves for his run and smear bananas and margarine all over his front drive so his special running shoes he ordered from the States get all gooey. I brought a camera to hide and film the whole thing too."

Marlene laughed, "That's actually one of the tamer pranks you've concocted."

"My Switch was unharmed and my data untouched," Sirius shrugged. "Now if my Switch was busted or if James had erased my data we'd be finding a way to feed his running shoes to goats."

"Oh my gosh, could you really get a goat?"

"Maybe," Sirius frowned, "I'll have to look into that. It's good information to have on hand."

"This is fun," Marlene smiled as she followed Sirius' signal to turn again.

Sirius grinned at her, "You're fun."

Marlene focused on driving, but she couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face.

Very quickly she found herself pulling up in front of James Potter's house.

"Let's unload everything and then I'll park my car down the street." Marlene looked back at all the bags in her car.

"Brilliant, you are," Sirius jumped out of the car and started unloading.

They quietly moved everything on to the pavement and then Marlene pulled her car around the corner.

It didn't take long to set everything in place, and while it was a bit messy, Marlene had so much fun that she forgot how tired she'd been before Sirius showed up to the shop nearly three hours earlier.

But what was most surprising to Marlene was how much she liked Sirius. He was attractive, all the Marauders were, but now Marlene knew that Sirius wasn't just another hot guy on YouTube. He was funny and sharp and exciting and genuinely nice.

Every time he pulled his camera out he'd remind her it was just a video with a friend, just him and her. And it helped. She felt herself falling back into her snarky self, making Sirius laugh with her comments and teasing him, especially when he flipped on the camera.

She felt a little sad that it was all coming to an end. Sirius was putting the hidden camera in place and then she would just have to take him home and that would be it. She'd go home, get some sleep, and maybe, she looked at the phone number still on the back of her hand, maybe

she'd text him. Ask how it went. Maybe he'd tell her when the video would go up so she could see it happen.

"All set," Sirius' voice pulled her back to the present. He opened his mouth to say more when Marlene heard steps behind the front door.

Without thinking she grabbed Sirius' hand and ran at full speed down the street, pulling Sirius around the corner just in time to hear James scream in surprise as the prank unfolded. But in her haste to get them around the corner she'd pulled Sirius into her and inadvertently pinned herself between a fence and Sirius Black.

"Sorry," she panted and looked up at Sirius.

"Don't be, you were brilliant," Sirius didn't move to unpin her.

"I, thanks," Marlene waited, sure he'd pull back and ask for a lift home.

Instead, he moved his hand from holding hers to resting on her hip.

"Do you have plans for later today?" He bent his head and Marlene felt her back try to arch without consent.

"Nope."

He brought his face just a bit closer to hers, "Want to grab dinner and then edit a video with me?"

Marlene grinned up at him, "A date then?"

"If it must have a label," he smirked, "then yes, a date."

"Well, labels aside, I'd like to get dinner with you and edit this video."

He moved closer, bring his lips down to hers with just a fraction of an inch between them. "Good, because I don't want you to be just one of the six million people who watch Marauders' videos anymore."

Marlene couldn't stop herself as she closed the distance between them, her lips catching his. It was feather-light at first, but Sirius stepped into her, bringing both hands to her waist. Marlene's hands moved from the fence behind her to rest on Sirius' shoulders. The kiss was soft and exciting and a part of Marlene's brain couldn't grasp that she was standing in James Potter's neighborhood kissing Sirius Black as the sun rose behind them after having pulled off a prank that would be viewed by millions of people. But the whole of her brain told her she never wanted to stop kissing him.

The woman who lived in the house behind them didn't know any of that though and tsked loudly at her gate.

Marlene laughed against Sirius, grinning when he laughed with her.

"Why don't you drive me home and then we can meet up after we both sleep?"

Like a spell, the word sleep instantly made Marlene yawn as her exhaustion started to catch up with her.

"Here," she pulled his hand into hers and pulled his marker out of his jacket pocket, "this is my number."

She held up her hand where he'd written his number, "Now we match."

"Brilliant you are," Sirius grinned down at their hands. "I don't know if I'll ever wash it off."

Marlene's eyes went wide, "If my number ends up in one of your videos I'll kill you."

Sirius winked at her before pulling back and moving to her car.

"I'm not kidding, Sirius," she glared at him as she unlocked the car.

He laughed as they both climbed in. She turned to threaten him again only to find him leaning across the center console.

"Don't worry, Marls," he tucked a curl behind her ear, "I don't want anyone else calling you to go grab dinner."

He kissed her then, and Marlene finally just told the part of her brain that felt this was too surreal to shove it. She was kissing Sirius Black and she had no plans of stopping.

[jincherie]

a day full of nothing but small tragedies... | yixing

⇒ a little piece i started last year for hybrid! yixing/lay and haven’t finished since. I don’t think I’ll be continuing it anytime soon so I may as well share!!! I think from memory it tied into the universe I made for chanyeol’s fic || 2.3k words

The day had been full of nothing but small tragedies thus far. First, you’d somehow managed to sleep through all seven of your alarms— all of which were in place in case you slept through the ones before them, of course. Second, your sibling had stayed over the night before and taken a shower before leaving in the morning— a long shower. When you’d leapt into the stream of water, rushing to make up for a solid hour of lost time, and not bothered to check the temperature you had been treated to the deluxe experience of icy cold water running straight down your back. Needless to say you had leapt back out with a scream faster than you’d managed to get in in the first place. And after that, you were out of milk, despite the fact you’d seen a whole half bottle in the fridge the night before (your sibling was getting a year-long ban from your house) which meant you could have neither your usual cereal nor coffee— and at this point you would have sold your sibling for a mocha.

Your boss hadn’t been too mad when you’d finally rocked up to work (in the end you’d decided to screw rushing and got ready in enough time that you felt better about yourself but still hurried a little). However, you had a feeling that was because a lot of the morning deliveries had been cancelled and you were only five minutes late for the first on of the morning.

Throughout most of your deliveries you managed to stay sane, despite the constant misfortune that seemed so keen to find you today. Finally a bit after midday you made it to your last delivery, smiling when you saw the address, then dropping the expression just as fast when you saw the box. What the hell did a hybrid shelter even need to order that took up a box that big? You tried lifting it a bit to gauge its weight and sputtered. What the fresh heck was in there?! You weren’t looking forward to carrying it into the store.

You arrived quickly at the Exotic Dusk Shelter and sighed before grabbing the necessities and attempting to lift the box. You managed to get it out of the truck, and decided to place it down while you locked it up. You’d thought it was a pretty wise decision, until you had to lift the box back up again. You groaned, people walking by giving you a variety of strange looks. You stared at them until they looked away, and then proceeded to shuffle carefully to the door of the shelter, grumbling the whole way.

You had never really understood struggle until you tried fitting that box through the shelter door. You would try to go to a backdoor but there weren’t any that led to the shop at the front. You pushed and pulled and cursed, wondering where that smug black cat Chen was. Usually he would be around to tease you by now and you kind of needed the interaction to vent you current frustration. You opened you mouth to call out to him, giving a strong pull at the box wedged in the doorway at the same time, when it gave way and finally popped through. You weren’t ready at all and it knocked you onto the floor, too heavy for you to shove off by yourself. What was in here?!

“CHEN!” you shrieked as you went down, groaning at the weight. You could still breathe but the positioning wasn’t exactly comfortable and you were struggling with movement. Why had the fates taken such a disliking to you on this day in particular?

You knew the cat had heard your distressed call and come to check it out when you heard loud, boisterous laughter from where you knew the door to the back rooms to be.

“Stop laughing and come help me you jerk! What is even in here?!” you cried, face flushing a little in embarrassment when he laughed harder. “Chen I swear to god I will pull—“

The hybrid with raven locks was still laughing as he scampered over and rolled the box off of you, giving you a hand up.

Glad that affair was over, you hit the smirking feline with your clipboard and cursed. “Chen you are so rude, I almost died!”

He snickered. “Yeah, but I saved you. You clutz.”

You looked at Chen, squinting as you observed the bubbly grin on his face, the bright eyes and joyful bounce in his usually sly step. “What’s got you so over the moon? Also I need you to sign here.”

Chen took the offered clipboard and pen and signed for the delivery before handing it back and bouncing happily. “That person I told you about came by today and Chanyeol got adopted! I have a really good feeling about this one, y/n!”

