#injecting the way you write Directly into my Bloodstreams

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

I’M GOING INSANE IM GOINGN INSANE IM GOING INSAN

"please forget your scarf in my life" | sacredshipping

There was simply no time to stay in one place for more than three days when the legendary beast he sought for could cross large distances in a single leap. Consequently, he packed light for his strenuous journey, and any memorabilia that he brought along was regularly accounted for before each departure.

Leaving Ecruteak was always an exception.

No, that wasn't quite right, Eusine pondered. It was leaving Morty that was the anomaly here.

Or: after another stay at Morty's home when he visited Ecruteak City, Eusine forgot one of the most important thing he possessed— a sketchbook containing drawings of the best friend that he grew to love. Who knew that something wonderful could be born from this life-changing mistake?

[lubdubology]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag @yxtkiwiyxt!

Here's another little snippet from my Worst!Logan as bartender story.

Almost a week has passed and you haven’t returned to the bar. Not that Logan’s counting. No, definitely not.  But he can’t ignore the fact that he went home that night with your taste wrapped around his teeth and feeling like you had injected yourself directly into his bloodstream. He can still hear your breathy moans and gasps in his ears. Feel the warm embrace of your cunt around his cock.  While the sex was thrilling, relieving an itch that had long been begging to be scratched, it was the silvery-white light that danced along your skin that kept pulling his mind back to you.  You’ve been haunting him in a way he can’t shake and it’s pissing him off. 

Tags: @pedroscurls, @eupheme, @moonlight-prose, @avocado-writing, @logansbaby and you!

[electric-rabbits]

four albums I’ve been listening to recently!

Thank you @petrichoraline for tagging me! Musical tag games really are my favorites, I'll talk non-stop about songs if I'm not careful lmao

I have some downloaded albums that I end up listening to again and again while driving, so my repeats are less "my latest choices" and more "I'd inject this shit directly into my bloodstream if I could", but I'll try to think of what's been on my mind lately.

In Case I Die, by Will Wood (2023)

I really love Will Wood's lyrics, but his musical style earlier in his career is kind of hit or miss for me personally. Now, his live performances in this latest album are just incredible. He really put all of his emotions into each song, and the acoustic aspect of it all hits me in a completely different way. This shit got me writing poems, literally.

Earth Trip, by Rose City Band (2021)

Listen, im 23 but my musical taste is 100% that of a middle-aged dad. I discovered this band recently and it's so good!! Their work is a bit bluegrass, a bit Americana; and this album specifically just makes me think of the late 60s- which, in my opinion, is a compliment. Anyone who likes stuff like The Grateful Dead, Bread, America, The Doobie Brothers, and even Dave Matthews and Jimmy Buffet should absolutely check it out.

Drink From The Creek, by Joshua Bond (2021)

I found Joshua on tiktok, a surprisingly good tool to discover amazingly talented indie artists, and holy shit is this guy talented. I'm not kidding one bit when I say that this is one of the greatest songwriters of this generation, and it's a shame that his work isn't being praised at all the corners of the globe. He's a folk singer, but one of the best out there, and this album hits me so hard as somebody who's the same age as he is- born in the year 2000, just in time to watch as the world collapses.

The Man Who Sold the World, by David Bowie (1970)

I warned you about my music taste OK. This isn't my favorite of Bowie's albums, but I do think it's incredibly underrated, and it holds a special place in my heart- especially the second track, All the Madmen, which is one of the reasons why I ended up studying Psychology. I've been listening to this one on repeat since I recommended one of its songs to @bingobongobonko , who can consider himself tagged on this game. Gimme all the albums my man

I'm also gonna tag @sybilius @rainyrainbow999 @falling-hand-in-unlovable-hand and @morgannalefey . Please feel free to ignore it, but also I'd love to give your latest albums a listen

[whispereons]

omgggg i just read ur oracle fic and i love EVERYTHING abt it, i love love LOVE how u write each character, im normally not an ayato simp but this fic is seriously making me reconsider, i love that even tho u introduced a HUGE looming threat (ei) i still wanted to stay in inazuma bc ur characterization was so good, I LOVE Y/N!!! im usually SOO judgy of y/ns if i dont like how theyre written but urs is so interesting and SMART and funny i LOVE this protagonist, ur last chapter was Not too long, if i could i would read a million words of this fic like i need it injected directly in2 my bloodstream. ill be thinking abt this obsessively for like a week and ill be super looking forward to future chapters BTW. LOVE THE ITTO MODEL SLANDER, i just KNOW hes twice my height at LEAST. we should hit mihoyo with a steel chair for dropping the ball on him. my 1 singular critique is that its spelled expensive with an E. ok im normal now sorry 4 being insane in ur inbox

OMG THANK YOU!! You can be as insane as you want in my inbox.

I am also not a Ayato simp but writing for him was too much fun. And yes, Itto model slander!! Just his splash art compared to his model is atrocious. Especially with Alhaitham out now, like update our doofus model already!

I'm so glad that reader isn't annoying or unlikable. I want people to relate and understand reader in a way that can help you all go along with their train of thought. I was worried that I was overdoing the hints at readers backstory.

I'll give a lil hint that this 'ship' isn't going to be as easy as it sounds. And I'll have to search for that grammar mistake after posting the next chapter.

[fishy-xp]

KinnPorsche Ep 11 Brain Rot

I only have one thought

Arm moving aside to let Pol share the chair with him.

The End. Goodbye, see you in a week.

PSYCHE, THIS EPISODE WAS OFF THE WALLS BATSHIT INSANE

The first VP scene ohmygod, the tattoo, the swearing, the pet names. I need Vegas saying 'what a load of bullshit' injected into my bloodstream

Pete giving in as soon as his grandma is brought in is so touching. He obviously loves deeply and will do anything for the people he trusts (e.g. Porsche, his grandma, soon to be Vegas). Having to pretend that everything is fine when nothing is not will always be one of the most devastating tropes.

Something about Vegas playing with Pete's face and hair whilst asking 'who's a good boy' and then pushing his face away like it means nothing GETS ME RILED UP.

Chan having to be there for all the family meetings and listening to their dumbassery is hilarious but did he have to have his gun out like he was about to shoot Porsche on sight. Please daddy, give him a break.

