#harry better at least be a lieutenant

[thresholdbb]

Clearly bringing Voyager home and debriefing their time in the Delta Quadrant as an admiral was a traumatic experience for Janeway. Prodigy is set 5 years after Endgame – Janeway is rapidly going grey and Chakotay has peaced out back to the Delta Quadrant

[sagesolsticewrites]

Hi! I’d like to request a John “Bucky” Egan fic where he tries several times to flirt with the reader, but the reader is super oblivious about it and just thinks he’s being nice. It becomes something everyone on base talks about and gets invested in. Maybe other people set up a scheme to get them together or make the reader realize how he feels. Idk, just something funny and cute like that ig 😁

Thank you so much for requesting, Nonnie, I’ve been having so much fun with these Masters of the Air requests! I loved getting to write for our best boy Bucky 🥰 Shoutout to @blurredcolour’s Trust fic (an absolute masterpiece, check it out y’all!) for helping with the writers block on this one 😅 (Reminder that requests are open! Feel free to check out some of my favorite prompt lists in my pinned post 😊)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Oblivious

“There’s my favorite nurse!”

You rolled your eyes at the phrase that announced John “Bucky” Egan’s every visit to sickbay.

“Hello, Major,” you said, turning to greet him with a mock-exasperated smile.

Bucky clutched a hand to his heart as if wounded, a hurt expression on his face. “How many times do I gotta tell you to call me Bucky, sweetheart?”

“At least a few more times, Major,” you reply, unable to hide a smile at the usual volley of friendly banter.

Major John Egan had been unusually friendly to you since the first moment he’d sauntered in to introduce himself to the medical staff as Air Exec. Your colleagues had blushed afterward and playfully insisted that he had paid you more attention than the others, but you just laughed and shook your head, insisting that he was just being nice.

This visit was simply another instance of Bucky being friendly to you; well, that and Harry Crosby’s airsickness had gotten the better of him again and he was checking up on the navigator.

You stepped aside as Bucky approached Harry’s cot, ready to update him on the goings-on since the last mission had returned.

He threw you a kind smile before perching on the stool next to Harry.

“How’s my girl treatin’ you, Crosby?”

Harry happily told him how the base had gotten a new shipment of airsickness pills and you had slipped him a spare box for his own personal use, and Bucky’s smile grew wider and wider.

You were glad to see how happy he was at the news that his friend was feeling better, and you quietly excused yourself to tend to the other patients.

Bucky sighed as you walked away.

“She still hasn’t picked up on it, huh?”

“No, Croz, she hasn’t.” sighed Bucky, “She thinks I’m just bein’… nice or friendly or something. Which I am!” He added hurriedly, “But I just…I like her so much. I wish she’d notice.”

“She will, buddy,” Harry replied, with a comforting pat on his friend’s hand, “She will.”

Bucky headed out after a few more minutes of conversation, giving you a wink and a smile as he walked past your station.

“Bucky visited again, huh?” Rebecca, one of your fellow nurses, sidled up next to you with a teasing grin.

“Yes, Major Egan came by to visit Lieutenant Crosby,” you replied, putting emphasis on their ranks.

“You’re sure that’s all he was here for? Somehow he never shows up here without an excuse to see you…”

“He’s just being nice, Becca,” you insisted, “You know how these soldier boys are.”

“But he’s always—”

“Becca,” you cut her off as gently as you can, “I really don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

“Alright, alright,” she held her hands up in surrender, “Bucky is an off-limits topic, gotcha.”

The conversation turned to the current hot gossip, and you idly chimed in when it seemed appropriate, losing yourself in your routine tasks.

Rebecca broke off to check on Harry again, narrowing her eyes as she noticed Harry watching you.

“Something Nurse L/N can help you with, Crosby?”

He jumped, gaze darting to Rebecca as she approached.

“No ma’am, I just…”

He scrambled to think of some excuse, but all he could come up with was: “I’m trying to think of some way to get Y/N to notice Bucky!”

Rebecca blinked in surprise, then plopped down onto the stool next to his bed, leaning in conspiratorially.

“Oh thank goodness it’s not just me! He’s been at it for months but the poor girl’s just so oblivious…”

“I keep telling him to just talk to her like a normal person, but he insists on dancing around it!” Harry instantly agreed, glad to have someone besides Jean to talk to about this. “He’s been so distracted lately. If he doesn’t do something soon, I’m worried it might start to affect his flying.”

Rebecca pressed her lips into a thin line, twisting a strand of hair worriedly.

After a few moments of quiet, she spoke up again, green eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I’ve got an idea.”

———

“Hey Bucky,” Harry said at breakfast the next morning, “I’m gonna pop down to the infirmary to visit Winks, wanna come with?”

Bucky quickly agreed— he’d been meaning to check on Winks yesterday as well as Croz, but got caught up in… well, you.

As they entered, Bucky made a beeline for Winks while Harry caught Rebecca’s eye and gave a subtle nod, which she returned, signaling her part of the plan was complete.

She had removed the step stool you always used from one of the supply closets, now hidden under one of the cots nearby. When you weren’t able to reach something on one of the higher shelves, well…

Good thing Bucky was so tall.

“Y/N, would you mind grabbing some more bandages for me? My station’s running low.”

“Sure thing, Becca!” You called, stepping away from your current station to check the supply closet.

“Becca…” your confused voice called from the closet, “Do you know where the stepstool went?”

“It’s not there?” She called back, sounding equally confused. “Let’s see, um…”

She scanned the room, putting on a good show of looking for someone who could help.

“Oh, Bucky! Would you mind helping Nurse L/N grab something from the supply closet for me?”

“No problem, Becca,” came his reply, accompanied with his trademark winning smile as he nodded to Winks and made his way over to the supply closet.

It was much smaller than he’d anticipated, and barely half a foot was all that separated you as he asked, “Alright, what do ya need, sweethea—”

The pet name was cut off by the sound of the supply closet door closing.

And locking.

You lunged for the handle as Bucky reached up to turn on the single lightbulb, both of you calling out in confusion.

“Becca! What?”

“C’mon, guys, this isn’t funny!”

Harry’s voice came through the door, clear and determined.

“Just tell her how you feel, Bucky! Your tactic clearly isn’t working!”

“I— what?” You turned to Bucky, hoping he knew what in the world they were talking about.

Bucky hesitated, but seeing as it seemed he had no choice…

“Well this isn’t… exactly how I wanted to do it, but…” He took a deep breath, twisting his fingers together in an uncharacteristic display of anxiety, “I really like you, doll. I’ve liked you since I first laid eyes on you. And I’ve tried every way I know how to tell you, but nothin’ worked, so…” He gestured around at the supply closet, “I guess it came to this? Which wasn’t my idea, by the way. Just for the record. I would never…”

His voice faltered, and you realized just how close you were to him. You didn’t remember moving forward. You were just suddenly there, so close the two of you were almost breathing each other’s air.

“You… you like me?”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“Doll, you think I call every pretty girl workin’ here my favorite nurse?”

You flushed at the compliment.

“I thought you were just being nice, I didn’t…”

“I mean, I was bein’ nice,” He said with a shrug, grinning, “Just not quite in the way you were thinking.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked down to your mouth, and being this close to you, he couldn’t hide the bob of his throat as he swallowed nervously.

“I’d, uh. I’d really like to kiss you right now, if that’s alright with you, sweetheart.”

You nodded slowly, “I think I’d really like that, Major Egan.”

“It’s Bucky, sweetheart,” he murmured softly as he leaned in, capturing your lips.

You may or may not have spent more than a few lonely nights in your bunk imagining what it would be like to kiss Major John Egan.

Your imaginings were nothing compared to reality.

This was magic unlike anything you could have dreamed.

Your arms wound around his neck as his wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You toyed with the dark curls at the nape of his neck as he slanted his mouth against yours, deepening the kiss. Needing to be closer, you tried to step towards him, but merely succeeded in pressing him back against the shelves.

Ordinarily you would apologize, but something like a thrill ran up your spine when you felt him grin into the kiss as his back hit the shelves, knocking rolls of bandages and boxes of gauze onto the floor.

His right hand moved to cup your cheek, keeping your lips connected as his other hand splayed across your back, pulling you impossibly closer as you arched into him.

You could still feel him grinning as he murmured against your lips, “Knew you were feisty under that good girl act.”

“Bucky,” you whined softly as he pulled away from you, chest heaving.

“Oh, now she uses my name,” he teased breathlessly, bumping his nose playfully against yours.

The two of you flinched as sunlight spilled into the dim closet, a harsh change from the dingy yellow lightbulb you had become accustomed to.

Harry and Rebecca stood in the doorway, wearing twin smug grins.

“Looks like our work here is done,” Becca said, shooting you a wink as she bid farewell to Harry with a two-fingered salute, “Pleasure working with you, Lieutenant Crosby.”

“Same to you, Nurse Carter,” Harry replied, and he turned back to the two of you, a genuine smile on his face.

“About time, Bucky.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky waved off his friend’s I told you so, “You gonna congratulate me or what?”

“Congratulations,” came Harry’s mock-put-out reply, accompanied by a genuinely congratulatory clap on his arm. “You got a good one. And it only took months of unsuccessful flirting—”

“Hey, I got her in the end, didn’t I?” He squeezed you closer, grinning down at you.