You squealed, letting Chen clutch your hands as you both bounced together excitedly. “Oh my god, really?! Oh I’m so glad, he deserves to have a home and someone to rely on permanently. When did this happen?!”

“They came by the other week, but finished paying and picked him up earlier this morning.” Chen purred, eyes forming crescents in his elation and sharper than human canines glinting with his wide grin.

You felt like you could float you were so happy Chanyeol had finally seemed to find a forever home. “This is great! I hope he’s happy.”

Chen nodded, seeming to calm a little but unable to rid his face of the grin. “He adores them.” He purred, nudging your ribs playfully. You grinned.

“Ah,” you started suddenly, remembering the other thing you needed to give the hybrid. “I almost forgot.”

Reaching into your satchel you pulled out three stapled booklets, holding them out to Chen whose eyes lit up in recognition. “I printed the latest Spliced updates for Sehun and Tao. I gave them a quick glance, I think things really start heating up in these ones. The next few updates are going to be hectic.”

Chen took them from your hand, gratitude shining in his eyes. “Thank you for printing them, Tao and Sehun have been bugging me nonstop about when the next updates will be out and they refuse to read anything else that doesn’t have hybrids as main characters. Believe me, I’ve tried. They’ll be over the moon to get these.” He smiled.

You returned the grin before starting as you checked your watch. A parcel was getting delivered soon and you had to be home to receive it. You explained this to Chen and he nodded, bidding you farewell and telling you to drop by again soon, a large smile still donning his face as he clutched the printed webcomic updates you’d given him. You left after waving back, affronted by a sudden downpour the second you left the shelter, getting soaked to the bone in mere moments.

Thunder cracked as you hopped into your van. Today just wasn’t your day.

 xxxxxx

By the time you got home it was late and the streets were dark, rain coming down just as heavily as it had been when you left the shelter. After being kept in traffic that was the worst possible combination of inner-city madness and wet weather traffic, you’d somehow managed to catch every single red light on the way. At this point you were above being bitter, you were simply amazed at how terrible your luck had been the whole day. It was truly incredible.

You’d even completely forgotten about your package, too focused on trying to preserve what little dryness you’d managed to create on your body during the drive home as you hurried into your home, until you got a good five steps into your kitchen. You cursed, looking balefully out the window at the unfortunate weather. The post office was where your package had most likely been sent, and that was just a little ways down the road. You didn’t want to bother driving, it was too close and honestly didn’t appeal to you at all, so with a sigh you slipped your shoes back on with a wet squelch and fumbled out the door and into the rain once more. You could console yourself with a hot chocolate from the café next to the post office.

You ordered your hot chocolate first, slipping into the warmth of the café and shivering in delight. You decided to treat yourself, purchasing two hot chocolates— you were cold and honestly you knew yourself well enough to know you would crave another afterwards anyways. Another day you might have gotten a coffee instead but you could get that at home— right now what your house lacked was hot chocolate. You even splurged a bit and got cream on top.

While your order was being made you ducked into the post office and picked up your package (it was a videogame— you had priorities) and purchased an umbrella while you were there. You didn’t actually have one and days like this reminded you of their necessity. You quickly dashed back to get your drinks with a smile to the barista before exiting just as swiftly and beginning the miserable trek up a hill to your apartment complex. There were a few buildings and shops along the way, and usually you would ignore the dark alleys in between structures in favour of rushing home and getting that hill over and done with, but this time something caught your attention. There was shuffling as you passed one of the larger alleys, the sound of scuffling and rustling behind one of the large dumpsters. Curious (it was a bad habit of yours), you leaned in and paused in your determined trek home.

You weren’t disappointed; the noise came again and this time it was followed by a small splash, and then a bang, and then a pained whimper.

You hurried closer quietly, peering around the edge of the dumpster, rain pattering heavily against your new umbrella and dripping in torrents off the side. You were startled, to say the least, at the sight of a male hybrid curled up against the wall and dumpster, shivering and soaked to the bone. His eyes were screwed shut and his ears were flattened against his head (probably to keep the water out, you reasoned), and he probably hadn’t heard you approach over the thunderous noise of the rain.

With instant sympathy for his soaked situation, you crouched, placing your drinks on the ground in favour of holding your umbrella up and gently placing a hand on the hybrid’s shoulder. He was startled, but you’d sort of expected it. He looked like a stray, but you couldn’t tell how long he had been that way. Beautiful feline eyes caught yours and if you’d had any question as to what kind of hybrid he was those golden orbs answered it. For a moment you were disarmed at the open way you could read his emotions just from his eyes. He was scared.

You smiled softly, trying to soothe him. A hand reached down and grabbed one of the warm drinks you’d intended on consuming. You held it out for him, trying to exude patience and convey how truly harmless you were. You held the umbrella over both of you.

“You don’t have to have it if you don’t want to, but the hot chocolates from that café are incredible and I bought two. You look like you could use something warm,” you grinned, eyes closing momentarily. “I even got cream.”

The hybrid seemed dubious but the more he searched your gaze for anything malicious, the more he seemed to come up empty. Finally he eased a little, reaching a trembling hand to take the drink from you. You beamed, shifting to adjust the package under your arm.

“I really like your eyes. Are you a cat hybrid? Do you have a name?” you asked, probably rushing into things too soon.

He sipped the hot chocolate, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before they opened again and he took a larger drink, nodding. “My name is Yixing, but my… they called me Lay.”

You tilted your head a little. “Which do you prefer?”

He seemed taken aback at your question, pausing mid-sip. “Yixing.” He mumbled.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Yixing. I’m y/n,” you smiled, finding it cute how he hid his face behind the papery cup containing his drink. “Do you… Do you have somewhere you can go? This weather isn’t very friendly.”

You caught the sadness the second it entered his eyes and knew even before he shook his head that the answer was no. Your smile was gentle as you shifted a little in your crouch to ease the pressure on your legs.

“Well, how about this then. I live a little further down the road, and I have a spare bedroom in my apartment and a ton of blankets and towels. You’re very welcome to stay the night and clean up, have a warm shower or a bath, and something to eat if you’d like. You won’t have an obligation to stay, or to leave. You can do as you wish.” You offered, a small smile on your lips. As an afterthought and in an effort to ease any worries he might have, you added, “You won’t owe me for this, nothing is expected of you if you decide to stay.”

Yixing bit his lip, hands wrapped around the hot chocolate you had given him. He looked uncertain, uneasy yet desperate to get out of the cold and wet. You kept a patient look, trying not to seem too overjoyed when he softly agreed. You couldn’t help but grin.

“Excellent!” you cheered, easing up and holding out a hand. “Come on, the sooner we get there and out of this rain the better.”

He took your offered help, standing on shaky legs and swaying. He ended up leaning against you as you walked. His tattered crimson turtleneck did nothing to protect him from the harmful weather and he shivered and quaked against your frame the whole way home.

[faeriydust]

- Task 001 :  -

BASIC INFORMATION.

FULL NAME. Tinka Clementina Bell

PRONUNCIATION. tin-kah clem-in-tēēn-ah bell

MEANING. “heavenly;” there’s no familial significance that she’s aware of

BIRTHDAY. May 30, 2000

PLACE OF BIRTH. portland, oregon, U.S.