Tankhun saying 'my Kinn' and Kinn being all shy, this is the sibling content we need.

Pol writes Kinn x Porsche fanfic and Arm reads that fanfic, no I don't take critism. Also I don't know if it was just the translation but 'Daddy wants a breakup' I AM CREASING

Safehouse my ass, you mean safemansion

HEDGEHOG HEDGEHOG HEDGEHOG HEDGEHOG

HE CALLS IT BUDDY

Porschay's snoopy hoodie is the peak of fashion, Tankhun's entire wardrobe is crying

I want so badly for Porschay to be lonely around the major family compound because everyone there is a solid ten years older than him and then he bumps into Macau and they become friends and Kim and Tankhun are rolling in their graves because this is the forbidden Romeo and Juliet.

I have a feeeling after their parents died, Porschay had nightmares about it and this time they included Porsche also dying. He probably woke up screaming and crying for Porsche. Porsche rushes in to comfort him, telling him that he's right here and that he will not leave Porschay no matter what. So when they hug, Porsche says it again to remind Chay that he's right here in front of him, he'll be here when the nightmare is over because it's not real, it's only just a dream and Porsche is alive.

I don't care about novel TimeTay, show TimeTay are the most wholesome sexy ass couple and until something happens, I will continue to ship and enjoy them, go argue with a wall.

The way Tankhun introduces himself is top tier

This has been on my mind since Ep 7 but Vegas looks like a really good kisser

Pete's therapy session puts a lot of things into perspective for Vegas. Not only does it provide some comfort for him and make him realise he's acheiving the unachievable because the fault doesn't lie with him, but his father, but it also directly attacks Vegas as Pete is telling him 'you're hurting me, because you can't hurt anything else.' It takes major balls to say that to the guy who has you in chains, has anger issues and has fried your nuts off but it had to be said. It's a very interesting dynamic where the abused becomes the abuser, and then they meet an abused who becomes a protector.

Okay I am not the biggest KimChay enthusiast but Porschay's characterisation has intrigued me. He is the soft, wholesome baby but he is by no means naive or weak. He fought back against those kidnappers, had the balls to ask his idol to be his guitar tutor and also confess, told off Porsche for working in an danger job and confronted Kim about his lies. Porschay is a lot more capable then I intially thought and that is why I think we should give him a gun and see what happens. Thank you for coming to my Tedtalk.

Kim Kimhan Theerapanyakul, you may be the most beautiful man I've ever seen but you've committed a crime against humanity and you will be eliminated.

So when KP were kissing in the helicopter, I was like lol are they going to fuck in the helicopter as a joke, cut to Porsche giving Kinn the gwak gwak 3000 and I ASCENDED

Vegas' pyjamas <3333333

[loyal-logik]

Energon Consumption (AKA how does Shockwave eat?).

I’ve been writing Shockwave for a long time (10+ years *cough*), before we knew about IDW empurata and shadowplay, so some people may be familiar if they’ve followed my very old fic series or art.

(cw for injections/medical in case you need it!). 

Before we knew about empurata and how it was used as a means of shaming criminals, I simply thought it would be common practice to just have mechs like Shockwave walking around without it being uncommon or strange to look at. Cybertronians come in all different shapes and sizes, and some seem to have masks that don’t ever retract. Why should energon ONLY be consumed via mouth? Besides, they’re not organics, and they’re not humans, so I figured there’s got to be a simple way. 

Some people hc that Shockwave does have a mouth or an orifice that opens up when needed at his face, some also hc that he has a proboscis, which I LOVE that idea! For my Shockwave, though, I’ve simply always headcanoned that he consumes energon through intravenous (IV) injection with special ports in his body.  

This is a headcanon that I’ve been using for absolute yonks, so you can imagine just how excited I was when the 2019 TF comics proved that this was a legitimate technique of consuming energon: 

Even though the circumstances ARE different in this comic, this has always been the way I’ve seen Shockwave ‘eating’. Would this be something rare amongst their people? Not really. Perhaps not as common, but the way I see it is that there will always be different ways to do things for each ‘bot. It’s like having furniture in a bar that needs to suit all its patrons. Their species adapts to what is needed. This would be similar for Shockwave and other bots who don’t consume energon via mouth (Whirl, too, or anyone who doesn’t have the common humanoid face). 

This does mean a few things, though. For one, Shockwave can only inject liquid energon. He cannot experience solid foods. Can the energon be flavoured? Of course it can be. Can he taste it? Why not? Just because it’s going directly to his ‘bloodstream’ doesn’t mean he can’t have taste nodes or something inside. He’s not a human, he doesn’t have to fall to our biological standards, and I do hc that he absolutely can feel and taste textures and flavours. 

IV intake does come with more risks, however, but this isn’t something that is really new to Shockwave (unless it’s IDW ofc). Just like bots with mouths can choke on their food, Shockwave also has a risk of things getting stuck in his “oesophagus”, especially if something foreign or solid gets in the path. I assume his body has a means of flushing these things out or quickly breaking them down by pumping/squeezing, but much like us, it can get stuck in the pipe and can cause a sense of coughing/choking. For Shockwave, it might seem more like a hiccup from his body than a choke. 

I headcanon that he has specific entry ports for his intake as well. I guess, in a weird and slightly creepy way, Shockwave does have multiple “mouths”. These are simply injection sights. These are specifically MADE for energon intake, though, it’s not the same as just putting a needle anywhere in his arm. I imagine they’re also special kinds of needles, too, considering they would need to suit the intake ports. So, I hc that he at LEAST has one on each arm, between his armour where his more vulnerable wiring is. He may also have one on his neck, hidden beneath his armour, which connects with other systems and air cycles (while they don’t need oxygen, I do hc that they still sort of cycle air through their systems).  

These specific ports house specific wires, which he can actually also pull out if he needs to access energon from an open glass/cup/mug, which can be drawn down (like a straw, I guess, or a hose). This is particularly useful if he doesn’t have his kit with him. But using the kit would be a safer and better means thanks to simple hygiene and lack of foreign objects getting inside.  

Cybertron would have adapted to this, which means public restaurants or whatever else would supply energon specifically for these customers. It wouldn’t and shouldn’t be seen as anything strange to their people, it’s just another part of their culture and way of adapting to life around them.