Your lipstick was all over his mouth, and you’re sure the Victory Red on your own lips was in no better shape.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care, however, as he pulled you in for a tender kiss.

Which you broke for a moment to point out, “He isn’t wrong, you know, it was months of unsuccessful—”

Your teasing was promptly cut off with a “shush” mumbled against your lips as Bucky silenced you with a kiss.

[linophrynelight]

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Legendary: Success]

Kim stands outside the back door of Precinct 41, smoking. Jean walks up next to him and lights a cigarette. He takes a deep drag and hesitates for a long, tense moment before opening his mouth.

"We need to talk."

"Yes we do," Kim replies. The lieutenant's words are quick and ready like a loaded pistol. "Your actions earlier were highly unprofessional. I understand that you still don't believe Harry has changed, but you can't speak to him like that in front of the other officers. Give him a chance to prove himself -- or at least, keep your feelings to yourself so the rest of the precinct can."

Jean frowns as the two make eye contact. Kim's voice is calm and professionally cold, but the fire in his eyes betrays him. They're full of anger, defensiveness, overshadowed by a tender protectiveness.

It's a look that's painfully familiar.

Jean maintains eye contact. "How long has Harry been sober this time?"

"Three months. You already know this, he stopped cold turkey the day after he lost his memory."

"I was just wondering if he'd slipped up yet." Jean looks down at his cigarette and ashes it. "Figured if anyone knew, it'd be you. I've known him for almost five years now, and I've lost track of how many times he's tried to go sober. He usually falls off the wagon by now, but the longest he's gone without a drink is six months."

Jean looks up again. "You haven't seen the full cycle yet, you've only seen him on the upswing. The longer he's sober, the harder he'll relapse. He won't realize how much his tolerance has gone down, and he'll be furious at himself, and the world, and at you for trying to help him. Look."

Jean leans over and parts the hair on the side of his head to reveal a scar. It's still pink, hasn't yet faded to silver against his pale skin.

"That last time, he was doing okay until a particularly difficult case. He was placed on leave for a week. I was worried about him -- what he might do without work to keep him busy. I stopped by his apartment to check on him."

Jean hesitates. "He was naked, covered in vomit. Too drunk to talk. Just kept mumbling "fuck you" and "lemme die" as I cleaned him up. After half an hour of trying to get him out of the tub I finally snapped at him, knowing he wouldn't remember anything I said anyway. I think I told him he's an asshole for always making his feelings everyone else's problem. He punched me, and I fell back and hit my head on the corner of the sink."

He takes a deep breath, glaring at nothing on the ground in front of him, then continues. "Of course he didn't remember anything the next day. He said sorry a million times but it was clear he couldn't quite wrap his head around the idea that it had actually happened."

"It was like that every time he went too hard on the drink. He'd scream, make threats, sometimes hurt people. You've heard about the case with the two drunks, right? Then once it's over, the monster who did all those things is just gone. Harry is back, with nothing but tearful apologies and heartfelt promises that he'll never do any of it again."

Jean finally looks up again. Kim's shoulders are still tense but his expression has gone from angry to unreadable. He was ready for a fight, not this.

"I stuck by that asshole's side for years. I told myself that he would get better someday. That those times he saved my life somehow made up for the way he treated me during his benders, and that the apologies really meant something even though I knew he was just going to get drunk and do it again. And every time he would hate himself a little more. And then he'd drown that hatred with even more alcohol."

Jean takes one last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out on his shoe. "The thing with alcoholics is... Once they've given up on themselves, you have no choice. You have to give up on them too. For your own sake. If you try to run their lives for them, to pick up the slack whenever their addiction makes them drop the ball on something, you'll only end up enabling them. I did that for too long. And now you're trying to tell me that after I finally accepted the truth and let go, this is the time he finally got his shit together? I don't believe it."

Kim is silent for a while. He looks down at his cigarette, burnt down to the filter. He stubs it out and tosses it into a nearby trashcan, then he looks up at Jean. "I'm very sorry you had to go through that," he says carefully. The anger in his voice is gone. "It must have been incredibly difficult. I don't blame you for hitting your limit. But... I think this time really is different."

"I hope you're right, but unless-" Jean's voice cracks suddenly, surprising himself. "I can't trust him unless I know he's finally changed."

"Only time will tell," Kim says quietly.

[mercurygray]

Anonymous said:

Hello again, same anon from the Sobel ask earlier. Currently sat on a train with a thousand delays and too much time on my hands. 🪐 I would want to see John Brady in Easy company. First Lieutenant, maybe a transfer after getting promoted after Normandy or Market Garden. Fairly reserved and wants to get the job done, as close to the rules as possible, please. If you are looking for him, you can often find him cleaning his weapon, pipe in his mouth. He takes his responsibility for the men very seriously.

Kind Anonymous freind, your brain.

If the AU is also TDS, Brady is not going to discredit the women of Easy. If he finds it unusual at first, he tries not to let it show. Competence is more important than gender, sure, but his mother raised a gentleman. So even after being through firefights and having his ass saved by Doris Russo once - he says thank you, of course - he still checks in with female NCOs if they want him to order them an escort at night or someone to stand guard for showers. Billie maybe scares him a little bit. She thinks it’s a little funny how straight-laced he appears, at first, but she also thinks he’s a good egg. If he overheard that, he would blush and maybe walk with a tiny swagger at the same time. Dick likes him. Joan would too. Lewis is a bit indifferent, but maybe Brady can’t help but snort when the officers overhear Webster talking grand about some Dutch musicians and Lewis finds out he studied music, they both snigger a bit about how incorrect Web is. Harry gets Brady out of his shell, a little bit, gentle jabs, come have another beer, they don’t bite. I imagine he would keep his distance from the enlisted as an “outsider”, but during Bastogne he gets talking to Molly and they bond chatting over missing Christmas music and college concerts in their foxhole. Brady is also adamant over light and noise discipline and for the love of god, Babe, would you find some better cover?? Especially after Harry is hit. He absolutely despises Dike’s incompetence. They are soldiers, they need direction and while Brady never talks out of turn, even he lets slip out a little "and thank God for Sergeant Lipton” when he is reporting to Dick at HQ. And someone else who would really, really appreciate Brady? Speirs. Ron doesn’t like stupidity, he is straight to the point and after his very spontaneous promotion as Easy CO he will have someone like Brady any day. The fact that Brady praised Lipton in highest tones and got more cross than usual when Lip is sick and shouts at a replacement that dares to ask the sick man for something has definitively absolutely nothing to do with it. Probably. I just think John Brady is neat. Well, at least this version my brain concocted up from about five minutes of screentime and five sentences, anyway.🪐

I think he's really neat too, Anon! The Girl Gang is going to absolutely gang up on Brady to tell that nice Red Cross girl he likes her. It's imperative. Someone else is going to get her if you don't. Have you written to Fred yet? How about now? Are we going to have to write her for you?

("Everyone says hi," he adds, in small letters. Fred thinks this is cute.)

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

BAND OF BROTHERS TERROR AU. TELL ME. NOWWWW

OK!!!! I'm not going to put everything in here because I don't want this post to end up HUGE (EDIT: this post ended up massive anyway), so I'll talk about the main components and some stuff I like, and if people want me to go more in-depth and discuss other side characters I will.

Tagging people who commented on the original post in case y'all want to read @latibvles @fearlessjones

Herbert Sobel is the original captain of HMS Erebus - he is the Sir John Franklin figure, he's incompetent, and whilst many of his higher-ups know he is ultimately not suited to such an expedition, they let him lead anyway because they like him, and they hope he will finally get some glory amongst all his failure. However, perhaps his key flaw is his keen dislike for the captain of the HMS Terror, Richard Winters.

Ok, I KNOWWWW people are gonna think that Nixon would be a better fit for this role, because he arguably resembles Crozier much more, but WAIT. For those of you who haven't read the book, it is said that the HMS Erebus has absolutely NO alcohol in its stores because Franklin does not drink. If this is the case here too, and Lewis Nixon is stuck as Sobel's commander, this will send him insane over time. Nixon and Winters are very competent leaders, so for this AU to work I need to break them, and what better way than to weaken Nix from months of withdrawal at sea with Captain Fucking Sobel? Combine this with Winters refusal to indulge him with his own alcohol stores, and now there's a wedge driven between the two before they're even stranded.

But even so, Winters needs something that will impede his own leadership, and for him, I think that's his sense of responsibility for his men. Winters is always striving to find a solution that will cause the least amount of damage to his men - he wants them safe, and he doesn't care if they have to turn this ship around and head home to do it. But he can't. By the time they get stuck in the ice, there is no possible solution he can come up with that won't result in his men's suffering or even loss of life, and this leaves him jaded, wearing him down as the situation becomes even more dire and he has to watch more and more of his men killed by the cold, sickness, and the Tuunbaq. This will get to him, and it will impede his ability to think rationally.

Right, now for the Lieutenants. On HMS Terror, you have First Lieutenant Harry Welsh, Second Lieutenant Buck Compton, and Third Lieutenant Henry Jones. Whilst Welsh and Compton are very competent, much like their captain, Jones has risen through the ranks due to little more than wealth and connections. Whilst he could not purchase his commission, his family manage to pull the right strings, and now he's here with very little experience and absolutely NO respect from the men, already making way for the system of leadership to be undermined before things ever get serious.