ZODIAC SIGN. gemini; adaptable & gentle / moody & unstable

NATIONALITY. american

ETHNICITY. bulgarian & french (mother); israeli (father)

OCCUPATION. student, free-lance repairs 

GENDER IDENTITY. cisgender female

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

EYE COLOR. green

GLASSES / CONTACTS? she owns a pair of glasses for near-sightedness but refuses to wear them ever around anyone

HAIR COLOR & STYLE. 

pale blonde and ever-messy, tinka has never been particularly attached to her hair. it grows like a weed, long and unmanageable-- worsened by her constantly forgetting to brush it. growing up, it was a mess of curls, thick and terrible to comb through. she’d avoid dealing with the pain of knots by tying it away from her face, until even that became too unbearable in the heat of the summer sun, and then she’d let peter do something like shear it off to her shoulders with scissors swiped from whatever relative she was currently living with’s kitchen. one time, she let him cut it as short as his, and pretended she was a true lost boy, and not the tag-along girl that peter protected but everyone secretly made fun of anyways. now that she’s older, she’s taken a little more responsibility for it’s upkeep-- which isn’t to say she still wouldn’t let peter cut it, or that she hasn’t, or that she hasn’t cut it herself a number of times, too. but she works to keep it smooth, and clean, and her curls have mellowed out some. her best secret is that she uses a satin pillow case-- something she bought, brand new, a rarity for her-- to keep it frizz-free and calm. these days, it falls thick and heavily down her back, and she mostly wears it loose like that, and unstyled. otherwise, it’s up-- always, always in a bun, high on her head but a bit untidy, with pieces falling loose around her face, her signature look

HAVE THEY EVER DYED THEIR HAIR / WANTED TO? no; while tinka has many girlish impulses and indulgences, she’s never been one to put real, focused energy into her appearance for any extended length of time (as mentioned above!). it’s just not something she thinks about (and maybe that’s got something to do with growing up surrounded exclusively by boys-- but also, a lot of it is just how she is, anyways)

HEIGHT. 5′1″ / 1.54 metres

PHYSIQUE. petite. 

tinka is tiny. not just skinny or small-- she’s a tiny girl. most of her relatives called her a pixie, as short and fragile as she was as a child. not much has changed since then, really; she’s just toeing the line of five-foot-one, and underweight for her age bracket (even though she can eat like a horse); her hands are small and bony, her feet a size five (she usually just buys kid shoes because they’re cheaper anyways); her biceps can be circled in one of peter’s hands, her wrists in both. she’s always been bothered about her shortness-- especially because it’s made her the butt of more jokes than she’ll ever keep track of. at the same time, she doesn’t do much to counteract it. at the least, she’s certainly sticking with her green flats-- it’s just the way she is. whatever

BIRTHMARKS, a tiny white splash above her left elbow crease; another on the back of her left thigh

PIERCINGS / TATTOOS. none; she wouldn’t mind getting a tattoo if it had significance around it (ideally something she’d end up doing with peter-- she’s entertained the idea of a tiny star or a tiny crocodile somewhere or other)

LIFE STYLE. messy & disorganized / eclectic & unplanned

PERSONAL STYLE.

tinka’s a firm believer in borrowing. so much of what she owns usually is nicked from somebody else-- namely peter, or one of the other lost boys, which winds up with her wearing a lot of things that just don’t fit her. every t-shirt she sleeps in, most of her sweatshirts, and a number of jackets that crowd her closet space and swallow her whole were never hers to begin with. sometimes, she’s fortunate enough to be lent something from someone like Ariel, or, once, Wendy, and she’ll cling to those articles for as long as she can, even purposefully damaging them-- a hole in a tank top, a stain on a t-shirt-- just so that she can keep them longer. which is messed up-- but tink really hates shopping. when she DOES venture to buy clothing for herself, it’s almost always second-hand, thrifted dresses and mid-90s bebe tank tops, worn in jerseys and oversized jumpers, and cheap, plain skirts. the only things she’ll ever buy new for herself are shoes (unless she’s lucky enough to find a cute kid’s pair at goodwill) and pants or shorts, because it’s difficult to thrift anything as tiny as she really needs it. (also underwear and bras-- but that goes without saying?). even then, she’ll work hard to find ways to make those new items different or unique to her-- sharpie doodles or sewn-on sequins to a pair of denim shorts, hemmed sundresses, patches on denim jackets, pom-poms attached to a green pair of flats-- always something. what she most loves to wear, though, is one of peter’s gigantic sweatshirts, and a pair of old denim shorts (or, if it’s colder, jeans). honestly, if she can get away with it, you’ll always find her in one of peter’s sweatshirts.

PRONE TO SICKNESS? not really. she used to eat dirt and worms on lost boy dares; she secretly credits her strong immune system back to those. when she does get sick, though, she gets sick bad-- i’m talking, in-bed-under-a-pile-of-tissues-crying-because-she-feels-so-gross, absolutely-needs-someone-to-take-care-of-her-even-if-she’s-mostly-overreacting sick

SCARS / DISTINGUISHING MARKS OR FEATURES. her hair in a bun-- if that counts-- is definitely distinguishably tink. also, a scar that splices her right eyebrow into uneven half; a big pale scar on her left kneecap; a puckered pink scar on the back of her left elbow (both earned in peter’s company, and probably through peter’s own fault)

FAVORITE FEATURE. her nose and eyebrows

LEAST FAVORITE FEATURE. her hands

PERSONALITY.

POSITIVE TRAITS. loyal, generous, passionate, open-minded, trustworthy, dedicated, patient, detail-oriented, creative, attentive

NEGATIVE TRAITS. moody, short-tempered, judgmental, petty, possessive, indecisive, argumentative, envious, paranoid, disorganized

BEST / WORST PART OF HER PERSONALITY. one-hundred-percent the best part of tinka’s personality is her loyalty; there’s little she wouldn’t do for the select few she deems important to her, and likewise little she wouldn’t forgive them for. she’ll go out of her way to make those people feel special-- whether it be through making them special things or defending them, violently if necessary-- and put real effort into her relationship with them. on the flip side, one-hundred-percent the worst part of her personality is her inability to reflect on her own actions, particularly when she’s upset. no one ever taught tinka the values self-reflection, or even “putting yourself in someone else’s shoes,” which means that if she gets emotional-- which isn’t hard, she’s very sensitive-- she’ll fly off the handle without stopping before to consider why it is she’s upset, exactly, or afterwards to consider whether or not she was acting rationally or fairly. it can make her really hard to be around, and harder still to get close to

INTROVERTED OR EXTROVERTED? introverted (to the max)

HIDDEN TALENTS. she’s got deft fingers that are perfect for picking at / tinkering with tiny objects for hours, which is why she’s soooo talented at making imaginative new things out of borrowed or lost items, and also, more technically, good at repairing broken mechanical things, like watches or alarm clocks or, once, a bike chain. she’s also surprisingly good at cutting hair, from all the times she’s given herself impromptu hair cuts

BIGGEST FEARS. being absolutely alone, feeling betrayed, & falling from great heights

PHOBIAS. agoraphobia (fear of open/crowded spaces, triggered by social anxiety & fearing social embarrassment); aracnophobia & orphidiophobia (fear of spiders and snakes, respectively)

SECRET SOFT SPOT? she loves kids

3 PET PEEVES. talking for the sake of talking; chewing gum with your mouth open; people that talk over other people

EDUCATION.

EDUCATION LEVEL. high school graduate / freshman (going on sophomore!) in college (studying art & engineering (loosely)

FEELINGS AROUND SCHOOL? growing up, tinka tended to follow peter’s lead on everything-- which resulted in her being a poor student and skipping a lot of class. a lot. speaking for herself, she doesn’t mind school-- the routine can get a little boring, a little unbearable, but she likes to learn. her senior year of high school was her most successful, mainly because peter’s influence was absent during that time; she didn’t skip as much, and as a result allowed herself to become more invested in what she was doing there. she even wanted to go to college-- and it’s a choice she doesn’t regret. as long as she feels challenged by what she’s doing, she’s receptive to learning it. when something comes too easily, it’s hard to make her care, though

TYPE OF STUDENT. the slacker, for sure-- mostly because she only tries if she feels like she cares, and a lot of what goes on in school she just doesn’t care about

FAVORITE SUBJECT. woodshop & art-- things where she can use her hands

LEAST FAVORITE SUBJECT. calculus & gym

MOST LIKELY TO... put something off until tomorrow

FAMILY.

WHO ARE YOUR CHARACTER’S PARENTS? tinka never knew her biological parents; she knows she lived with them in Portland until she was 2, but only because she’s been told so-- she possesses no real recollection of them as people. for most of her life, tink was shuffled between relatives, always temporary, mostly distant. she wasn’t an orphan by any technical means, but she connected with peter & the lost boys all the same as a result

HOW WOULD YOUR CHARACTER DESCRIBE THEM? tinka wouldn’t talk about them even if she were asked. there’s nothing to remember and, quite honestly, that doesn’t bother her much. she’s never felt like she’s needed her parents, or been interested in looking for them, or anything like that

DO THEY HAVE ANY SIBLINGS? none

ARE THEY CLOSE WITH THEIR FAMILY? not really

ROMANCE & SEXUALITY.