At the end of the day, I hc that energon was once simply just energon. Over time, they have refined it, remade it, flavoured it, textured it, etc, so for Shockwave, it’s not something that he feels is important or he’s missing out on. His goal is to consume energon to keep going, not to taste and feel it. While he does enjoy certain flavours, yes, he does find eating with a mouth more messy, so he’s content with how he has to consume it. 

Now, I will make a little mention to IDW post empurata, because of course Shockwave is aware that this technique was something they FORCED upon him, so yes, he may feel differently in that verse, and at times after war, he will likely miss all of those things he once could do.  

For TFA, Shockwave came before Longarm ever did. Longarm was created, and his body was altered to have a face, extra optics, a mouth, etc. These things operate fully while he is Longarm and tie into his systems when he reverts back to Shockwave. He still has energon ports (mouths) and still consumes energon via IV naturally. 

[the-teddy-bear-butch]

hey!

liked the top 3 list, wondered if you wanted to share from any of these?

31

36

46

71

<3

Hiya! Thank you so much for the asks dude!!! You chose some really fun ones to ramble about <33

Link to the asks

31: Top 3 things to draw/doodle

Oooooh, I doodle a lot, but I fall back on a few things

My own characters, especially the main characters from my novel (check them out at @the-supernova-sapphics )

Werewolves! I like to mess around with ears and face shapes and fur to make them match their human form, it’s very fun. And I just have a very intense werewolf special interest

As much as I talk about HATING drawing hands, they are okay sometimes. I doodle hands a lot to try to get a feel for them and it’s fun to try different gestures

36: Top 3 books from your childhood

I am a horse girl. I grew up on Black Beauty by Anna Sewell. I had a series of classic books condensed for children, and then I read the actual book at least a dozen times growing up

In the same vein, I also had a condensed kid’s version of Call of the Wild by Jack London. Loved that one a lot <33 I have yet to read the original, but I intend to do so

Bit of a strange one, but Kalahari by Jessica Khoury was a favorite in middle school. I hadn’t read anything like it before and I haven’t really since. Interesting concept, minor twist on a zombie virus almost? and I loved it

46: Top 3 fan fictions you’ve read

OH BOY

Okay so my favorite fanfic is probably Bloodletting by @agentgenevra . I have talked about it a LOT over here and I will sing it’s praises forever. Let me do it yet again. First of all, vampire Nancy. Vampire Robin. That is enough to get you hooked. But! This fic has one of the BEST AU plot lines I have ever read. The way each character and their individual motivations and personalities connect into this big web of a plot is FASCINATING. And! Tension! Tension! Tension! Eve is a genius and I fucking adore this fic.

Second place would most likely go to Dancing in the Moonlight by summersociety. I want this fic injected directly into my bloodstream. It’s somehow serious and unapologetically goofy at the same time. Again with tension! Monster hunter Nancy is a badass! Werewolf Robin is complicated! AROO BROKE MY HEART. Martha is also a queen.

Finally, I think I’m going to have to go with Raise Dead by @eskawrites . Go in with the warning that this is the only fic that LEGITIMATELY, not as an exaggeration, made me cry. The feelings are very raw and very intense, this fic will break you heart and then mend it. Chapter 3 especially ruined me. Angst galore dude. And very poetic writing, I love it.

71: Top 3 songs of this month

Only three? Damn I gotta really narrow down the favorites list

Everywhere, Everything by Noah Kahan is one of the best romantic songs I’ve ever heard, it’s kind of giving Hozier imagery but a little more upbeat and also this man’s voice does things to me

Late Bloomer by Semler, I’m writing a fic based on this one and it’s just very soft and good and I love the lyricism, plus the guitar!!!

Real genre skip here, but I swear Punk Tactics by Joey Valence and Brae is laced with something, that song is addictive and my funky neurodivergent brain loves it

Honorable mentions are Everlong by Foo Fighters, The View Between Villages by Noah Kahan, and Maple Syrup by The Backseat Lovers

[nastybuckybarnes]

In a Heartbeat  -  Seven

Pairing: Fireman!Bucky X Reader

Summary: You’ve always been careful with your heart. With your condition, you don’t exactly have any other choice. The last time you let someone in, you paid the price. A price you don’t plan on paying again. Until Bucky comes in and shatters your carefully crafted world.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Injuries, Fluff, Fluff, FLUFF

Word Count: 4.1K

A/n: Here she is! Part seven! I’m gonna write a little epilogue but the fic can very well end here! I love this series with my whole heart and soul omg

Series Masterlist

~*~

He’s numb.

So damn numb.

Nothing even matters. His ears are ringing, the bright lights bouncing off the linoleum floors are fucking with his eyes but he doesn’t care because you’ve been in the operating room for hours and all he wants is to see you, to make sure you’re okay.

No one’s said a single thing to him about whether or not you’re okay, and it’s taking all of his self-control not to break down that door and see for himself.

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, jolting him from his thoughts and bringing him back to the loud sounds of the waiting room.

He furrows his brows at Steve, confused out of his mind until he sees Tommy in his other arm, head resting against his father's shoulder and a casted arm hanging limply at his side.

“Hey Tommy, how you feeling?” The brunet asks, his voice rough and hoarse with lack of use.

The six-year-old only whimpers softly in response, burrowing further into his father’s neck.

“He’s okay. Doctor’s got him on some painkillers. Said it was a clean break from pounding on that window.” Bucky stands up, rubbing his nephew on the back. “You’re a hero, buddy. Just like your daddy.” Tommy sniffles and nods, the sight breaking the man’s heart.

“You should head home for the night, Buck. Shower, rest, then come back in the morning.” He clenches his jaw and swallows hard, shaking his head.

“I-I can’t, Steve. What if... what if she comes out and I’m not here? Or what if...” He trails off, not even wanting to entertain the idea of the other option.

“I saw Nat on her way down here. Ask her for an update and then go home. You’ve had a long day. And when she’s out of surgery she's gonna be upset to see that you’ve exhausted yourself out here in the waiting room.” Steve has a point. Both men are still in their fire gear, having rushed to the hospital directly from the fire.

It’s after midnight now.

“I’m taking Tommy home. Take care of yourself tonight, Buck. If not for you, then for her.” He nods, eyes on the floor as the blond leaves, his son curled up against his side.