On the HMS Erebus, Captain Sobel (And eventually Captain Nixon, once Sobel is killed) have First and Second Lieutenants Ronald Speirs and Carwood Lipton. These two are excellent in a crisis, and when the crew becomes despaired as Sobel's incompetency and Nixon's declining health as a result of his withdrawal, they are given the heavy burden of trying to raise morale and keep the men's trust as the situation grows ever more dire.

Chief Surgeon of the HMS Terror Eugene Roe has gotten a lotttt more than he bargained for with this expedition. Yes, he takes his job seriously, and yes, he came here to help people, but more than anything he just wanted to be a part of something real, to see the Passage with his own eyes and know he had helped to make a difference. But now his surgery is crammed with victims of the Tuunbaq and men displaying very unusual symptoms that he doesn't quite understand. He's losing sleep and he's losing hope, and he doesn't know quite how to cope with the knowledge that he isn't as good as he thought, and he truly cannot save these men.

Captain's Steward David Webster believes he's made for more than this. He's educated, no small feat when half the men on the Terror can scarcely even read, and he feels his skills are wasted running around after Captain Winters. But he comes from a high-ranking Naval family, and if he ever wants to make something of himself there's little option but to work his way through it unless he wants to be stuck doing this forever. As time passes, he begins to grow bitter at his position, which is why when Caulker Roy Cobb begins disparaging Winters' leadership, his words begin to make sense to Webster.

I've planned roles for all of the notable characters in BoB but I do not want to write a fucking novel on this post, so please let me know if you want to see more!

[saints-who-never-existed]

Rereading The Terror

Chapter Forty-Two: Peglar

After a meal of fresh meat from the Esquimaux sledges (Btw, can we have a quick shout-out to Messrs Diggle and Wall please? For working so hard for so long with so so little, managing to eke it out enough to sustain the men even this far?) Peglar and Bridgens take another walk.

Peglar overhears as they go some men in the distance arguing over a card game which just gets me for some reason. Like, it's a sign that even in the face of all the horrors, humanity and some simple normality very much still exists among them.

They begin by discussing the different types of boats they've hauled with them, and which ones they'll take when they move south. Peglar is glad at the thought of moving on, especially after the scenes he's witnessed surrounding Irving's death.

He has, of course, told Bridgens everything despite being sworn to secrecy <3 but interestingly, he hasn't himself drawn the right conclusion yet from what he's seen and heard: "I think," John Bridgens said softly, "that Captain Crozier is not convinced that the Esquimaux killed Lieutenant Irving." "What? Who else could..." Peglar stopped...[]...He had never considered for an instant that anyone other than the savages could have done what he'd seen done to John Irving."

Naturally, discussion turns again to wrong'uns among the crew - Aylmore and Hickey are both mentioned. Once again, it appears that Bridgens is far more perceptive than Peglar on this subject: "Why don't I hear these things, John? I've heard none of this seditious whispering." Bridgens smiled. "They don't trust you not to tell, my dear Harry." "But they trust you?" "Of course not. But I hear everything sooner or later. Stewards are invisible, y'know, being neither fish nor fowl nor good red meat..." (A very interesting food-based metaphor to end on if ever there was one!)

They turn their attention once again to the boats and their future viability. It's interesting to see the ways they trade off against one another - there are many things that Bridgens knows more about but there are also certainly subjects on which Peglar is more knowledgeable and this is one of them. I suspect Bridgens switches back to the topic on purpose, perhaps to make Peglar feel a little better after feeling so out of the loop on the seditious whisperings of before. On the one hand, it's nice, but on the other, I think both of them wish they were still back in the old days, where Peglar could look to Bridgens for the answer and Bridgens could take comfort in being able to give it. There are no clear answers to anything now. "The older man's voice did not sound aggrieved or anxious or desperate, merely curious. Peglar had heard John pose a thousand questions, about astronomy, natural history, geology, botany, philosophy and a score of other subjects in precisely that same soft, mildly curious tone. With most of the other questions, it had been the teacher who knew the answer quizzing his student in a polite way. Here, Peglar was sure that John Bridgens did not know the answer to this question."

Finally, we come to The Scene. Bridgens suggests the possibility of returning to Terror and Peglar is appalled. He's spent the last few minutes outlining how inherently impossible their southward journey plans are, and yet now he's their greatest defender, insisting that some of them could make it and if some of them could make it, at least they could tell everyone back home what became of their loved ones. And then Bridgens says it: "You are my loved one, Harry." said Bridgens. "The only man or woman or child left in the world who cares whether I am alive or dead, much less what I may have thought before I fell or where my bones will lie." And before we can even recover from that, Peglar's reply comes: "You're going to outlive me, John." "Oh, at my age, and with my infirmities and proclivities toward illness, I hardly think..." "You're going to outlive me, John." grated Peglar. :(((((

I think I'm going to have to write a separate post just about this exchange alone. The way they're in different stages of grief - anger vs. acceptance - yet somehow both being in the denial stage in entirely different ways! The way this is another subject on which Peglar the student is more knowledgeable than Bridgens the teacher and again, just what an affront that is to the natural order of their relationship! The way I simply cannot cope with any of it!

[etymologyofmind]

The Hounds at Heel

Previously...

And Now...

Often bloodied are bared teeth: a Klingon proverb from a more romantic era, when such a statement was cautionary rather than something used as dubious encouragement. Durok considered it as he tasted blood in his own grit toothed grimace, breathing in the smoke of his fiery bridge, and glared balefire through the flickering viewscreen at the pack of hounds that pursued them. Two days had passed since the Vellouwyn had destroyed and crippled their latest pursuers, and the pack had returned in force since, with new ships and new weapons and new tactics to teach them of their inferiority. It worked, too: the Vellouwyn hadn’t been a warship at the outset, despite her better-than-average endowments, but the pursuers were made for brutality, and it had been clear all along that all that was needed for victory was the decision to take it.

Nevertheless, several of his advisors in the Cultural Sciences had advised that it was likely part of their society to make an affair of embarrassing prey, bringing them death by a thousand cuts, maintaining military superiority and a state of terror while causing the least actual damage for as long as possible. ‘Run. Hide. Flee. Prey.’ They were to be the fox, harried by their hounds, until exhaustion took them and they offered no more game.

The new ships worked in sets, pairs or threes, setting traps with energy snares that pulled her jarringly off course, or washing subspace wakes through the Vellouwyn’s warp field which sent shear forces through her hull. There were others coming, too: long distance sensors detected a small fleet massing, but moving at no great haste, gathering at a leisurely pace as if to fete the demise of their prey. It was galling, insulting, and petty, and despite himself, Durok could not help but fall prey to the goad: this was his ship, his mission, and his crew, and not only were they in absolute mortal peril, it was being drawn out like a game by an enemy who would not even face them.

So far there had been three casualties: Ensign Parva Hashjat, a specialist in solar architecture, had succumbed to the injuries he had sustained in the first attack alongside Commander Thomas, who was still sedated, clinging to life with dwindling prospects; Petty Officer Rowan MacDougal had been unfortunate, perhaps hasty, and had not tethered to the rail on the upper engineering deck when one of the snare traps had jerked the Vellouwyn around like a snagged fish: she’d broken her neck in the fall, dying almost instantly; and finally, Crewman Anan, one of Star Fleet’s first J’naii servicemen, who had been interested in enlisting after their tour with the Vellouwyn, only to be ended by the consuming fire of an overloaded plasma conduit. When a member of a Star Fleet crew died, it was not always clear to whom the responsibility of informing next of kin would fall, but Durok took their deaths as a personal loss, and it was his sad duty with each life lost to compose a saga due to their honour and dignity, that their families would take solace in the meaning of their demise. The sound of their litanies played a crushing barrage in his ears as he considered the vengeance he wished to reap of their murderous killers.

The loss of MacDougal had been particularly challenging in the moment, as her role in the upcoming experiment was a crucial one. While Lieutenant Jan’aar was a genius in warp technology of his own right, Rowan had been an inspired and creative experimental thinker in the field, and she had been one of the think tank team who had concocted their desperate escape plan from the endless hunt. Her calculations and simulations had been run and rerun throughout the ship, being vetted and reconsidered and refined between some of the Federation’s finest available minds, and deemed feasible. It would be desperate, and it would take luck, but the conditions here and now were good enough, given the alternative of being lightly abraded out of existence. As it was, they would need to make do, and improvise to the best of their ability if something went awry. If they succeeded, Jan’aar had sworn the maneuver would be called MacDougal’s Gambit: an honour Durok found quite fitting.

As the hunter fleet began to draw closer and closer, Durok hoped that they would be able to pull off the gambit before being overwhelmed by their attackers. It was clear that the ceremony of the hunt was coming to a close, and the rest of the pack were coming in for the kill. In an effort to conserve themselves for the plan, the Vellouwyn had feigned critical damage to their primary warm systems, and were limping by on secondary systems, struggling along at factor 3: the Engineers had proposed that dropping their speed would help sell their ruse when they eventually made their bid for escape, but it drew out the amount of time it would take them to get to their staging point.