ROMANTIC / SEXUAL ORIENTATION. biromantic (demiromantic?) / bisexual

RELATIONSHIP STATUS. single

EVER BEEN IN A RELATIONSHIP? no :(

EVER BEEN IN LOVE? OK this question depends entirely on the point of view it’s answered from. tinka wouldn’t say so, but she’s not the best at honoring what she’s feeling-- especially if it’s messy and complicated and hard to hash out. but i think it’s safe to say, objectively, that, yes, she’s been in love (and still is) with one particular person

HOW EASILY DO THEY FALL FOR SOMEONE? not easily at all! in a similar vein to the way she forges friendships-- which is to say, few and far between, and through lots of labor, particularly on the other person’s end-- she’s not at all quick to fall for someone in a romantic capacity. she could probably never love somebody without being friends with them first, anyways-- it’s just a part of the way she forges emotional connections with other people. it takes a lot of trust on her end to get to loving somebody like that (which is maybe why she’s surprised that, after only ~seven months or so, she feels the way she does about john)

WHY HAVEN’T THEIR PAST RELATIONSHIPS WORKED OUT? probably because she’s never had one

IDEAL TRAITS IN A PARTNER. someone that she feels is loyal to her, over anyone else; someone who compliments her and makes her feel like an individual; someone who isn’t afraid of anything; someone patient; someone who lets her steal all their sweatshirts; someone at the same level of thoughtfulness as her; someone gentle & tender; someone bold

DO THEY BELIEVE IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT? OR FATE? it’ not that she doesn’t believe in those things happening, but she definitely doesn’t believe it could happen to her. fate, at least, is easier to invest in than love at first sight

VIEWS ON ROMANCE. for all the reasons mentioned above and also because she’s just really socially inept, tinka doesn’t really pursue romance. she thinks about romantic things, and wants them to happen to her-- truthfully, she’s fostered a million and one romantic fantasies, at all levels of explicitness-- but, as a person primarily driven by situational emotion, (aka very attached to what she’s feeling when she’s feeling it, and letting those feelings-- however irrational-- dictate her actions) she only ever “makes a move” if she feels like the moment calls for it 

FIRST TIME HAVING SEX. she’s a virgin! gasp!

VIEWS ON SEX. she’s a virgin, but not a prude; she feels generally indifferent about other people’s sex lives, so long as everything is consensual

TURN ONS. lots of eye contact, being kissed on the neck or the ear, someone’s fingers in their mouth

TURN OFFS. forcefulness, arrogance, hair pulling

EVER BEEN CHEATED ON / CHEATED ON SOMEBODY ELSE? not unless peter inviting wendy to go to neverland instead of herself counts (which she pretty much thinks it does)

FEELINGS ON MARRIAGE? tinka hasn’t planned that far ahead, but probably not?

HAVE KIDS? she’d tell everyone no but, secretly, like, YES

QUIRKS.

ARE THEY RIGHT OR LEFT HANDED? ambidextrous, but right-hand dominant

WHAT’S A WORD THAT’S ALWAYS ON THEIR LIPS? “stop.”

CURSE/SWEAR? a lot, particularly with “shit,” “fuck,” and “christ”

WORST HABIT. speaking without thinking about what she’s saying

DRINK/SMOKE? tinka does both, although she definitely prefers getting high to getting drunk. she can still function on weed-- but when she’s drunk, she’s messy. in the early months of peter’s disappearance, she got high almost every day-- she still likes to roll herself spliffs and smoke them in bed, habitually. she’s a social cigarette smoker (”social” as in, smoking with the lost boys) and she also was gifted a vape once, which she used way more back then than she does now

EARLY BIRD OR NIGHT OWL? night owl-- mostly out of habit

HOW TIDY IS THEIR ROOM? NOT TIDY AT ALL. i don’t think anyone is every truly prepared for how untidy tink’s room is. she’s got a mattress on the floor shoved against her wall and that’s about the only point of refuge. she keeps her clutter piled on desks and in milk crates, and everything else lays strewn across her floor. she’s also a tiny bit of a hoarder

HOW LONG DO THEY USUALLY TAKE TO GET READY? not long. since most of her clothes are on her floor anyways, and she favors peter’s sweatshirts and t-shirts, all she really has to do is roll out of bed, grab what’s closest, and brush her hair (if she remembers to do that). there’s no routine involved

FAVORITES.

FAVORITE COLOR. green

FAVORITE MOVIE. napoleon dynamite

FAVORITE MUSIC GENRE. she doesn’t have a particular genre, but she listens to a lot of music like glass animals, daughter, wet, and 6lack (particularly songs like these: x , x , x , x )

FAVORITE FOOD. she likes to eat vanilla yogurt with chocolate chips in it

FAVORITE BOOK. the chronicles of narnia, by C.S. lewis OR howl’s moving castle by dianne wynne jones

FAVORITE DRINK. orange juice, no pulp

FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR. mint chocolate-chip 

INDOORS OR OUTDOORS? outdoors, duh

[theoriginalkidwithapen]

Principia – De Motu Corporum III

CW:  Death, disaster

“The alteration of motion is ever proportional to the motive force impressed; and is made in the direction of the right line in which that force is impressed.”

– Sir Isaac Newton, “Philosophae Naturalis Principia Mathematica”

Thirty-two minutes and fifty-seven seconds into her brachistochrone maneuver, Peregrine’s main engine shut down as scheduled, and with a sustained burst from her reaction control thrusters, she flipped around to face the opposite direction, beads of molten tin rolling off the face of her cooling whiskers as the force of rotation drew them away.

Once transposition was completed, Peregrine’s starbulb lit up once more, a jet of incandescent star-stuff erupting from the engine bell.  Her whiskers began to glow a dull red as the streams of molten metal started to flow along their surfaces, cooling off as they radiated away their heat into the vacuum of space, and through exploiting the properties of liquid metal, flowed back to the roots.

In her control compartment, the situation was just as lively.  The stress from 17,150 kilonewtons of thrust caused the entire room to rattle violently.  Misty was unconscious, Jon was fighting his hardest to stay awake, and even mighty Tallen strained under this irresistible force.  Peregrine had long since switched back to hands-off flight control, not that Jon had noticed.

“Contact detected, bearing 160 by 27, range 153,000 kilometers and closing,” Peregrine reported, “IFF reads as a CETU destroyer.  Time to intercept:  58 minutes, 31 seconds.”

Jon tried to respond, but he had trouble focusing on the words.  It didn’t help that his eyeballs were being squeezed into the backs of their sockets by seven gravities of accelerative force, or that it felt as if a couple large sacks of rice had been laid on top of his chest.

“Keep tracking and identify,” Tallen slurred, “How are the others doing?”

“Misty’s unconscious,” Peregrine replied, “I’ve got her on an intravenous steroid and oxygenation drip, and I’m closely monitoring her vital signs.  Jon is still conscious, but I have another IV standing by just in case he blacks out, too.”

“Great.  Time to destination?”

“32 minutes, 21 seconds.”

“Swell,” Tallen groaned.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

As predicted, Peregrine completed her deceleration burn precisely 32 minutes and 21 seconds later.  The coronal plume from her tail was extinguished, and the crew could all breathe a sigh of relief.

Perhaps not a sigh so much as violent, gasping, sputtering coughs as the pressure lifted.

“OK, everything hurts,” Jon winced.

“Would someone please be so kind as to stop that disagreeable ringing?” Misty implored, her eyes squeezed shut.

Tallen, fearing that Misty had a concussion, freed himself from his restraints and made his way to the emergency medical kit.  “Misty,” he said as he checked her pupils, “do you know who I am?”

“Of course, Tallen,” she replied, “Jon is behind me in the flight control seat, and Peregrine is the ship.”

“Lucky guess,” Tallen joked as he finished inspecting her, “The good news is that you don’t have a concussion.  Here, take this.”  He gave her a condiment-packet-sized pouch, which she tore open and, with practiced grace from a lifetime in microgravity, she squirted the floating globules of liquid painkillers into her mouth and dutifully swallowed them.

Tallen went to help Jon get out of his restraints, but Jon waved him away.  “I’m not concussed,” Jon groaned.

“Let’s leave the diagnosis to the ship’s medic, shall we?” Tallen self-referred as he checked Jon out as well.