“Barnes? You’re still here?” He looks up at the sound of Natasha’s voice, desperation evident on his face as she walks over to him.

“I’ve got no update other than she’s unstable and that they’re doing everything they can. It’ll be another few hours before she’s out of surgery and even then, she’s going straight to the ICU and won’t be awake for at least a day or so.” He lets out a terribly shaky breath but nods, rubbing his eyes then pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Y-you’ll call if there are any updates, right? I’m just gonna pop home and shower and sleep for a few hours but I'll be back first thing in the morning.” She nods, taking his hand and squeezing tightly.

“I’m off for the rest of the night, so I’ll be sticking around bugging the nurses for updates whenever I can. Might even bribe an intern with good coffee, not this hospital shit.” Bucky chuckles softly, shaking his head.

“Okay.” He takes a step towards the exit then hesitates, looking back at the redhead for a. moment. “Do you think she’s gonna make it?” He asks, his voice soft and broken and nearly lost among the sea of people.

Natasha swallows hard and avoids his eyes, taking a deep breath before answering.

“The doctors are doing everything they can.” A rehearsed answer. An answer she gives to relatives to let them know that they shouldn’t expect much.

He says nothing, only gives her a firm nod, then turns and leaves the hospital.

Hot droplets of water rain down on him, washing away the stench of smoke and the physical reminder of the events of the day. But no heat and no water pressure will wash away the sorrow in his soul. The absolute unadulterated fear that grips his bones and seeps into his bloodstream. That is something that won’t be washed away by any amount of water and suds.

His movements are mechanical, scrub, rinse, dry, dress.

The sleep that finds him is restless and fitful, filled with nightmares that will haunt him for nights to come. Every thought, both waking and otherwise, are occupied by you. Your face, your smile, your laugh, and the thought that he may never experience any of them again.

He's back at the hospital at six-thirty, coffee in his metal hand because his flesh one is shaking too much.

Just as he’s walking to the reception desk, he sees Natasha walking towards the waiting room. Her face is unreadable when she sees him, but he notices her take a deep breath.

“What is it?” He asks, not bothering with pleasantries.

“She’s out of surgery. She’s still unstable, hasn’t woken up yet, but she’s been out for about three hours. She probably won’t wake up until this evening.” He takes a few deep breaths then nods, a bubble of relief hugging him tenderly.

“Where is she?” Nat sighs and turns on her heel, leading him towards your room.

“James, I’m not going to sugar coat this for you. She’s not doing well. There’s still a fair chance that she won’t wake up.” She stops, looking up at him with vulnerability in her eyes, tears brimming.

“What is it?” He’s nervous, his heart feels like it’s going to explode.

“They’re saying she needs a transplant. That her heart won’t last for much longer and if she wants any hope of surviving more than a couple years, she’ll need a new heart.”

The air leaves his lungs in a whoosh, almost as if someone punched him in the gut. He stumbles back a step, coffee dropped and hands coming to the tops of his thighs as he hunches over, trying to catch his breath.

“That’s a best-case scenario. Worst case is she... well... we should’ve said our goodbyes. But she’s strong. She’ll pull through. She has to pull through.” That last part is whispered so softly that the brunet almost misses it.

“Nat,” his voice breaks, it cracks and splinters and shatters in pieces on the linoleum that he doesn’t have the energy to pick up. He can’t pick himself back up. Not if you might not wake up. He just can’t.

“Sit down, c’mon.” She helps him lean back against the wall, sliding down until he’s seated, arms draped over his knees and his head hanging heavily between them.

He can’t breathe.

A sick voice in his head screams that this is what you must’ve been feeling, this terrible tightness in your chest, this inability to draw in a single damn breath. It’s unbearable and for just a moment he realizes he wouldn’t blame you if you gave up, if you just let it take you. But he shakes that thought from his head and instead focuses on you fighting. You need to fight. If you can pull through, then they can find you a new heart and you’ll be okay.

You’re going to be okay.

You have to be okay.

~*~

Everything feels still. Dry. Bland.

If you could pin it to a colour, that colour would be beige.

Everything feels beige.

You’ve been awake for a little while now, gathering your bearings and trying to remember what happened. The last thing you remember is the fire bell... Wanda telling you not to go... and then running back into the building to find Tommy.

Tommy.

Your heart picks up in speed, pain flaring through your chest at the action, and an alarm starts beeping rapidly.

It takes only seconds for the door to open, nurses and doctors flooding into the room and checking the various machines around you while you grab at the front of your hospital gown uselessly, trying to alleviate the pain.

“(Y/n), I need you to take a big breath with me, okay?” A doctor says, her brown eyes focused on yours. You nod, inhaling with her for a moment then exhaling. You do this a few times and the machine gradually stops, your heart slowing as whatever they injected into your bloodstream takes effect.

Nurses slowly trickle out, leaving just you and the doctor.

“Well, you sure know how to make an entrance,” she says with a smile, looking over your chart.

“What can I say, Doc? I’ve got a flair for the dramatic.” Your voice is weak, far weaker than it should be, and that alone scares you.

She chuckles softly, smiling at your words before tucking the chart under her arm and looking at you straight on.

“You being alive right now is an absolute miracle,” she says softly, taking a step towards the bed then motioning to the chair beside it, asking wordlessly if she can take a seat.

You nod, taking a few deep breaths as you prepare to hear whatever news she has for you.

“Your heart stopped twice on the way to the hospital, and the second time we almost couldn’t get it going again. Your heart is weak, and what you endured nearly ruptured your left atrium and you had severe lacerations of your ventricles. It is most comparable to a very severe heart attack, and you’re lucky to have survived.”

She doesn’t look like she’s delivering good news. No, she should be happy if you’re lucky to have survived. That fact alone puts you on edge.

“What is it? What... what’s wrong with my heart now?” You know it can’t be good judging only by the look on her face. It’s a look you’ve seen far too many times.

“With the rate you’re going, your heart will give out completely in three or four years. And it won’t be a pleasant process. You’ll be in pain, bedridden and hospitalized because you won’t be able to move. The only alternative is a transplant.” The world around you shifts from beige to grey, the clouds dark and the room sorrowful.

Your ears start ringing, loud and painfully and it takes everything in you not to rip them right off.