As such, every hour of the past few days had been harrowing, to the point where Commander Barr had ordered Ensign Sobrel to prepare regimens of sedatives and stimulants for crew rotations to enable the crew to get any rest under the constant barrage of psychological torments, earning the pharmacology specialist the nickname of ‘Unsobrel’. As a counterpoint, the Cultural team had taken on extra duties, with the Tellarite psychiatrist, Doctor Ragga Benel leading the Risian recreation lead, Emi Beel, and the Mizarian pastor, Ren Sogra, in a shift rotation of crew analysis and disengagement exercises to try and keep morale up and anxiety down. Chetta Hun, the Haliian responsible for their department, was running herself ragged using her natural empathy to identify people in critical distress to dispatch support and defuse situations of escalating turmoil. If it weren’t for the life-and-death circumstances which had led them to this point, Durok would be grinning like a Cheshire cat at how well the specialist teams on his crew were accenting one another’s skills to produce such professional synergy.

By contrast, it was interesting to see the ways the members of his crew he had not hand picked were managing in the crisis. The Foothold crew, who had joined them for one reason or another beyond the wormhole, were a peculiar bunch who, by and large, had little cause to mingle with a federation crew. Errn in particular was a misfit for the situation they were in, as the Breen was uncomfortably close to the scapegoat that could be produced for an irrational projection: their pursuers were, after all, still not Breen, but the resemblance was uncanny. The Dominion consultant was invaluable as a font of information, but the unconventional communication and isolationist demeanor made them hard to engage, and the armoured alien spent most of their time in quarters, so as to not antagonize the crew. The only crewmember they seemed willing to entertain routinely was the Daystrom consultant who had been the one to recommend the Breen to Durok. A Vulcan, Veden Oran was comfortable with just about anyone aboard, but only found the reciprocal from the more aloof and logical demographic during a highly emotional crisis. She had been working collaboratively with a number of teams off and on to try and track her expertise with artificial intelligence and engineered logic to codebreaking the pack’s motives and internal language.

For her part, the Suliban observer who the Foothold council had placed with the ship spent most of her time on the bridge, observing, and trying to find ways to not seem out of place. There was little call for her skillsets—infiltration and espionage were hard to implement when under siege and on the run—and her tactical contributions were outmatched by the MacDougal Gambit, leaving her aimless and sullen. She spent her time lingering in Durok’s proximity, capitalizing on his downtime to pace and rant her anxieties at him during a debriefing he allowed her now and then when he stepped off the bridge, or skulking through the ship practicing her skullduggery for self-fulfillment, since there was little of value to snoop into aboard the Vellouwyn itself at the moment. Few paid her much attention, even if they noticed her, which only added to her ire.

Ranoch, on the other hand, was a good fit during the crisis. He had attached himself unofficially to the Cultural team’s efforts, and it was surprising how often the CCO found him talking with, working with, or ‘fighting’ with one of the crew who was approaching a crisis point before she arrived. Usually, the Cardassian’s odd approach was the right fit to distract or de-escalate someone at the right time, and he usually came out of it without having made any enemies, speaking well of his knowledge of people. When he wasn’t squashing unrest in his own way, he spent a lot of time with the rest of the forensics crew, solidifying his relationships and preparing profiles for their collaborative manhunt, and analyzing the data they’d collected before coming to this part of space to look for leads. They would often find themselves playing card games in one of the mess halls together, eavesdropping on other conversations while they talked through their various topics among themselves.

Everyone on the crew had been deputized for one or more jobs, some on their normal roster, and others trained on demand. The Vellouwyn was a small ship with a close-knit compliment, but under the circumstances, the number of them who had been trained or retrained in systems maintenance tasks was managed well by ensuring that the cross-training had been routine before the incident: there simply weren’t enough crew aboard to columnize crew assignments in a way which meant that departments could be isolated from one another, so roles like security and maintenance were communalized. First aid had also taken an uptick recently, although rather under more duress, and the opportunities for learning cross-species nuances when treating bleeding, trauma, or other injuries were the subject off-duty discussion, to the point where it had become something of a trivia challenge among the crew to come up with relevant, respectful examples of alien first aid references. That the crew were composed most significantly of Humans, Vulcans, Tellarites and Andorians was offset by the above-average numbers of less common species to serve on a Terran design Star Fleet vessel, though many common traits abounded among the others, and the specialists in both the Medical and Science corps encouraged the exchanges with great interest.

Now, though, everyone aboard was at the edge of their seats, waiting on the trick to come. Approaching a solar system, not for the first time in their efforts to escape the pack, the Vellouwyn had seen far better days. Her hull was blistered in places where the living skin colonies had been killed, either in early attacks where they had yet to close off the colonies, or in subsequent ones where some direct hit had taken our shielding over these colonies, causing the ship to ooze biomatter as it limped along. In others, ablative shielding had been dented, cracked, peeled, or ejected to keep damaged systems from dragging them back. One such ejection had been coupled with another Wu maneuver, and the dorsal tractor array had been burnt out throwing a shard of reinforced metal into an unprepared pursuer, crippling them. Her nacelles were trailing thin streams of contaminated plasma, although this effect was more intentional than consequential, and she struggled to keep the lights on across all decks.

Each time they’d entered a system in a bid to escape pursuit, they’d found the various hiding spots and blind shadows studded with sleeping sensor drones and satellites which broadcast short range alerts to their presence, and the pursuit began anew. They had tried gravity slings, solar corona surfing, atmospheric hide and seek maneuvers, all to no effect: once they’d tried to outfly the pack through the rubble field of a planet’s rings, only to be reminded how outclassed they were on the agility factor. Once, they had almost opted to hide in the deep crater of a fractured moon, only to abandon the premise when Durok’s gut told him they would be worse off cornered and captured; well enough, too, because as they flew away from the shattered satellite, two fresh pursuers had joined the hunt from its ruined heart.

The Gambit would be their last chance, and it would need to be perfectly executed if it had any hope of working; all of their buildup, their ploys, their false impression of vulnerability, would need to be brought to the fore at once in a precisely synchronized display which, should it fail, would end the expedition of the Vellouwyn most ingloriously. Their salvation rose before them on the viewscreen, not ahead, but their sensors had brought it into focus as they approached indirectly: an opal hued gas giant, replete with Helium 3, a number of common elements, and some reactive exotic elements which the Science team— almost all of them collaboratively in fact—had selected for the likelihood of the world ever sustaining life in any of its known capacities to be as close to zero as they could hope to calculate, as a member of a system with similar prospects. What it did have, according to their team, was the right chemical composition to create a particular reaction, if they wanted to treat their pursuers to a fireworks display.

Durok issued the command ship-wide to brace for engagement, and ordered the Caitan Ensign, Bhutan Rhee, to set the determined course and drop into the system as close as possible to their feeding point before coming out of warp. Rhee, being an Anomalous Navigation specialist, may have lacked the precision of the Chief Conn Officer, or the strategic chops of their Tactical Nav specialist Yao Si Gur, but she would be instrumental in the success of the Gambit, so she held the controls. Signaling to the forward torpedo controls, Durok instructed Thy’ren Shurel, his Andorian Chief Tactical officer, to have Junior Lieutenant Horak, the Aenar Guided Systems specialist, prepare their special weapon for deployment.

The moment was upon them. As soon as they came out of warp, not only would their immediate pursuers drop into normal space alongside them, but the hunting party several light years off would catch up almost instantaneously. Since they planned to give no indication that they were not heading for the system’s densely shrouded star, which was wrapped almost to obscurity in a debris field from a number of system-forming planetary collisions which had produced a chaotic multitude of accretion discs that might offer some concealment, there was the odd chance that it would take them time to re-orient and catch up to pursue at impulse. Timing would be critical.

Durok hung on the moment, closing his eyes in a moment of aimless prayer, before he opened them, filled with fierce determination. “Ensign Rhee. Begin the Gambit.”

The Caitan’s fingers tapped out a set of commands, and the ship lurched violently as it threw itself out of warp, then jettisoned reactive ballast from the nacelles to ignite a torturously overclocked turn at full impulse. The maneuver flared brilliantly in space behind them, leaving a shower of glittering reactive particles as they careened wildly into a drifting tangent that settled them almost exactly on their projected flightpath, which appeared as an overlay on screen. The move blew out power relays all across the ship, and the bones of the vessel shuddered under the torturous forces, but she was small and tightly built, and held together honourably under the stress. Durok grinned, certain that Quartermaster M'Tembe would have words with him when they got back to Deep Space 5.

It was a full fifteen seconds before their two pursuit ships dropped into normal space behind them, and another thirty for the pursuing fleet. For the first time they got a clear look at the ships which comprised it, fully a dozen different designs from great to small, swarming around what looked to be a mobile carrier station at the heart of the storm. What sensors they had would be gulping data on their pursuers while they could be spared, and it would certainly keep someone’s project alive for years piecing through the data. For now, other than a moment spent appreciating the uniqueness of their pursuers, Durok did not have time to admire them.

Ensign Rhee was steadily making course adjustments, leading the Vellouwyn’s taxed systems into a clean vector on their flight trajectory, while maintaining a flexible margin for evasion. They would have some time before the pack behind them would be able to fire on them, but they would, inevitably, be overtaken before they could complete the work. Their path led them directly into the gas giant’s atmosphere, at the layer where the density of the cloud cover began to produce dangerous shear forces for a ship in the Vellouwyn’s shape. Around him, the ship worked as though automated, with crew having drilled for days on the plan easily executing pre-determined plans, checks, and preparations without his need to issue orders. His work had been done, and it was up to him to trust his crew, and wait, hoping the need to command any changes to the plan would not arise.