“I know exactly who you are, Tallen,” Jon moaned, “I just feel like I’ve got a hangover the size of Saturn – I half-expect to see rings form around my head.”

“Well, the bad news is that you won’t be getting medical leave for this,” Tallen joked, “No concussion for you.”

“Damn,” Jon exclaimed before gulping down the painkiller sachet Tallen gave him, “I could really use a couple dozen sols at the Delphic Ablutoria…”

“I thought you didn’t go for the whole… sex thing,” Tallen commented.

“I don’t,” Jon replied as lucidity returned to him, “but I do find Europan hydrothermal massages very…  relaxing.”

“They really are,” Misty sighed in agreement.

“Peregrine, what’s our status?” Jon asked.

“We’re less than 5 kilometers from the remains of EML-1 Colony 7,” Peregrine reported, “The station is only rotating at 2.11 degrees per second.  There’s a lot of debris in the direction of the spacedock, but it’s moving so slowly relative to the colony that it shouldn’t pose a hazard to navigation.”

“Give me a visual,” Jon ordered.  What appeared on the monitor drew surprised gasps from everyone on the control deck.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The absolute devastation in the scene before them evoked the profoundly morbid eerieness of an ancient battlefield.  Drifting detritus littered the space around the catatonic colony – while most of it was structure, goods, and equipment, there were many corpses among the rubble; bruised, bloated, and broken.  They had to be those with the misfortune to be close to the spacedock when it exploded – those within would have been incinerated by the blast, while those on the colony side would have been blown into space when the bulkhead ruptured from the explosion.

The walls of the colony cylinder were left deformed from the blast, lending it the appearance of a deflated steel balloon.  Twisted, melted steel cables wound about the void, making entry into the colony difficult.  Peregrine swept aside the smaller debris with her navigational sweep – ablating them with a broom of coherent light.

She was able to negotiate her way into the remains of the colony’s spacedock.  The hulks of sundered spacecraft stood silently secured in great gantries, waiting for launch orders that would never come.  Scorched shells and shattered structure left a host of haunted hulls – a macabre mess of death and destruction.

“Could you come look at this, please?” Misty asked.  What she had discovered perturbed them all.  A gaping tunnel had been bored tangentially into the spacedock’s structure, penetrating through to open space beyond, illuminated by the faint orange glow of still-incandescent metal along its interior.

“Aperture diameter is approximately 21 meters,” Peregrine reported, “It looks like whatever did this cauterized its way through the spacedock’s hull on the way out.”

“Regardless, we’re here to see if there’s anyone who needs our help,” Jon declared, “Peri, can you get us any closer to one of those service airlocks?”

“Sorry, love,” Peregrine replied, “There’s not enough room to maneuver in here.”

“We could try the longshoreman’s gantry,” Tallen recommended, “Maybe the dockmaster’s computer will have something on what happened.”

“The dockmaster’s office might also be a good place to tap into station comms and internal sensors,” Misty suggested, “It would make it easier to locate survivors.”

“We’ll start there,” Jon decided, “Peregrine, what are the conditions like out there?”

“Ambient radiation level is 0.23 sieverts per hour,” Peregrine reported, “Radiation protocol level 4 is warranted.”

“All right, let’s do this one by the numbers,” Jon ordered, “Tallen, Misty, we’re going outside.  Bring HSFH scrubs and dosimeters.”

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The Ying-Zheng-class destroyer VSCE Ekaladerhan was ugly as sin and twice as graceless.  Cursed with large, blocky construction, she would undoubtedly be less aerodynamic than the box she came in, if 5,500-ton warships were delivered from their shipyards in enormous crates.

As she cantankerously lumbered towards EML-1, decelerating on a lambent plume of incandescent deuterium, the ship’s Combat Information Center was abuzz with activity as the crew tried to make sense of the events of the past hour.

The Chief Intelligence Officer of Ekaladerhan was cloistered away from the bustle of the command center outside in his office, analyzing reports on the situation.  The biggest stumbling block to getting a cohesive picture was the lack of useful information. Actually, that was the second biggest stumbling block.  The actual biggest obstacle was that the captain expected a situation report in ten minutes to prepare for operations as soon as they arrived on site, and he didn’t have any new intelligence to give her.

A sharp knock on the door erupted from the cacophony on the other side of the bulkhead – the buzzer for that door hadn’t worked right since the Kala’s last refit 20 years ago.  According to the Chief Engineer, fixing the buzzer meant removing the entire door mount and tearing up a meter and a half of conduit in order to splice in new wiring – because door buzzers were neither primary systems nor essential for combat operations, and as the only way in or out was through the adequately secure CIC, it would have to wait until the next refit or the CIC got trashed by hostile weapons fire.

“Come,” he projected.  The percussive prattling of the outside flooded the room as the door slid open, and an Earth Forces officer in espatier gray fatigues stepped through.

“Crewman, shut that damn door!” the intelligence officer barked. “Sorry, INTO,” the interloper apologized, and then pulled the door shut.  The noise quieted to merely distracting.

“Report, leftenant,” the INTO ordered.  The interloper stood to attention.

“Sir!” the lieutenant said with military sharpness, “I’ve brought the report you asked for.”  He handed a small tablet to his superior.

“Put it on the desk.”

“Yes sir,” the lieutenant answered and did what he was told.

“Well?” the INTO asked impatiently, “If you’re just going to stand there, make yourself useful and get me some coffee!”

“Yes sir,” the lieutenant answered again, “Sorry, sir.”  He turned about-face and began to slide the door open again.

“Leftenant,” the INTO sighed, “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

The lieutenant closed the door again and turned back to face the INTO.

“May I ask what’s on your mind, sir?” the lieutenant asked.

“No,” the INTO began, “Yes.  What do you know about EML-1 Colony 7?”

“Number 7 was an agricultural colony,” the lieutenant summarized professionally, “its sole export was bulk soybeans, no different than any of the eleven other colonies at EML-1, or a dozen others at EML-4.”

“My sister was a biologist there, monitoring the soybean crop,” the INTO admitted, “She was going to be married next month, to a water management system engineer on the colony.”

“And you’re worried that she’s dead, sir?”

“I’d like to believe that she was able to get to an emergency shelter, but I doubt it very much, given how quickly things happened.”

The lieutenant sat down across from his superior.  “If you like, sir, I could say a prayer for her.”

“If you’re looking for something to do, you might help me make sense of these reports,” the INTO suggested as he dropped another tablet onto the desk in frustration, “I just don’t understand it – a nuclear shaped charge explodes in the dock of an agricultural colony, a civilian freighter under Martian registry disregards space traffic control orders and races to Colony 7 under the guise of rendering humanitarian aid, and no one seems to know anything!”

“Why EML-1 #7?” the lieutenant asked, “Why not the new space city at EML-5?  Destroying Colony 7 couldn’t have killed more than a million people, while attacking Cockaigne could have increased fatalities by an entire order of magnitude.  Colony 7 doesn’t make sense as a target for a terrorist attack.”

“It wouldn’t even have affected food production much,” the INTO agreed, “Apart from decompression and the structural damage, that colony is virtually intact.  The Department of Space Construction could have it back in productive operation in six months.  I fail to understand why anyone would have–” he paused as something on the tablet the lieutenant brought him caught his eye.  Glancing at its contents, he came to a disturbing realization.

“Leftenant,” he said as he showed him the tablet, “what do you make of this?”

The lieutenant took the tablet.  The INTO watched as the more he read, the more things began to click into place, and the more his realization grew.  “Mars?” the lieutenant asked.

“Mars.”

“We’d better inform the captain.”

[kapanbenernya]

DiRT Rally -- DORIFUTO NO NO NO

I've never been a believer in superstitions, magics, or the occult. But if one day I happen to come across a shooting star, I would like to make a wish so that a time machine can be a real thing that's functional within my lifetime so I can go back in time, punch past me in the face, and ask myself "What the fuck were you thinking? Why did you buy this game?". Granted, it was my friend that invited me to buy DiRT Rally on the basis that it can be played together for shits and giggles to tide us over until the next MHW updates. But really, what was I thinking? The last racing game I touched within years was Need for Speed: Most Wanted, and the most recent game that fits the bill is Euro Truck Simulator 2. And comparing ETS2 to DiRT Rally is like comparing me to Mick Jagger. One's big, slow, and mundane, while the other is flashy, popular, and probably involves cocaine at some point.