“S-so that’s it then? I’m gonna die in three years if I’m lucky? I’ve only got three years left?” She sighs and looks down at her hands, “the only other option would be to put you on a waiting list for a new heart, but we cannot guarantee that you’ll get it in time, but it’s worth a shot.” You shake your head, tears falling from your eyes and splattering on the ugly blue hospital blanket.

“I don’t want a new heart! I don’t want to go through a process and get my hopes up over something that I won’t get in time.” You sniffle and shove your face in your hands, the steady beeping of the machine next to you making you want to cry even harder.

“I’ll give you some time, (Y/n).” The doctor gets up and leaves, a sad look on her face as she turns to the pair waiting anxiously outside your door.

Natasha pushes herself to her feet, her eyes wide with curiosity and desperation.

“I recommend you give her space. She’s... processing everything,” Doctor Palmer says softly, giving Natasha a sad smile before walking away to handle her other patients.

Nat exchanges looks with Bucky then slowly walks to the door.

“Just give me a minute to see how she’s doing, okay? I’ll tell her you’re out here waiting, I just wanna see if she needs anything.” He takes a deep breath but nods, understanding that Natasha would be able to tell, if only from a medical standpoint, what you need.

You keep your face in your hands, tears wetting your palms, as the door opens again.

“Beans?” Nat’s voice makes you stiffen, sniffling and wiping your eyes before peeking up at her.

Her heart shatters in her chest at the sight of you.

Skin dull, eyes heavy and sunken. She’s seen a lot of sick people before but never would she have put you in the same category as them. Now though? Now, you look the part.

“I uh... I heard the news. Bugged the nurses for updates and they finally caved.”

Your bottom lip wobbles and then a sob bubbles out of your chest.

Nat’s face falls and she slides onto the bed beside you, pulling you into a tight embrace while you sob.

“Oh beans,” she whispers, smoothing your hair away from your face.

“I don’t want a new heart!” You cry, tears soaking her shirt. She hugs you, holds you tightly while you cry out your frustrations, your sorrows.

It’s agony.

She has so many questions, so much she wants to say, but she knows better.

She holds her tongue, wanting you to be in a better headspace before she talks to you about your options. It’s too soon. The wound is too fresh.

Bucky sits impatiently outside of the room the whole time, leg bouncing and flesh fingers trembling.

Natasha comes out of your room a short while later, sniffling and wiping at her cheeks.

“What’s happening? Is she okay?” The redhead nods, taking a few deep breaths.

“I’ve seen a lot of sick people, Barnes. A lot of them. But seeing her... seeing my friend so weak and tiny...” She shakes her head, looking up at him with glossy eyes.

“I’m scared, Buck.” Bucky pulls her into a hug, his own breaths shaking.

“It's okay. It’s gonna be okay.” She sniffles again then speaks, “she’s asleep again. She should be good to see you the next time she wakes up though. I’m sure she misses you.” He squeezes his eyes shut but nods, trying to mentally prepare himself to see you in such a fragile state.

~*~

Bucky doesn’t know how to feel.

He doesn’t even want to feel.

Helpless.

That’s the word that sums it up the best.

Seeing you on that hospital bed, tubes attached to your face, arms, and chest, he feels absolutely helpless.

“Hey,” he murmurs, smiling gently when you look up from your book.

“Bucky... Hi.” Your voice is raspy and hoarse, and he has to take a few shaky breaths to stop from crying.

“You mind if I sit?” You shake your head, motioning to the chair beside your bed.

He takes a seat and looks at you closely, his eyes welling up with tears.

“How ya feelin, pretty girl?” You huff a breath out through your nose then shrug, trying your hardest to stay strong in front of him.

“I uh... I’ve been better, I gotta say.” He chuckles weakly then nods, sniffling and dropping his gaze for a moment.

“Nat uh... Nat told me what the doctors said. About your heart and stuff. That’s... intense.” It’s not the best word but it’s the only one he can find.

You blow a breath out through your mouth and nod.

“It’s scary,” you whisper, not looking up from your hands even when he takes them in his.

“I’m scared. I don’t want to be put on a waiting list only to not get one in time. And there are people who need a new heart more than I do. People who want one more than I do.” He furrows his brows and cocks his head to the side in confusion.

“What do you mean, you don’t want a new heart? Why wouldn’t you want one?”

You sigh heavily, “because, James. This is my heart. It’s the heart that I’ve lived with for my whole life. I don’t want a new one because this one is mine. This is the one that’s dealt with heartbreaks and betrayals. This is the one that’s gotten me through the bad days and the good. And this is the one that chose you. I don’t want a different one. I wanna keep this one. And don’t you dare tell me that my days are numbered if I keep this one because my days are numbered regardless.”

You finally look up at him, fire in your eyes as you express everything that’s been going on in your mind.

“We’re all gonna die someday, and it may not be the way we expect or the way we want, and we won’t ever be fully ready for it. But it’s gonna happen. I’d much rather know that I spent my life doing what I wanted on my terms. If my days are numbered, I'd rather enjoy them than spend them waiting for a heart I may never get. My heart’s still got a few years left in it. Careful years, yeah, but years no less.”

Tears stain his cheeks and he nods, sniffling twice then pressing a kiss to your hands.

“I’m not going to try and change your mind, Doll. The choice is completely yours and no matter what you decide to do, I’ll stay by your side through all of it, I promise. You’re my girl, my best girl, my only girl, and I want you to do what’s best for you.” You squeeze your eyes shut, having mentally prepared yourself for him to put up a fight, not for him to be so supportive of your decision.

“I love you, (Y/n). And I’m gonna cherish every fucking moment that you let me spend with you because I love you. I thought,” he pauses, pulling a hand back to scrub the tears off of his cheeks only for more to fall.

“I thought I’d lose you before getting a chance to truly tell you. But I’m not gonna waste any more time because life is a precious gift. I love you, (Y/n). So much. To the fucking ends of the Earth. I love you and I don't want a day to go by where you don’t know just how much I love you.”

You whimper, his confession making warmth spread through your body and tears rain down your cheeks.

“I-I love you too, James. With every ounce of my heart, I love you. And I don't want to let you down and I never want to hurt you.” He closes his eyes, content to bask in the weight of your words for a moment longer, a private, intimate moment.