As they delved into the planet’s atmosphere, the Engineers opened up the Bussard Collectors on the nacelles, as well as the anomalous material collector on the ventral bay beneath the deflector dish. Any gap in the ship’s hull which could gather material from the atmosphere was opened, and their deflector configuration was altered to produce as much wake-sculpting as possible. The result was a marked slowdown from full impulse to nearly three quarters, and a brilliant display as the gaseous clouds around them parted fluidly, as if the ship were parting a sea of charged particles, and in all directions crackling storms of lightning and luminous waves of ionized radiation cascaded beautifully over the surface of the world. It washed over them, around them, and through them in many places on the ship, and though their hounds managed to catch up almost immediately as they were slowed by the splashdown, the wave of charged matter around them concealed and protected them from the weapons they brought to bear. Until they were stopped, and until gravity and momentum levelled out their gouge through the atmosphere, they would have marginal protection from attack, but more importantly, from sensors.

Over the secure internal coms channel, the Science stations began reporting in in sequence; “Ensign Omar, Exotic Matter, Check, begin MacDougal’s Gambit.”; “Crewman Tusok, Geo-Science, Check! Begin MacDougal’s Gambit!”; “Ensign Denning, Radiation, Check, begin MacDougal’s Gambit.”; “Ensign Dend, Fundamental Forces, Check, begin MacDougal’s Gambit!”; not in sequence, but spilling in all at once, various stations monitoring special sensor equipment, tailoring shield harmonics and collaborating on power frequencies, until a lightboard in front of the Chief Engineer and the Warp Systems specialist lit up green, and after a collaborative exchange, nodded to Captain Durok.

“Durok to forward torpedo room; launch the device. Begin MacDougal’s Gambit.”

A moment later, there was a resonant sound which coursed through the ship as a photonic projectile was launched from the forward tubes. It glittered with a beautiful golden white light, shot through with pink, purple, and blue hues which contrasted the warm yellow eerily. The device twinkled forward into their shield bubble, which had been extended and distorted, elongated to match a novel configuration which MacDougal had proposed before her unkind demise, and which could only be sustained under the kinds of pressure present in this stratum of a gas giant. Shield frequencies and speed had been tailored just so, resistances produced at exact standards, such that this device, if used in absolute desperation, may just save them from their circumstance.

It was a wormhole generator, after all, but rather than being an aperture between two points in space, it would serve as a warp bubble compressor, launching the Vellouwyn beyond its normal warp threshold at the expense of the device itself. Essentially producing a particle stream through subspace, the compression wave of their own conserved warp potential would shoot them through the eye of this artificial lens, collapsing the event horizon behind them into an antimatter explosion. This would consume the device and set off a reaction in the planet’s atmosphere which should, in theory, both cover their escape and convince the pursuing pack of their absolute obliteration.

That was, in theory. None of this had ever been tested, no experiments similar had ever been conducted: this was a gamble, and it was named for Rowan MacDougal, who had concocted it in a hallmark display of the Human propensity to defy the laws of reality to suit their ends.

The device flared a brilliant blue as it reached its initiation point: it was made out of an experimental warp core which they’d spent the past week assembling from the research components tied into the ancillary warp theory laboratory in the bowels of engineering. It would not produce the kind of thrust required to fly a ship, but it was not made for that: it did produce a highly chaotic warp field, which whipped atmospheric particles around it in a dazzling, terrifying vortex that gaped open before them in waiting. Durok gripped the arms of his chair, hesitating to issue the order, and finding it ultimately out of his hands as the plan played out, and Ensign Rhee committed to the course she’d set when she agreed to this madness in the first place. Her voice was firm, but tense, as she called out: “Initializing synchronized warp field. Jump in three, two, one…”

And in a flash, an instant, a moment of glorious triumph, everything went cataclysmically wrong.

And now...

[euclydya]

YOU – Regain awareness.

Open your eyes.

Wait and listen.

You pause for a second. Something tells you that you shouldn't do that just yet…

Open your eyes.

Wait and listen.

You wait and listen, staying as still as possible. There's some shuffling around you, but the area sounds relatively empty. You open an eye slightly. Just enough to see if it's dark or not. And… It is.

"Great," you think. You can't see shit, normally. You especially can't see shit if it's dark.

You take a painfully slow, deep breath. This situation is so fucking stupid. You've been through worse—and stupider—but this one is particularly stupid. And ridiculous. And you just might strangle Harry over this shit when you find him.

… Yikes, actually.

The thought makes you wince. You wouldn't actually hurt him, would you? No… Right? Fuck. You wouldn't be here if you didn't care about him. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You're making yourself paranoid.

–1 Morale.

God fucking dammit.

You say fuck it and open your eyes. Overthinking, alone, will not help the situation at hand. In fact, it'd only make things worse.

You open your eyes to near complete darkness. To your right is a window, letting in some light—it looks like it's nearly night. At least you can *see* a bit, though, shitty vision be damned. Speaking of…

Put your glasses on.

First, you grab a handkerchief from your jacket pocket and wipe your face off. You throw the handkerchief, now covered in blood and… Flour… to the side. You grab your glasses and place them back on your face, where they belong, and finally, you can truly assess the situation.

You, Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi, have somehow, successfully, smuggled yourself into a cabin. The cabin of which holds this competition's contestants. The competition? A fucking death match, of course. Don't question it. Don't think about it. There's no time for that.

It looks safe enough to get up. As quietly as you can, you slowly stand up, and try your best to clean off the… Blood. And Flour. Good lord. There had to have been a better [less stupid] way to sneak in. But anyways��

You walk towards the window. Just enough light out to read by. Perfect. You pull your notebook and pen out and immediately begin writing.

·

YOU – This was such a stupid idea Volta and if I could I'd send you to the Pale.

You wait a couple seconds, and you see yourself write:

VOLTA DO MAR – It worked though, did it not? Ahaha.

You roll your eyes, and continue.

YOU – Still. Blood and flour? Really?

VOLTA DO MAR – *Pig's blood* and flour. It's funny. Laugh, *pig*. Ha, Ha, Ha.

YOU – I'm not taking any shit from a bitch that shares *my* body, thank you very much.

VOLTA DO MAR – You're right, sorry. But *still*. You're in, now we can…

Volta suddenly tapered off. "That's not good," you think. And then, someone else starts writing.

PARANOIA – There's something behind you.

·

Uh oh.

Turn around.

Pretend everything is fine and ignore whatever the fuck is behind you.

??? – Before you is a giant fish, almost as tall as you. It begins sniffing you, and after a moment, it makes a soft growling noise. It then opens its mouth…

Ohhh no. Fuck that shit.

Face to face with what looks like a cartoon fish out of hell, you understandably panic. You try to run away, but–

OW.

You slip. And fall. Right on your face. Into the mess of blood and flour around you.

–1 Health.

??? – The… Thing, towers over you now. It doesn't sound like it'd immediately try to kill you out of hostility, but it looks like it'd still very much try to eat you regardless. Like what it's trying to do right now.

The Thing pokes and prods at you with its mouth. Like a predator playing with its food before killing it. Fucked up, thinks one of the beings sharing your body. Or, you *think* it was one of them, anyway. You try to lie as still as possible. Maybe it'll think you're dead?... Do giant cartoon fish-things eat dead things? You don't know. Not that it's important.

??? – After a moment, The Thing suddenly stops prodding at you. You heard it turn around suddenly. It got distracted, it sounds like! Perfect time to get away–

?????? – Heyyy, Cohozuñito! How's it been?

The Thing [Cohozuñito, apparently?] leaves you on the floor and runs [or, slides, it looks like] towards the voice. You once again stand up, slowly. And turn your attention towards the soft glow in front of you.

In front of you stands a man. A man that's also surrounded by warm, comforting light. The light seems to be emanating *from* him, around his head. You stare at him, dumbfounded.

?????? – 'Sup?

The man waves at you. He has a laidback, chill sort of vibe about him. Despite his modern clothing, you can't help but feel he's not *from* this time period.

Still staring blankly at him, and without thinking, you uttered,

YOU – What the fuck?

He chuckled at that.

?????? – Yeah people tend to say that when they see me for the first time, haha. I'm Jesus, and you are?

Jesus held his hand out, for you to shake.

You do *not* do that, and instead squint at him, one hand rubbing your forehead.

YOU – Do I have another fucking concussion. What the fuck's a Jesus.

Both Jesus (!?) and the Cohozuñito (!?!?) laughed at that.

JESUS – Ohh boy. Uhm. Don't worry about that! Not important right now!

He waved a hand around and looked confused after a moment when nothing happened. Like he expected that to do something. “What a weirdo,” you think.

JESUS – Sorry about Cohozuñito here tryin' to eat you. He's uhh… Hungry, I assume? And you look like unfried food right now, frankly. So. Y'know.

YOU – Ah. Well. Um.

You turn and point at Cohozuñito.

YOU – Don't do that shit again.

Cohozuñito made a sad, apologetic sound, and nodded.

JESUS – 'Zuño understands now. You are not food. Won't happen again. He prommys!

YOU – … The fuck did you just say to me.

“Oh my god. Can this fucking guy understand the *literal fish* standing next to him.” You ask yourself.