Oh but whatever, you don't come to me to listen about my story, you come here for my assessments about games, so here we go. Consider this to be what happens when a rally scouting agent got so piss-drunk that he thinks signing up a truck driver as a rally driver is a good idea. Hmm, actually let's roll with that, let's do up with some role-play to keep things interesting.

So let me present you the story of how a truck driver's world went upside down after being signed up as a rally driver, starring Mr. Johnny Tanktop

Hello there, my name is Johnny Tanktop. I am a truck driver and part-time wifebeater. I was doing my usual round of stout at the local drinking hole when I noticed a guy had been eyeing me for a while. Finally after his fourth pint, he brisked his way over and sat on the empty stool beside me. My first thought was "there goes my bum's virginity". He spoke to me, and I soon find out that he's a rally team manager. Phew! I guess my bum will stay unsullied for a while. He's been going around scouting for fresh talent and I seem to fit the bill. Actually about half the fucking country would fit it too, since all he said he needed was ”a good pair of both limbs and a driving license”. Since he promised me good earnings with skills I'm already familiarized for a long time, I decided to take up his offer.

The next day, I went to the place he promised he’d meet me. It’s a run-down old garage next door to a grocery store. “This does not seem promising”, I thought to myself. I knocked on the door a few times, and he came to the door to let me in. To my surprise, he had nothing in his garage but an old computer hooked up to an even older monitor on a desk. He told me that he's about to teach me on how to be the best rally driver ever. When I pointed out to him the lack of automobile, he just laughs and pointed to the computer. Turns out it's filled with video clips of rally tutorials. You what? Are you really expecting me to be able to drive rough terrain at breakneck speeds after watching 5 videos? By that logic I should've been crowned king of the world from all the YouTube videos I've watched, along with everyone else! But whatever, no use whining now, might as well try to absorb whatever knowledge I can before I inevitably crash and burn, literally. 

The videos are helpful in the same way as showing a presentation about genetic splicing to grade-schoolers. It's advanced shit with mumbo jumbo up the ass that you can't help but think that it was meant for people with way more knowledge than you, but you're supposed to nod your head and pretend that you know about the subject matter anyway. I mean you can tell me all about weight distribution, traction, pitch, yaw, but they're very much useless unless I feel it myself while driving. Like for example, what the hell is a "Scandinavian Flick"?

Personally, that's what I call "finger-banging a nordic woman" 

These videos does not help me in any way whatsoever because these are all theories. You know what would help me? A practice track. A real one, the one with cones, the one with courses focused on certain aspects of driving, the one with an automobile instead of a 14-inch CRT monitor. I believe a practice track is super important, and not having one is going against common sense. I mean what? Are rally drivers born with a stick shift in hand and starts drifting in their baby strollers by the age of 4? But after all has been said, I noticed that the manager has already fallen asleep about halfway through my rant. I woke him up, and somehow all he took from it is that I'm ready to race. Seeing how there's nothing else to do, I begrudgingly agreed on it anyway.

It's on to professional career it is

So the boss man gave me a set amount of cash. I used the majority of it to buy the shittiest car from 1960 from a nearby dealer. I notice that there are loads of varieties of cars, just teasing me with cutting-edge technology, 6 gears, and a chassis not made out of repurposed biscuit tin. I think this is a tactic to tempt me into working hard so one day I can afford those hot rides, but I don't care. I then meet up with the manager and turns out he's already enlisted me into a rally in Greece. He told me to get ready, but all I can hear is "I've chosen this lovely countryside road as your grave spot. Don't forget to sign the insurance papers, also can you tell me your next of kin?". But you know what? I'm in too deep this time. I've gone and bought a car, I watched all the videos, might as well pretend I'm professional now. Hearts and minds, right? 

Well few days later and I'm actually in Greece. As far as I can tell, this is some real shit that's going on. They got tents, officials, I even got a faceless stranger to fill in as my co-driver. Hang on now, shouldn't my co-driver be someone I know? Shouldn't one of my friends that I've trained and bonded with be the co-driver? Also shouldn't you teach me what the fuck his signals fucking meant? What the fuck is '90 turn left actual'? What the hell is a 'joker'? Why do we have to take it? I'm not in a fucking bat-mobile, am I? Is rally driving just a part of the Batman training program?

I think I know where this is going

I mean the 2 minute tutorial is unfair enough, but withholding some information is just fucking with us. You know what? Fuck. This. I'm gonna drive anyway. Whatever happens, happens. So off I go to the starting line in my car. Helmets on, seat-belts buckled, next-of-kin notified, light turns green, and pedal to the metal. I was in control for a while until my robotic co-driver spouts more of his nonsense. All I can do is try to comprehend his speech and wing it. Three more turns and there I was; face down, ass up, and holding on to dear life. Although the officials might've been fucking Merlin and Gandalf because my flipped car got teleported back into the upright position and neither me or my co-driver suffered any damage. I got out of the car, about to see my manager and give him a piece of my mind, but soon I found out that he's nowhere to be found. All I can find is a ticket back home and word that he's took off to find newer talent. With a heavy heart, I decide to retire immediately, fly back home, and do what I do best: trucking and occasional spouse-beating

Well, that about summarizes my experience with the single player content, now let's talk about the reason I bought the game: multiplayer

So here we are, me and my 2 friends, about to have a race together. I asked them about how the game's been treating them so far, and turns out it's the first time they launched the game and that I'm the one with the most experience. Ho ho ho! I can already imagine how this night will turn out! Instead of one inexperienced driver crashing his car, there will be THREE inexperienced driver crashing their cars. But whatever, we tried it anyway... With the expected results. Turns out we are all terrible and have none the slightest knowledge on how to drive rally. It was madness! If this was a real rally event, I could already imagine the people watching this bursting into tears with laughter at this amateur hour. I'm sure we just became the three biggest idiots on the race track. There's one guy who always gets a time penalty over 30 seconds, another guy that always has one of his tires flew off no matter what cars he used, and then there's me: going as slow as chauffeuring an old lady with a heart condition through a crowded school zone. But the funniest thing is that I still win because the others fuck up more. At least that was the case until they find the brilliant strategy of ramming me off the goddamn road, those wonderful human beings.

Aside from fucking around on the track however, there is nothing else entertaining we could find. I mean there's only like 2 tracks available, and crashing ourselves silly can only carry so much gameplay. There are actually more tracks that we can unlock, but unfortunately, to unlock it, we have to progress through the campaign, which means doing that sign reading type of rally that we can't do. And that means we can't progress any further because we aren't actually interested in the gameplay to begin with. So we all said "what the hell" and promptly forget about the game and never speak of it again.

In Brief

It only takes 2 hours of gameplay for me to know what kind of game this is. This is a game for enthusiasts (and by enthusiasts, I mean maniacs). The kind of guy that owns steering wheel controllers they welded into a deck while sitting on a repurposed leather seat from a Mercedes. The kind of guy that wanks to pictures of cars, all the while praising the angle in which it opens its doors. The kind of guy that knows all about your engine problem but lacks the mechanical skill to actually fix it. The kind of guy that brags about his fastest lap times in the game but has to bribe the DMV after the 22nd failed attempt on his driving license. 

Slamming aside, that's really all I can say about the game, because this game simply isn't for me. I do not own the necessary knowledge or passion to pass judgement to this game. So take my words as mere winds passing through a valley. I really should've ended it with a race-themed metaphor, but I don't care.

27/11/2019

[sage-nebula]

VLD - S1E1, “The Rise of Voltron,” Pt 1

Now that I’ve seen Voltron all the way through once, I’ve decided to re-watch it now that I’m familiar with all of the characters and can pay better attention to them / what’s going on (i.e. I’m not being hit with everything all at once, I can better focus on smaller details). So as I’m watching, I’m going to compile notes on things I notice to refer back to later. Read along if you want.

That said:

Fandom likes to portray Matt as the same age as Shiro, but honestly, he sounds younger. We know that Pidge is the youngest of the Paladins (fourteen), so perhaps Matt is supposed to be around the same age as Lance, Keith, and Hunk? (Inb4 “IF MATT’S A TEENAGER TOO THE ONLY ONE WE CAN SHIP SHIRO WITH IS CORAN.” I honestly don’t care about shipping. I’m just saying that Matt Holt sounds like a teenager, and we know they don’t all have to be the same age, because otherwise Sam Holt wouldn’t be there.)