He eventually settles his head on the bed next to your hip, and your fingers find their way into his luscious brown locks, twirling the thick strands around mindlessly.

“When are you getting discharged?” He asks, his voice muffled by the bed.

“I’m not sure yet. Doctor Palmer said she wants to keep me here for at least another week or so to monitor my heart and take me off the medication, and then maybe some more time after that depending on how weak I am.” He nods, nuzzling against you some more.

“I’m not going back to work ‘till you’re out,” he says matter-of-factly.

You only giggle, shaking your head.

“James, that’s not even plausible. You’ve got bills to pay. Besides, you’ll get tired of being here. I’m gonna spend most of my time sleeping or bugging the nurses for some real food.” He lifts his head, eyes full of vulnerability.

“I just don't wanna leave you and then...” He trails off but you understand his concern.

“I’m gonna be okay. Doctor Palmer says I’m doing okay. I’m sure Nat will continue bugging her for updates and she’ll let you know if there’s anything concerning happening. But I’m gonna be fine, I swear.” He watches you for a moment longer before nodding and pressing his head against your thigh.

A thought bubbles into your mind and you tug gently on his hair to get his attention.

“What happened to Tommy?” You ask, voice tight and filled with apprehension.

Bucky only smiles gently.

“Lil guy’s a hero. He busted that window open, that’s how we found you two. Broke his arm but he’s okay. Says he looks like me so he likes it.” A smile finds its way onto your face at the idea of Tommy looking up to his uncle so much.

“He’s already gotten everyone at the firehouse to sign it, and I’m sure when he’s back to school he’ll get everyone there to sign it too. But the lil guy’s a hero. Gonna make a good firefighter.” You nod, mind flashing back to those last few moments in the school.

“I was so scared, James. I-I couldn’t protect him and I didn’t know what to do.” He reaches up and strokes your cheek gently, shushing you softly.

“It’s okay, pretty girl. It’s okay. Everyone’s okay.” You take a few deep breaths and nod, trying to calm down before your heart rate picks up too much.

“You need to worry about yourself, and not everyone else. Focus on getting better, okay? And then, when you’re ready, I’m gonna take you out on a date and show you just how much you can enjoy life, okay?”

You nod, smiling at him.

“Okay.”

~*~

“Miss (Y/l/n)!” Tommy runs at you full speed, nearly knocking you over when he barrels into your legs.

Bucky’s quick to steady you, opening his mouth to reprimand his nephew but you stop him, raising a hand to cut him off.

“Hey, Tommy! How’s my little superhero feeling?” He pulls back and smiles up at you.

“I got another cast so now my arm looks just like uncle Bucky’s!” You glance at the new blue cast and smile brightly.

“Look at that! And you’re a hero just like him too, huh?” He nods excitedly then digs around in his pocket for a moment.

“Here!” He hands you a sharpie then points to a blank space on his cast.

“I made sure to leave room for you to sign it!” Your face softens and you crouch down in front of him, signing your name and drawing a small picture.

“Thank you, Tommy.” He nods, glancing over his shoulder as his dad calls his name.

“C’mon Tommy! You gonna help us move or are you gonna help miss (Y/l/n) get organized?” He looks between you and his dad then runs over to the moving truck, excitedly grabbing whatever his little arms can carry then bringing them into the house.

Bucky wraps an arm around your waist and presses a soft kiss to your temple.

“You ready?” You look up at your new house, then over at him, nodding without hesitation.

“Absolutely.”

The moving process is long and tedious, and after seven hours of lifting, unboxing, cleaning, and organizing, you’re about ready to call it a day.

“Pizza’s on its way, and Nat ran out to grab some beers,” Bucky says, coming up into the master bedroom. Concern immediately colours his features as he sees the way you’re sitting. You’re on the bed, hunched over with one hand on your mouth and the other on your lower abdomen.

“(Y/n)?” He asks, coming to a crouch in front of you and trying to get a look at your face.

You take a few deep breaths then nod, opening your eyes and offering him a weak smile.

“You okay?” You nod again but he seems unconvinced.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You take a deep breath and reach for his hand, squeezing it gently.

“I uh.. not really. I wanted to tell you in a better way but I guess this is as good as it’s going to get.” His heart is in his throat, absolutely terrified of what you’re going to tell him.

You’ve been going to the doctor a lot more frequently, and your energy levels have plummeted.

He knew you didn’t have time left but it hasn’t even been six months since the fire.

You pull his hand to your stomach and rest it there gently, eyes finding his as you wait for it to click.

He stares at his hand in confusion, that confusion melting away as he realizes what you’re telling him.

“Wait, are you...?”  His eyes are wide, eyebrows raised and heart pounding.

You only nod, tears welling up in your eyes as he launches up and wraps his arms around your frame.

“Oh my god. Oh my god! I’m gonna be a dad!” You giggle wetly, tears of joy falling and getting soaked up by his shirt.

“We’re gonna have a baby.” He pulls back, hands on your small baby bump.

“How far along are you?” He asks, cradling the bump delicately between his hands.

“About three months. And the doctor said that they’ve already got a birth plan ready, and different pills for me to take to calm my heart.” His glossy eyes look up at you, so full of love and adoration.

“I can’t believe it. I...” he stops, leaning in the gently kiss your lips then pulls you into another tight embrace.

“Thank you, (Y/n). Thank you.”

[montalais]

Rules: List five things you never get tired of writing; it can be tropes, themes, characters, phrases, whatever brings you joy. Then tag five people!

internal dialogue. I will never get tired of getting into my character’s heads and see their thought processes, their motivations and struggles, how they approach life in general and difficult choices in particular.

Slice of life. Look, great plots and high stakes are the shit, but every once in a while a girl needs to write her characters having a bit of peace in a peaceful day doing the most mundane things.

Found family trope + choosing to be there. You can inject this directly into my bloodstream, thanks. 

Romance (and smut). Quoting @irisseireth Look, I approach fic writing the same way I used to play with my Barbies, and then with my Sims: smooshing their faces together. It also has to do with the “choosing to be there” trope, give me people fighting teeth and claw for their loved ones. Also, writing smut is really fun. 

Tagging: steal this.