You grab your notebook out once more and begin frantically writing.

·

YOU – Hello. For the love of god hello.

A moment passes.

PIECES – Heyyyy.

Oh thank God, the guy with braincells.

YOU – Please help. What the fuck is a Jesus.

PIECES [Trivial: Failure] – Uhmmmm. Dunno. Sorry.

YOU – Y'all are no goddamn help.

·

A sudden crashing sound interferes with your frenzied writing. You look towards the noise.

The Cohozuñito has opened the fridge, and from it, has pulled out an egg.

COHOZUÑITO – *Garbled noises*

JESUS – Crack it before you eat it! The shell is tough and will be sharp, my friend.

The Cohozuñito brings it to the stove and, unceremoniously, smashes it open with a hammer.

And from it, another man appears.

JESUS – … Huh.

COHOZUÑITO – *Guttural sounds*

JESUS – I suppose it could be called that, yeah.

You blink at the interaction. And then speak.

YOU – What?

JESUS – He said it's like a reverse ouroboros.

YOU – The fuck does that mean?

JESUS – Don't worry about it!

Jesus laughed nervously. Meanwhile, There is a whole entire other man in front of you three.

???? – Man… Whaddahell.

The stranger looks, well. Strange. And confused. He looks around at you, Jesus, and the Cohozuñito. He hops off the stovetop.

You feel like you're in a fever dream.

·

YOU – Are y'all seeing this shit there's a guy from an egg.

VOLTA DO MAR – Congrats to him for coming out!

YOU – NOT WHAT I MEANT.

·

The stranger gets his bearings quite quickly, though, and goes to give Jesus a high-five, which he accepts.

???? – Oh shit, hey Jesus!

JESUS – Hi Volo!

·

YOU – Ok. Dude's name is Volo. Noted. Why does he know Jesus.

PIECES – Everybody knows Jesus. Duh. Lol. Lmao, even.

YOU – Stop being a sarcastic little bitch you *know* I don't know who Jesus is!!!

·

You gently hit yourself on the face with your now-closed notebook, tired of everything.

YOU – I need. A drink.

You're speaking to nobody in particular, but Jesus heard you anyway, and is right by your side with a glass of red wine.

You decide not to question anymore shit, and take the drink without verbally acknowledging how weird that is.

Meanwhile, there's more commotion, once again ruining your concentration and by extension the conversation being held in your notebook.

The commotion being someone loudly opening the cabin door. The person responsible for the noise then hobbled in.

That person… Ah. You recognize him immediately!

It's Harry!

You dart towards him, happy to see *somebody* you finally recognize, blood and flour be damned! You scoop him up into a hug immediately, and he hugs you back just as tightly.

Yeahhh, those were definitely intrusive thoughts earlier. The smile on your face currently proves that. If anything happened to this man you would kill everyone in the room and then yourself, actually.

Morale restored.

Pulling away from the hug, you look Harry over and notice he looks like shit. Which… Isn't saying much, honestly!

YOU – Harry, you… Look like shit. Like, worse than usual. What happened?

He looks around. At the floor, at the ceiling, everywhere, while trying to think of what to say. He hums while putting his words together.

HARRY – Uhm. Uh. A lot?

YOU – Yeah, no shit!

You let Harry lean on you as you both walked back to the others. Before you could introduce him to everyone though, Harry, naturally, pulled some Bullshit™.

HARRY – Oh, hey Jesus!

He waved, and Jesus waved back. And you almost pushed him to the floor in annoyance! Why does everybody but you know who Jesus is!!!! Ugh. Okay. Fuck. Fuck! Fine.

NEW TASK: READ THE FUCKING BIBLE, I GUESS!

///

hello @white-boy-bracket here's. The next chapter 👍 co-written w @takemetotheastralagain who helped write the Cohozuñito & Volo!

Kim's Skills, btw:

Volta Do Mar — Kim's version of Inland Empire, embodies word salad/rambling/thought disorder shit

Paranoia — Self explanatory! 😃👍

Pieces — Kim's version of Encyclopedia, also self explanatory tbh HDJFJFJ

*These are all Skills our Kim fictive has btw do not @ us or anything. We're writing our fictive here not canon Kim ok thankyou JSJSJDJFIF

[vendettavalor]

@quillheel said: [ 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 ] : as sender is about to leave, receiver embraces them. // from Kim to Harry, or perhaps the other way around? up to you!

⚔️ Desperation Prompts // ACCEPTING ⚔️

No one said recovery would be easy. Harry had been told that numerous times since the start of this whole Journey to Sobriety. Mostly from the part of him that represented his ELECTROCHEMISTRY. Time and time again, it had insisted that the lows of his mental state were worse than the crashes of the bottle or the pills. Like a contemptuous toddler trying its hand at reverse psychology to get its way. Thankfully, his rapidly improving better judgment insisted that this was just a natural consequence of relying on substances to regulate his mental health for so long. In time, he would stabilize. But for now, his body had to relearn how to make its own serotonin, dopamine, and other neurotransmitters and endorphins again. The chemical imbalance still remained, even as his organs recovered from the constant, recurring bouts of toxic shock he sent them into with his abusive habits.

And today was one of those low days.

Everything had gone right. They'd solved another case. A relatively easy one this time at that. It was little more than a brief inspection, a few interviews, and the deduction that the culprit to the suspected home invasion was little more than an old canine who'd failed to look before he lept in his pursuit of a mangy feline, and crashed through a window into a woman's kitchen in the middle of the night. (The mutt was fine, thankfully - and Judit even adopted the old dog to give him a more stable home to live out the rest of his golden years in.)

The paperwork was minimal. The weather was nice. But Harry just couldn't find it in him to smile about any part of the day. Not the groggy beginning, not the exhilarating middle which held his passion for problem-solving at the forefront of his mind, and not the satisfying conclusion where everything actually worked out well for once. And now, all he could focus on was the fact that Kim was walking away. Day's work done, the lieutenant was preparing to retire and leave both the station and Harry behind. And for some reason, that made him hurt more.

EMPATHY: You could really use a hug. From him specifically. It feels like he's all you have right now. And you don't think he'd mind that. HALF LIGHT: Fucking pathetic. Of fucking course he would. Toughen up, Du Bois. ESPIRIT DE CORPS: He wouldn't. He's noticed something has been off with you all day. More than just the normal lack of mania that comes with sobering up, he's noticed that you've been generally disinterested in... everything. INLAND EMPIRE: You're not your usual cheerful, eccentric self. Not even with the things that would normally get you hyped up. CONCEPTUALIZATION: He tried pointing out a little figurine in one of the shop windows that looked like it was straight out of the era of disco. PERCEPTION: He did? CONCEPTUALIZATION: Oh, yes. It was beautifully hand-painted with watercolors and varnish, positively garish and glowing against the backdrop of old, dusty antiques around it. You would have loved it. ESPIRIT DE CORPS: You didn't even react to it. That was when he realized something was wrong. Something more than jus the usual rebound low of fresh sobriety. He's worried you might be depressed. It's been on his mind all day since. He's waiting for you to say something so he can start a conversation. You know he's not good with emotions. He prefers rational discussion, unlike you. He lacks your tact or emotional literacy. So, say something. If not to make yourself feel better, he wishes you'd at least do it to ease his mind.

Without another thought to guide him, Harry sways and stumbles forward. Clumsy arms wrap themselves around Kim, pulling him in for a warm, somewhat moist hug. It's comforting for all of a moment, as Harry's breath shudders with barely restrained ache. When was the last time he received physical comfort? He doesn't remember. And his gut tells him he doesn't want to either. Then, he immediately regrets it. There's an unfamiliar sense of embarrassment that washes over him just as the rest of his psyches begin to dogpile his sense of empathy and his gut. He didn't even say anything or ask if it was okay.

Just as quickly, he lets go of Kim and returns his arms to his sides with a bowed head. A muttered sorry escapes him and he moves to retreat back toward his desk like a kicked dog slinking off back to the shameful safety of its leaky kennel. Still lacking impulse control it seems.

Nice one, Harry.

[wizardingworldlibrary]

Romance Masterlist

Links Last Checked: November 19th, 2024

part two

all hauntings are the same (ao3) - Anise draco/ginny T, 6k

Summary: A ghost is a wish, a dream, and an addiction. And as Ginny Weasley is about to learn, Draco is an addiction that she just can't shake.

Coffee and Firewhiskey (ao3) - lydiamartinified hermione/draco M, 14k

Summary: He uses alcohol to escape the horrific images that makes sleep cruelly evasive. She drinks coffee in the middle of the night for similar reasons. Their frequent run-ins turn into something neither of them anticipated; something that will either destroy them or help them find what they have been missing. One-shot. COMPLETE.

Dance With Me (ao3) - Enigmaticrose4 hermione/draco T, 8k

Summary: Draco is bored with his life and not looking forwards to picking a wife. That is, until he bumps into a fetching little cat at his mother's Halloween Masquerade. - Dramione AU

Detained (fanfiction.net) - se1ge katie/marcus M, 91k

Summary: Marcus is becoming obsessed with Katie. The last thing he ever plans to do is let her know. Katie is becoming obsessed with Marcus. Her life would be far easier if she weren't.