It’s kind of sad to see how Shiro’s hair was all black before the abduction, because you know that shock of white has to be from whatever he went through (torture, stress, DNA splicing, et cetera). Like, the robot arm is sad, too, obviously, but the white hair . . . damn. Shiro. :(

Good god, but I forgot how much of a mess the Kerberos simulator was:

Lance, for how often fandom likes to portray him as the super sensitive, compassionate one, has pretty much . . . zero regard for Hunk or Pidge (but especially Hunk) during this test. Hunk straight up tells Lance that he feels sick and asks him to stop flying so recklessly, and so Lance decides to be all, “it’s not like I’m doing THIS” and jerk the simulator around even more, just to mess with him. He’s not malicious, obviously, and he’s not doing this to be cruel, but it obviously doesn’t really matter very much to him if he’s making Hunk uncomfortable / sick. Likewise, when Pidge is thrown out of her seat, the most he can do is snap at her to buckle her seatbelt before snapping at Hunk to engage the stabilizers---though again, Hunk might have been able to do so sooner had Lance not been fooling around so much and making him sick on purpose. He also completely disregards everything both Hunk and Pidge tell him, and when Pidge mutters beneath her breath about how he’s doing what he’s doing against crew advice, he just says, “no time for mutinous comments!” But oh yeah, sure, go on and on about how Lance always listens to feedback and is sensitive to the needs of the crew, mmhm. (He also repeatedly takes his eyes off the windshield, and does so to brag about how great of a pilot he is . . . right before crashing. GG, dude.)

Pidge really should have been wearing her seatbelt, though, and as on-point as her muttered snark is, it wasn’t helping. She---or Hunk---needed to stand up to Lance more firmly, but neither one of them has much of a propensity to do that (Hunk especially). It’s why they’re not so great as #2s in terms of the leadership hierarchy.

And also, Hunk, sweetheart, pls . . . why are you going into space exploration if you’re that easily motion sick, and don’t they have motion sickness medication you could take beforehand? Pls Hunk, pls . . . ily but have some foresight.

Iverson is the biggest dickwad and I fully headcanon that he played a big role in Keith being expelled from the Garrison. (Like don’t misunderstand, it was Keith’s own behavior that got him chucked out, but Iverson was the one he had the final confrontation with.)

I’m ten minutes in and Lance has been going on a lot about team building so far. He might not be the super sensitive guy fandom likes to portray him as, but he is very much a team player. He’s a social butterfly. That’s the thing, though: Lance’s emphasis on teamwork (at least thus far in this episode) isn’t so much so that they can be better at the simulator. That’s the excuse. It’s more because he wants to have a night out on the town with his two buddies. In true Shawn Spencer fashion, he’s ignoring Hunk’s protests and basically dragging him along by the shirt collar. They really are like Shawn and Gus here, with the caveat that Hunk doesn’t snark nearly as much as Gus does. (Pidge has that on lock, though.) And even when Lance chides Pidge, “If we’re going to bond as a team we can’t keep secrets,” that’s just because he wants to know what she’s up to, it’s not because he actually has interest in working as a team right then. So like, yes he’s a For The Team type of guy, but it’s not super sincere right here.

Now that I know the whole story and all the spoilers, it really is amazing just how much Pidge goes on and on about the other two Kerberos crew members (i.e. her dad and brother). Like, you can mistake it as just filler dialogue on a first watch, but on the second watch you see again and again how she asks where the other two crew members are when she sees Shiro strapped to the table, how she mentions that “they’re not even asking about the rest of the crew” et cetera. Pidge is hyper focused on her family even ten minutes into the first episode, but in a way that doesn’t make it obvious and distracting. A+

“I hate to be the voice of reason, always---” Ily Hunk. (Also, he and Honda are quite different in terms of personality, but I could see Honda saying this. The pain of being the Yellow Paladin.)

Okay, but this right here:

This is the first time we are introduced to Keith. First impressions are important. From a creator’s point of view, this might be their only chance to tell you about a character, and so they’re going to give you what they feel is the best and most pertinent information about that character in the first impression. And the first impression we receive of each of the Paladins (since now we have all five) is as follows:

Shiro was on the Kerberos mission. We learned he’s not very interested in space ice, even if he’s excited that the Holts are excited. The Galra attack pretty much immediately after. Shiro takes charge, telling Sam and Matt to run back to the ship, but they’re all abducted before they can make it. On the ship, Sam and Matt are entirely silent, but Shiro wakes up and tries to plead with Zarkon, telling him that they’re from a peaceful planet and don’t mean harm. It doesn’t work; he’s knocked unconscious and taken to some unknown destination. The first impression, then, that we get of Shiro is that he’s not very scholarly, but he’s supportive and encouraging; he’s quick on his feet and has a tendency to lead and try to protect others; he’s diplomatic and tries to resolve things without violence (and he cares about his companions, because he looked over at Sam and Matt before trying to plead their case).

Lance was piloting the Kerberos simulator. As I described above, he spent the simulator alternating between giving Hunk a hard time, bragging on his own skills, ignoring Hunk’s and Pidge’s suggestions because he felt he knew best, and snapping at them when things started to go awry. Our first impression of Lance is that he’s a bit of a show-off (or at least that he tries to be), that he’s confident to the point of being cocky, but that he’s still a fun-loving teenager who, yes, also looks out for his friends (see: stopping Pidge from going off on Iverson in an effort to keep her out of trouble).

Hunk was the engineer on the Kerberos simulator. He spent most of the mission trying not to vomit, and then ended up puking in the engine box anyway. He pleaded with Lance to chill out with all of the shaking, but didn’t have a lot of force or power behind his words. He seemed nervous and out of his element. Afterward, he was completely silent during Iverson’s lecture, and likewise, can’t really stand up to either Lance or Pidge and basically lets them run the show. Our first impression of Hunk is that he’s easily motion sick, passive, and something of a pushover. He doesn’t want to be along for the ride, but ends up getting pulled along (to his detriment, it seems like so far) anyway.

Pidge was running communications on the Kerberos simulator. She spent the simulator hastily trying to keep them on course, but was a bit too hyper-focused on certain details while ignoring others (such as her seatbelt). She snarked at Lance for ignoring her advice, but otherwise didn’t try to more actively persuade him to listen to her and not, you know, fail to thread the needle. She was mostly silent during Iverson’s lecture, but lost her temper when he mentioned that the Kerberos mission was a failure due to crew error (though notably, she still tacked “sir” onto the end of her retort). Our first impression of Pidge, then, is that she’s smart but maybe a bit clumsy (in terms of forgetting things like her seatbelt), that she has hyper-focus on certain things while completely blocking others out, and that while she clearly isn’t as easy to push around as Hunk, she also tends not to directly engage unless it’s personal (i.e. only truly snapping when Kerberos is brought up).

Keith broke into the base where they were holding Shiro. More specifically, as shown in the above screenshots, Keith set off four explosions in the opposite direction from his entry point. He set off those explosions, and then as soon as he saw that the Garrison guards were going after the diversion, he swooped around and entered on the other, far less guarded, side. Keep in mind that this is not long after the ship crashed; Keith must have seen the ship from his shack in the desert, prepared the explosives, set them up in the desert, and then took advantage of his planned diversion in, oh . . . a half hour? Less than? We’re not given a time frame for how long it takes Pidge, Lance, and Hunk to go see the crash site / base and hack in, but it can’t have been more than a half hour (and if it was, then maybe an hour). Even setting aside that he had to prepare all that from his shack in the desert (which, to be fair, the audience doesn’t know about yet), Keith still put together that plan---that plan that worked---and pulled it off himself. Our first impression of Keith, then, is that he’s intelligent, capable, and in control. He puts together and pulls off a plan to break in while Lance, Pidge, and Hunk (well, more so Lance and Pidge) were still trying to think of one.