[mythvoiced]

3 , 5 . 👀👀

@rahge | roleplay / writing habits

---

3. Are you proficient in any language outside of your native tongue? do you write characters that speak multiple languages?

OH YEAH! I am bilingual native in both German and Italian, and like to think of myself as relatively proficient in English, mostly because I just used the word ‘relatively’ which I think is neat, BUT I DIGRESS- I can read Hangul, but that hardly counts as any form of proficiency because I don’t understand the words I read lmao The Russian alphabet is a similar scenario, I can read most of the letters but won’t understand the word they shape. I understand written French up to a certain extent but French people are ridiculously fast speakers and I shan’t understand if you speak at me mon ami. I understand a vague amount of Spanish, meaning if I put some effort in and developed my vocabulary further I could potentially comunicate, or at least understand enough to get by. I know two crumbs of Mandarin (I know how to ask for someone’s phone number, how to count to ten, and other random-ass sentences, such as, I can tell people that my brother is my brother lmao). And I started learning Dutch which started out amicable and easy and is turning increasingly more difficult and all I’d like to know is why. I need you to inject any language you know directly into my bloodstream, basically, let me at it.

And YES, all of my characters speak multiple languages (I think, at least, I deadass forgot), for a wide variety of reasons. We have those who I infected with polyglotism to facilitate interactions, we have those who simply enjoy languages as much as I do, those who are naturally native in multiple languages because of lineage or how they grew up, and those old bastards who have lived so long that I gave them multiple languages because why would you, as an ancient being, not learn multiple languages.

5.What time of day are you most productive with regard to writing?

Never, I am awful and have no idea how I ever get anything done ever- I’M KIDDING, Nassy I luv u ♥ It really depends on my mood more than time of day, and sometimes I just don’t like the way I’m sitting and that tanks my productivity. But generally? I can tell you when I’m not productive, and that is at any point in time in the afternoon or after 9pm. Sometimes my brain can still produce a random burst of productivity in the evening, but more often than not, I just start shutting down and messing around with character pages or I don’t even know. My productivity also tanks when I’m obsessed with something, it’s a miracle my queue was offering anything while I was watching Ghost Doctor.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO “Leading the Witness.”

Alright guys, this is going on longer than I thought and way more detailed as well but its been interesting. Also I am sorry for the late update, my boss has me rolling quarters at work so I am trying to do that and write this in between.

Thank you to my discord member Eddi for the testing logs he wrote and that I am using as evidence in this story. He deserves all the credit for the well thought out and executed test logs.

WARNING: Graphic depictions of blood, gore, bodily mutilation and mentions of suicide. The Steel eye project development is very graphic, so if you wish to read, please skip the test logs, which will be bolded. 

The room spun around him, and he took a few long, deep breaths hoping that it would stop.

He wast sure he could survive another few hours of this.

He wasn’t sure at all 

He was sweating, and his body throbbed all over. Clammy hands gripped the sides of his chair as he sat straight backed in his seat. A line of cold sweat dripped down the back of his neck. Blood had long since drained from his face, and he wondered if he looked as sick as he felt half expecting the bailiff to walk over with a bucket or something. A part of him fancied he could feel every eye in the room staring at him. The prosecution was still talking, but he could barely hear them as his head spun around and around in circles, ears ringing.

The lights pulsed.

He jerked out of it as a hand came to rest on his shoulder. He looked up, confused for a moment as he tried to figure out where he was, the room was partially tilted and it took him a moment to realise that he was slumped slightly to the side. Waffles had her head in his lap whimpering very softly.

“Adam, adam are you ok, do you need to step out.” 

He lifted his head and turned to look at Admiral Kelly, who now sat beside him, a hand on his shoulder.

His ears were still ringing but not enough to realise that the court had stopped.

The lead judge had held up a hand to the prosecution and was looking directly at him. 

Well… at least now the blood was rushing back to his head, and he could feel his ears burning, “Is everything alright, council?” The judge asked, “Does your witness need to step out.”

The lawyers turned to look at him, hints of both concern and concealed annoyance on their faces.

They looked at him expectantly.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, “No your honor. My apologies.”

His voice was surprisingly strong for someone who felt like he was about to pass out. The judge didn’t seem too annoyed at him, and looked on with some measure of concern. They whispered something to the nearby bailiff and then motioned the council to continue.

Admiral Kelly didn’t move seats keeping one hand on his shoulder. The bailiff walked over after things had started up again and sat next to them for a moment, “If you need to step out.” He whispered, “Take the side door to your right and someone will let you back in.”

He nodded, “Ill be alright, but…. Thank you.”

The man nodded and stood returning to the front of the room.

“As you can see, their first attempts at creating a proper drug cocktail to dull the pain of direct neural interface, was a complete disaster. Dr. Gladstone, assuming you were forced to use drugs instead of subdermal implants, how would you have gone about this? What is the proper procedure dictated by ethical state law.”

“Drug trials can take months to years, we test them on animals, rats monkeys and even inject them into synthetically grown human tissues and tube grown organs before we even test on animals. Each phase of testing can take up to eighteen months in clinical trials, and if the drug proves to be wrong we start over again.”

“Have you ever done phased drug testing on human subjects.”

“No, certainly not.”

“But of course they continued. May the prosecution present Experimental log 32 for For consideration by the court.”

Experimental log #32:

Over the past experiments we have been testing multiple drug mixtures to try and reduce the pain induced by the Direct neural interface our most recent tests have involved morphine much to our resident doctors discouragement it is one of the few drugs we have found capable of suppressing the pain induced by the direct neural interface. This test involves the use of an automatic dispenser controlled by the pain sensors in the arm.

The subject, as before has been sedated for the implantation of the test augmetic. This time however the drug reservoir has a direct link to the bloodstream. 

-recording break-

The subject seems to be stable and moving around without much interference, although slightly lethargic and a little dopy due to the drugs.

We made sure to remove the augmetic well before the drug reservoir ran out. This seems to be successful and stable Several more tests are to be made to confirm this before moving on to the next stage. 

“Dr, do you happen to know the laws in relation to the regulation and use of morphine during testing?”

The doctor nodded, “Morphine is heavily regulated even on the research level owing to its additive properties. Only doctors are allowed to prescribe it, and even then, the morphine dosages are regulated and reviewed by an internal board of directors. There is a cutoff point for the amount of morphine allowed for personal use,and the amount of morphine allowed for medical use. This cap can be broken if the board of directors determines the patient is terminal and in extreme pain.”