Forgot to Mention (ao3) - wetpretzel hermione/draco M, 5k

Summary: It's the match of the season - Slytherin vs Gryffindor. Nothing is stopping Draco Malfoy from catching that Golden Snitch.

Nothing, except for Hermione Granger taking a bludger to the chest.

Let's Go There (ao3) - teenage_hustler draco/ginny E, 16k

Summary: Ginny Weasley is a General Healer at St Mungo's, and a series of visits from the one and only Draco Malfoy make the week one of the most interesting of her career.

Make Me Believe in Nargles (ao3) - Emmeebee luna/dean T, 3k

Summary: In the wake of the war, Dean has become Luna's closest friend. However, she's not the only one who isn't yet showing everyone their cards. When an unexpected visitor enters the game, it's inevitable that he will upset their delicate balance; the only question is what the outcome will be. "He also said that I had better impress the nargles if I wanted a chance. Is that true?"

Mysterious Things that go Bump in the Night (ao3) - NeverNik hermione/draco E, 22k

Summary: Hermione Granger's waking up in the mornings dead tired with small unexplained marks and bruises scattered over her body. Sometimes she can't remember what she did the previous night. But that's all rather here nor there. She's got NEWTs to sit and her future to prepare for. She's a confident young woman by day. But what is happening to her at night?

Never Let Me Go (ao3) - strawberrykait hermione/draco M, 8k

Summary: Hermione filled the gaping hole Ron left in her life with work, and for a while, it seemed enough. But one night, long after the shop closed, when she was too tired to sleep and unwilling to crawl into an empty bed, Hermione was overcome with such a terrible longing – an emptiness resonating within her heart and soul – that she unconsciously began collecting jars from the stark white shelves behind her and from her storeroom, adding them into a simmering cauldron.

Of Gits and Harpys (ao3) - Yatzuaka draco/ginny E, 25k

Summary: There are always questions and there are always answers. They just aren't always what you think they are. Rated for language and adult situations (er, outright smut) in later chapters. Complete

Running on Air (ao3) - eleventy7 draco/harry T, 74k

Summary: Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.

Slytherin Squad (fanfiction.net) - HalfBloodDragon draco/ginny G, 96k

Summary: COMPLETE. As the unintended Captain of the most despised Auror squad, can Draco Malfoy lead his band of Slytherins through Death Eater attacks and threats from the Ministry? Definitely not. At least, not without the help of his reluctant Lieutenant: Ginny Weasley. Inconveniently, the last person he'd ever ask.

Stained Glass (ao3) - Tiny_Teddy_Bear luna/draco G, 15k

Summary: Light slips through stained glass, dappling the walls and floor and altar with soft colours. And he wonders how she can be a prisoner in the darkness, yet shine so brightly. Draco/Luna. Complete.

Stranger Things (ao3) - akissinacrisis luna/dean M, 5k

Summary: Wars make people do mad things. But if Seamus ever finds out about this, he’s dead. Dean and Luna, throughout Deathly Hallows. Charcoal, driftwood and fishfingers abound. Dean/Luna, rated Mature, oneshot.

Summer 1996 (ao3) - CaptainYellow harry/ginny

Summary: Snippets about how Ginny Weasley became Harry Potter's Amortentia. HBP missing moments.

This Charming Man (ao3) - Inell cedric/hermione G, 3k

Summary: It’s like the world is shifting because she’s able to see things differently as she thinks back about them while considering what he’s just said

[brasideios]

Thank you for the tag @aeide Great idea 🤍

Rules: 10 (non-ancient) books for people to get to know you better, or that you just really like.

So these are my current faves from the last century or so and limited to fiction. I left out the 19th C stuff - just know that I’m an English Literature nerd, and if it was written by the Bronte sisters, George Eliot or Jane Austen, I have read it at least ten times.

1. The Subterraneans by Jack Kerouac.

I have read all of his books, and I love Dharma Bums also, but the Subterraneans speaks to the theme that will always draw me in - hopeless love. The way Kerouac writes, the deep introspection and pawing over of his thoughts is really relatable to me, and the way he is always the destroyer of his own happiness… not to ignore that this book has issues (it’s deeply of it’s time, 1950’s US) but when it comes to emotional impact, I can’t think of a better example.

2. An Imaginary Life by David Malouf.

Malouf is a contemporary Australian author who often writes in a poetic way, and An Imaginary Life is perhaps his most poetical. Its the story of Ovid’s exile to the Black Sea. There are passages in this book about home, loss and memory that will never leave me. I like all of his work though, almost without exception.

3. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S Thompson

I have probably read this book fifty times. It’s funny and messed up and wild - and there isn’t another book like it. I read this when I just want to laugh and don’t want to engage my brain too much.

4. Catch 22 by Joseph Heller

Like Fear and Loathing, I’ve read this book many many times. It’s wonderful though sad. The way it’s structured, so that you seem to circle around and around the story, as the story grows darker and darker… it’s truly an amazing piece of work. The movie absolutely failed to capture it.

5. The Secret River by Kate Grenville.

Another contemporary Australian author, the Secret River is historical fiction based on the white settlement of New South Wales in the early 19th Century. It is beautifully written and tackles the ugly side of colonialism head on. There are scenes in this book that made me sob. She also wrote the Lieutenant which addresses some of the same issues and it’s also very good.

6. The True History of the Kelly Gang by Peter Carey.

Another contemporary Australian author (though he lives in the US now) - as the title suggests, this is a book about Ned Kelly, the famous bushranger. It’s written in Ned Kelly’s voice, and it’s done so, so well. I can’t think of another work that is so bold in its use of voice.

7. All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy

I honestly struggled to decide which of his books to choose because I love his work for the way he puts words together, and he does it so incredibly well in everything he writes; however, All the Pretty Horses was the first of his I read, and it made me read all the others, so it seemed the right one to choose. No Country for Old Men and Suttree are other favourites of his.

8. Imperium by Robert Harris

The first in a trilogy - they’re all brilliant - retelling the life of Cicero. I love the way Harris writes - very clean, very light. I would give a leg to be half so good at writing to be honest.

9. The Gates of Athens by Conn Iggulden.

This follows the life of Xanthippus - Pericles’ father - during the 480s BCE. As with Harris, Iggulden’s writing is absolutely a benchmark for me. This is the first in a series and I haven’t checked in a while if the next one has been published. Note to self. He also wrote the Falcon of Sparta which was great, too.

10. The Song of Achilles by Madeline Millar.

I know there are issues with this retelling, and honestly I don’t care. The way it’s written is everything. The word craft is so beautiful; the feeling that permeates the whole story of impending doom; how every happy moment is in fact sad. It’s gorgeous. Its poetic. It speaks to that hopeless love trope I mentioned earlier. I also loved her Circe for the same reasons.

Tagging @sleeplessincarcosa @softest-punk @erzsebetrosztoczy @myriath @woodsman2b @mimbotomy @auroralykos @haythamk @theinkandthesea I want to read more from around the world so pls gimme all the recs ☺️ or ignore me - no pressure!

[wrizard]

tags c/o @boogiewoogieweeb because they gave me CHILLS

#the terror#francis crozier#harry goodsir#jesus; that first gif hits like a truck#not to discount crozier and goodsir's interaction here;#least of all for the tenderness of goodsir's care of crozier being juxtaposed with what he was forced to do to gibson just prior;#but the line “i know lieutenant little's nature” just breaks my heart into a million pieces every damn time#because he does. crozier DOES know little's nature#he knew it even as he gave little the order to take the men and head south; to live#francis was so; so certain that edward would return for him and the others#and he was right! he was right to put that much faith and trust in edward!#just not right enough#because if there had been even a shred more honesty and open communication between them from the very start;#if edward had been even just the slightest bit more self-assured of his standing by francis' side as his second#then yes; i do not doubt for one second that edward would have been back there lickety-split with more than a dozen men in tow;#regardless of whether dundy still took the vote in his absence#no matter how bad the odds looked or how risky such a confrontation could prove to be;#if edward possessed the same kind of confidence in himself that francis did in that moment;#nothing would've kept him from saving his captain and whoever else needed saving; of that i'm certain#but there simply wasn't enough trust between them for francis' belief and edward's determination to become a reality#they both fumbled the bag so monumentally badly when it came to trusting one another;#francis allowing his own insecurities to poison edward; and edward allowing francis' disapproval to cloud his better judgement#like... yes; francis. you DO know edward's nature#you trusted him enough with the lives and well-being of both your men and your ship when you couldn't care for them yourself#but do you also know that YOU planted the seeds of self-doubt in him that led to the situation you now find yourself in?#do you know that despite how strong his resolve and how loyal his heart is; both are crumbling at this very moment#under the weight of betrayal after treacherous betrayal; the very first of which sprung directly from you?#francis; you know edward little; the first lieutenant of the terror. but you have long since lost sight of edward little; the man#who is trying so desperately to keep everything tied together and from falling apart;#but who is failing so miserably that it will cost every remaining life you yet value; except your own

THE TERROR ▸ 1.10 we are gone

[wolpatinga]

On a more personal... Ventures Tangent note.... I've read nearly every fic at least at some point in the chonny jash tags and it's a bit of a double sided coping mechanism. I am a heart fictive who was sourced specifically from the general torture porn in the fandom. I remember being called a cripple, an attempted de winging by my mind, being starved by my soul, this is the first I've ever admitted this to someone outside our friend circle. But fics like yours really help us cope. With our current life situation. It is cathartic.

i'm glad that you appreciate the fic, and that you found comfort in it. i'm kinda new to cccc, and i've only really read what jan @ twig-gy and it's mutuals write, but i've got a soft spot for heart

i'm not really familiar with all the terms used like fictives and tulpas and alters and all that, but i've had at least one other guy in my head for a year now. he's the lieutenant, my imaginary friend based around harry du bois of disco elysium, and he told me that heart should be given the benefit of the doubt

sometimes you did fire the gun, but that doesn't mean you wanted to kill. sometimes they did hurt you, but you're still alive. you're never beyond redemption

i hope you're having a good day, anon. and even if you aren't, i hope you have a better tomorrow

[kitkatt0430]

In episode 20 of 90s Flash, i wonder how evil the bad guy can really be? I mean... he just wants to let everyone get a much needed nap.