Knowing what I know of the rest of the series (that Shiro wants Keith to succeed Voltron, namely, and that the show is really looking like it’s going to set up Keith as the new Black Paladin), that makes all of this make even more sense. In the first ten minutes of the series we see Shiro as a natural leader, Lance quite honestly making a disaster while leading the simulator, and Keith successfully breaking in to save Shiro (though tbf he didn’t know Shiro was in there yet---he just knew something was going down and was going to find out what), which is what allows Lance, Pidge, and Hunk to come along for the ride. If you think about it like that, Keith was already leading Lance, Hunk, and Pidge, even if none of them realized it at the time. That’s the first impression we’re given of his character, anyway---the first shot of him that we get. When you consider that, then it makes sense to think that even though the show gave us Lance as an entry point character (because it would be rather difficult to start the show from Keith’s perspective, given that he was in a shack in the desert---we’d have no time to be properly introduced to Lance, Hunk, and Pidge if they did that), they were really planning on setting up Keith as a (future) leader all along. As a final thing, this also means that the first ten minutes of the series disproves the whole “Keith is too impulsive, he can’t plan” nonsense that people love to throw around to discredit him. While he does like to jump in and fight at times, the very first time we see him he’s pulling off successful diversionary tactics in order to break into what is (to him) a hostile enemy base and perform a (again, successful) rescue mission. The first thing the crew showed us about Keith is that he does know how to strategize, and he does so, successfully. That’s our first impression of him, so you can really knock it off with the “omg he’s too reckless” nonsense. Clearly he’s smart enough to fool trained Garrison soldiers. He damn well knows what he’s doing.

Keith’s face when he sees that the person the Garrison was holding is Shiro, though:

We still don’t know the specifics of their relationship, but we do know (in Keith’s own words) that Shiro is “like a brother to [him],” and Steve Yeun has said that Shiro has tried to nurture the leadership in Keith (took him under his wing et cetera), and this is the first time Keith has seen Shiro in a year, after Shiro was presumed dead on the Kerberos mission. My heart. (Fun fact: “Shiro?” is also the first thing Keith actually says in the series, his voice so soft and shocked and emotional. My entire heart.)

Lance bats his eyes when he tells Keith his name, lmao. (Between this and “I’d recognize that mullet anywhere!” from 500 paces, like . . . how could anyone who ships them think Keith is the one pining, istg.)

I notice that when Keith was trying to remember who Lance was, he didn’t start to sound disparaging until he says, “Oh wait, I remember you. You’re a cargo pilot.” What’s interesting is that he sounded appreciative (or at least neutral) when asking if Lance was an engineer. I think that his disparaging tone was less because of Lance’s (former) status as a cargo pilot, though, and more because of how Lance was going on about how they were rivals. That, and I do imagine a little scene between them during Keith’s “this is how I get kicked out of the Garrison” story, but we’ll wait for that fic to be written. (Because I just rewound and, yeah, his voice isn’t disparaging on the words cargo pilot; he sounds disparaging on, “I remember you.” That’s when his eyes are narrowed, too. So yeah, I think their interaction was minimal, but they didn’t get along. Keith wouldn’t mind if Lance was a cargo pilot. It’s Lance himself that Keith minds, ouch.)

Also, when Lance says he’s fighter class now “thanks to [Keith] washing out,” Keith’s response of, “Well, congratulations” sounds so much like Shiro I’m dying a little. Like, it’s so deadpan sarcastic, he sounds like Shiro.

HUNK: [to KEITH] “Uh, do you mind if we catch a ride with you?” KEITH: [is silent as he climbs onto the front of the motorbike (well, “motorbike,” but idk what else to call it), and the other four (SHIRO still unconscious) clamber onto the back] PIDGE: “Is this . . . thing gonna be big enough for all of us?” KEITH: “No.” I quote this little section because Keith never actually tells them (or rather, Hunk) that they can’t come along. Like, you know he doesn’t really want them to---he’s just there for Shiro---but the Garrison guards are coming, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge are S.O.L. if they get caught, and they have no other transport. So he doesn’t tell them no. He doesn’t know them, and from what he does know of them he doesn’t like them (specifically, he knows Lance, and doesn’t like him), but he’s not going to leave them all the same. Again, character point. (Also: He was appreciative / neutral when asking if Lance was an engineer, and he doesn’t tell Hunk no . . . eheheh.)

Okay, the whole motorcycle chase scene is phenomenal and also needs screencaps:

This scene is amazing for so many reasons, and I’m about to explain why:

As I outlined above, Keith never specifically told the others “no,” but he did make it pretty clear that he didn’t really want them along even if he wasn’t going to leave them stranded. He hadn’t planned for them, he has never driven with so many passengers before, and he doesn’t even think he really has room for them, even if he isn’t telling them to take a hike. Despite this, however, Keith manages to work up a plan on the fly. Not only is he (instinctively ;D) a good enough pilot to be able to manage, but he’s smart and swift enough on his feet so that even with all of these added variables that he didn’t account for, he can still come up with a plan, he doesn’t freeze and lock up. 

And what plan does he come up with? Snark at Lance about “non-essential weight” aside, Keith is able to assess the situation and use what he has been given. He doesn’t know Hunk’s name, but he reasons that since Hunk has a lot of extra weight / muscle, Hunk can help him steer. So he has Hunk “lean left” or “lean right” to help him do just that. Being able to swiftly analyze a situation and correctly adjust based on new elements is a key leadership quality. That Keith can do that effectively is a mark of what he has in him.

It should be noted that in the screencaps where the subtitles read “[all screaming],” Keith wasn’t among them. He was silent. This is because Keith shows confidence in this scene; he knows what he’s doing as he causes their pursuers to wreck, he knows what he’s doing as he heads to the cliff. Despite how everyone else was screaming in his ear (and digressing: Pidge complaining about having to hold Shiro, Hunk’s comments re: the teachers---those are all even stronger distractions than just wordless screaming), Keith was still able to maintain a level head and focus in that high speed chase. Like, dude. Not only was he able to think up a plan despite changing variables, pressure from the pursuit, and everyone freaking out, but he was also able to stick to it and carry it out without losing control himself. Again, this idea that Keith is too emotional and loses control is a complete fallacy. The first episode shows us this well enough.

It also shows us, despite how quick fandom is to forget it, that although Lance always does call Keith out on everything, he is not always right. People love to point to Lance telling Shiro that Keith is too much of a hothead in S2E8 (blatantly ignoring that Lance was only doing it because he wanted to discredit Keith so he could go on the mission instead), and use it as evidence that Lance has a good idea of who Keith is (reckless, impatient, et cetera), therefore Lance is a better leader. But while Lance is right sometimes, he is not right all the time, and this is a clear example. Lance screeches that Keith is going to get them all killed, clearly taking issue with Keith’s seemingly reckless behavior. Keith, in turn, tells Lance to shut up and trust him. And what happens? Keith safely rights the motorcycle and loses the last of their pursuit, getting them safely to his shack in the desert. Keith was right, despite Lance’s objections about their safety.

While this was clearly an impromptu, unorthodox mission, and one that isn’t generally thought of as a mission due to the fact that it isn’t one of the missions after they officially become Team Voltron, I definitely feel like this still absolutely counts as their first mission---and, notably, their very first mission with all five of them had Keith as the leader. Keith was the one who created the diversion and provided entry into the Garrison base, with Lance, Pidge, and Hunk following his league. Keith was the one who provided and piloted their getaway transport. Keith was the one who knew how to direct them (Hunk, mainly) in order to make their getaway successful, and he was able to maintain focus and control despite all of the screaming and shrieking in his ears. Moreover, his instincts were good enough to not allow Lance to distract or dissuade him (and if he had allowed that, then the mission would have failed), he was able to account for unplanned variables, and even though they screamed and had questions, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge still all listened to and followed his directives (especially Hunk). While obviously Keith continues to grow and develop over the rest of the show (especially in season two), as early as S1E1 we see what it looks like when Keith takes charge of a mission: He’s able to see the rest of the team through safely and securely. He doesn’t leave them behind, even when he doesn’t know or even particularly like them. He’s able to strategize on the fly and his strategies are successful. This, right here, is a good example of what Shiro knows Keith is capable of. It’s a good example of how Keith would be able to take care of and lead the team. And since this is the very first thing we see of Keith---since Keith leading this impromptu mission is our introduction to his character---I would argue that the showrunners were planning Black Paladin Keith (or at least Leader of Voltron Keith, however temporary it may or may not be) since S1E1. The set-up is right here, regardless of how many people don’t want to see it.

And this is a good place to stop for now, since this episode is an hour long and this is long enough already. Until next time.