I could use more naps is all I'm saying.

Murphy and Bellows arrest a guy - small time crook, repeat offender - and Murph's kinda tired. Insomnia. I sympathize, insomnia sucks.

But oh no, their friendly repeat offender has passed out with a smile on his face. Except, no, he's not unconscious... he's dead!

Okay, so maybe the bad guy is evil after all. That is not a nap.

Barry helps with the autopsy today. Apparently he went to school with the dead guy's cousin. He finds a weird device on Harry (the dead guy) - which Barry identifies as being a device intended to induce endorphins - explain the dead guy's grin - and gets used to help people quit smoking. Of course, when Barry and the mortician leaves, a not particularly sneaky sneak makes his way in to fiddle with the body and revive the dead guy from a deep coma.

Okay, so that is a nap after all. A very deep nap that fakes death.

Harry wants to 'make it bigger' to put the whole city to sleep. Roger (unstealthy sientist) looks... dubious.

Barry is experiencing an identity theft issue - his identity has been confused with that of a deadbeat with a similar name. After learning he keeps his social security card in his wallet in the Mirror Master episode, I am entirely unsurprised. Barry, you practically walked right into that.

And now IA is looking into the missing body of the "dead" guy. Barry's boss is being an ass and IA dude is acting like he's gonna go after Barry on this. Lovely.

Meanwhile, Harry and Roger putting mice into a lovely nap.

Roger - We could make legit money in the sleep aid business. Harry - Or we could be super thieving cousins together! So much better am I right? Roger - *dubious*

Turns out Roger is the guy Barry went to school with. It's a small world, after all. *continues singing*

Barry - *touches Roger's experiments* Roger's experiments - *set themselves on fire*

Oh, Barry sees the same tag thing that was on Harry's body.

Barry - *suspicious*

IA dude continues to be suspicious, following Barry and taking pics of both Barry and the not-so-dead guy.

Barry takes the tag to Tina and while she's testing it she almost passes out. Discovering that it's the vibrations that knock a person out.

Barry goes to investigate Harry and Roger's theft and puts all the stolen money back, but then passes out when he returns to normal speeds. Harry is about to shoot Barry - thus leveling him up from petty crimes - but Roger stops him.

Yup there goes IA trying to pin shit on Barry that he didn't do. The Lieutenant is actually trying to protect Barry here. Clumsily, but I do get the impression he believes Barry.

Fosnight sees Harry is alive and with Roger - cameo or will my fav CI reach out to Barry again?

Anyway, more theft! More profit!

Barry has more faith in the police wanting to be above even the perception of guilt than reality calls for.

Tina - These nap time devices can kill people if they stay asleep too long.

Harry and Roger's new backers - *beat up cops* That's our version of the sleep device.

Roger learns the mice died after being asleep too long. He wants to start doing the right thing only for Harry to shoot him. Barry shows up and switches out of his Flash suit to put Roger at ease (after putting the bad guys away in various places) intending to find out how badly hurt Roger is and hopefully get him to the hospital in time but...

He did not secure the bad guys well enough and he's knocked out. Framed for Roger's death. Poor Roger, he wasn't really a bad guy.

IA - I'm gonna play this as stupid as I possibly can.

At least he's got Julio on his side. If only Julio knew Barry was the Flash.

Barry, super stealth, unlocks his cell, leaves the old pillow and blanket trick behind, and leaves. *snicker*

Fosnight! Pretending to be a nun. I really love that guy.

Barry - Drop the habit, alright? You're not the religious type.

hehehehe

IA shows up to badger Barry, finds him missing. How can he make things worse? Let's find out.

Uh-oh, now everyone is passing out. Right as Mr. IA claims that Barry got away. I do see how Barry can fix things for himself now. If he's *wink wink* fast enough.

But, oh no, Barry's asleep too. Can Tina save him? Though now she's being affected through the phone. Cue dramatic music as Tina puts in her ear guards and then rushes off to save the day! Go Tina!!!

Tina manages to avoid capture and rescue Barry, giving him her only set of earbuds and passing out in result. But first she left him a message. And then snuggles against his shoulder for nap time.

Barry gently puts Tina aside and then runs off to go stop the bad guys. By cutting the power. Though before Barry stops the bad guys, Harry kills another one of his partners. This one is a lot less sympathetic than poor Roger, but still... sucks for him.

Barry shows up, takes care of the bad guys by tossing them in their own care and then taking Harry off to the CCPD. And then Barry slips back into his jail cell like he was never gone.

Mr. IA - O_O but he escaped, I swear. Everyone else - Yeah, sure he did. 'Cause he's zippy like the Flash, right?

Harry's kinda lost it and confesses to everything. Mr. IA looks like he feels like an idiot. And hates Barry.

I could see him coming back with a chip on his shoulder had there been a S2.

We don't get resolution on Barry's identity theft/debtors trying to stick him with someone else's problems issue but presumably that gets cleared up before the next ep starts.

[concord-and-cliches]

vote now on your phones for which cigarette eating punchline is your favourite

[id in alt text and under the cut, sketches also under the cut!]

[ID: A Disco Elysium fancomic featuring Harry Du Bois and Kim Kitsuragi. Panel One: Harry watches Kim smoking with a thoughtful expression. The smoke from Kim's cigarette flows around his head in the shape of a halo. Text in the panel reads: "Electrochemistry – Sweet, sweet nicotine… Ask if you can bum a cig!" Panel Two: Harry, with a frazzled expression, has a lot going through his head. Text in the panel reads: "Logic – The lieutenant only smokes one a day, and he doesn't carry around his pack. Electrochemistry – Shit! What about the butt? Can you eat the butt? Volition – You're not that desperate. Electrochemistry – No, you are. Composure – If you're already going to ask for something insane like that, at least try and be proper about it. Savoir Faire – Or, even better: be cool. Encyclopedia – With the right vocabulary, that's easy! I'm on it." Panel Three: Harry, sporting a smirk and a flirtatiously-raised eyebrow, points a finger gun towards Kim, and says: "Kim, mind if I eat your ass?" Panel Four: Kim looks back at Harry, stunned.

A Disco Elysium fancomic featuring Harry Du Bois and Kim Kitsuragi. Panel One: Harry watches Kim smoking with a thoughtful expression. The smoke from Kim's cigarette flows around his head in the shape of a halo. Text in the panel reads: "Electrochemistry – Sweet, sweet nicotine… Ask if you can bum a cig!" Panel Two: Harry, with a frazzled expression, has a lot going through his head. Text in the panel reads: "Logic – The lieutenant only smokes one a day, and he doesn't carry around his pack. Electrochemistry – Shit! What about the butt? Can you eat the butt? Volition – You're not that desperate. Electrochemistry – No, you are. Drama – Sire, if you are truly considering this, I recommend a subtle approach, lest you seem insane. Suggestion – Just play is slow, and you'll have it. Reaction Speed – Try not to be too slow…" Panel Three: Harry, trying hard to look overly-nonchalant, says: "Sooo… Kim… Just the one cigarette, huh?" Panel Four: Harry watches Kim stub out his cigarette on his boot. Kim has a somewhat confused expression as he says: "Yes, detective. You already knew this, no?" Panel Five: Kim asks: "Was there anything else inane you had to say?" Harry looks at Kim with a blank expression. Panel Six: Text in the panel reads: "Electrochemistry – The fact that it's been on his boot makes it hotter." /end ID]

[jupiter235]

B'Elanna watching Tom be upset over something so stupid and coming to the realization that she's dating an eight-year-old in a grown man's body, and not only that but everything else she talks about in that episode (example: her conversation with Neelix in the mess hall), and coming to the realization that she's worth more than that and she can do so much better?

Actually, I was trying to go somewhere else with that point, but you know what? The episode still could have happened with Tom and Harry entering the race, but B'Elanna never joins Tom as his partner and instead the episode ends with her breaking up with him rather than them getting married. And B'Elanna at least is the one happily dating other people in the Alpha quadrant.

And maybe either Deanna Troi or Ezri Dax gets a call from one Lieutenant Tom Paris at some point.

I love how in “drive” in voy. Tom and Harry literally want to enter this race which is by far the dumbest most unnecessary idea ever.

Tuvok and Chakotay are rightfully skeptical, because the race is literally a substitute for a war and they don’t know ANYTHING about the people/culture/race rules and janways just like:

Fuck it! Let’s do it for the plot

Like bffr this women literally just does what she wants