“How about for research purposes.”

“You can’t research with morphine, and you certainly cannot give it to a patient with no prior history of injury, or other medical conditions.”

“Thank you doctor, the prosecution wishes to present experimental log 34 to consideration.” 

Experiential log #34:

Our continued experimentation has lead to the conclusion that stronger chemicals may be required to reduce the pain, one subjects auto-dispensary caused an overdose When the subject spent some time prodding and poking at the implant site it caused excruciating pain that was responded to by the auto dispensary by flooding the body with over 500milligrams of morphine. A stronger painkiller would mean lower doses are required thus avoiding an overdose. Despite our team's medical advisors continuing protests. 

Prosecution turned to the judges, “You see here your honor that instead of considering the ethical questionability of their actions, they determined to use more morphine despite the overdose and even extend the use to even more potent drugs. These are not the actions of scientists who were considering ethics, or even the value of human life.”

“Objection your honor on conjecture about the thoughts of my client.”

The judge waved a hand, “It may pass.”

The defence took a seat.

The prosecution adjusted her tie, “Three people died as a result of these tests your honor. Marvin Dess, William Moseratt and Angela Vilgrin. Not once were the tests paused or delayed. Instead, they moved onto the next phase of testing.”

Adam was starting to feel a little better now. He wasn’t sweating so much and he had finally managed to even out his breathing.

“The prosecution would like to present experimental log 28.”

Experimental log #28

Calibration of the arm mounted augmetic seemed to proceed without error or difficulty, The drugs delivered through the internal reservoir developed by Dr. Nkosi renders the subject inured against the supposed pain induced by the augmetic. The primary tests we will be administering are of the use of high strength servo motors to power the augmeitc, reducing its weight and increasing the power behind the subjects rapid motions. 

-Recording break-

The Reaction of the servo motors and torsion cables was far too extreme delivering significant damage and trauma to the subject, Further testing will have to be done and fine tuning of the suits will be needed. 

Adam knew what was coming and tried to close his eyes and block out the sounds as the next visual log was projected before him. 

Audio-visual log transcript:

The subject appears bleary and unresponsive. The augmentic is mounted on their right arm, supposedly their dominant one according to the research notes. The subject is drawn to attention by the scientist administering light taping on their cheek. Upon raising their arm the subject appears a little shocked at the size of the augmetic and the fact it is connected directly to an external power source, questioning the scientist on this who confirms it is just an experimental version. The augmetic appears to only be active on the elbow joint. The scientist appears to be requesting the subject extend his arm in an attempt to punch an invisible foe. Upon doing so the augmetic appears to cause an extreme reaction of force, resulting in not only damage to the subjects musculature, but outright stripping the subjects muscle tissues away from the bones, the pins seem to be functioning as anchor points as the subjects skin and muscles are removed from the skeletal structure. Functionally stripping the flesh away from the skeleton in a manner that can only be described as ‘glove like’. It appears that this area also contained the drug delivery interface as part way through the emergency removal of the upper section of the augmetic, the subject seemed to come out of the semi stupor and begin to register the damage done to themselves, screaming and becoming violent. It was only after the subject was re-drugged with the remaining contents of the drug reservoir that they calmed down.

His attempts to block out the sound do not stop him from hearing the hydraulic hiss, the tight whirr, and the horrific cracking popping noise as flesh is torn from bone. The screaming echoed around in his head. His heart was beating at a million miles an hour. Sweat poured down his back and neck and in between his shoulder blades. Flashes of red sky cut before his vision, the sound of gunfire and the smell of ash.

Admiral kelly squeezed his shoulder hard bringing him back. The dog was halfway in his lap her head pressed against him, and the Bailiff from earlier was on his other side steadying him as his body seemed prone to leaning to one side.

He took a few very deep breaths.

A few of the judges were watching him, but they didn’t stop the proceedings this time. Most of them just looked like they wanted an excuse to look away.

“Your honors, this is not the last log in the series. Even after the catastrophic failure, they continue to implant the steel ee pieces onto test subjects without prior testing in a controlled environment. I believe we have been making realistic ballistic dummies for the past thousand years. I am sure there is something that could have been done.”

Adam was fading.

The lights were growing up in his vision, turning everything around him white.

The defence stood, “THe defence calls for recess, your honors.”

There was a pause, “Recess granted. You have thirty minutes.” 

The room burst into a flurry of murmurs and movement. Admiral Kelly leaned forward hands on his arms, “Adam, you should get up, walk around a bit.”

He nodded and stood feeling the world tip around him as he did. With one hand he gripped heavily onto the back of the pews and staggered forward out of the room. Waffles followed after him whining and whimpering. He waved admiral Kelly off him as he wobbled his way down the hall and burst through the outside door and into open air. He took a deep long breath and leaned against the wall trying to choke down the bile that welled into his throat.

“You alright here buddy.”

Blinking owlishly, he turned to the side to see a man leaning against the wall on the other side of the door.

“You don’t look so good, Cigarette?” He asked offering a pack of the things towards him.

Adam waved a hand, “I don’t smoke but, thanks anyway.”

The man shrugged and lit up puffing a billow of smoke into the air, “You know breathing exercises.”

Adam blinked and nodded, “Yeah.”

“Don't forget to do them. It will help.”

Adam rubbed a hand across his forehead breathing slowly.

“You seem to know a lot about this. Am i that easy to see through?”

The man shook his head “I was a soldier during the panasian war, I know what PTSD looks like.”

“My father fought in the Panasian war.”

The man nodded, “Better get back inside while you still have some color, boy.”

He did as told. He didn’t know the man  but something about his calm demeanor and understanding was nice, and he stepped back inside patting waffles on the head as he walked back towards the courtroom.

He sat down before anyone else was there just yet and rested his head in his hands breathing slowly and evenly. The room slowly filled up again, and before he really knew it, things were back in session.

“The prosecution would like to present Experimental log 31” 

He closed his eyes and began to count slowly breathing in and out, in and out.” 

Experimental log #31

This test is the first among the replacement for servo motors for hydraulics The system was far slower and makes use of a combination of fast extension pistons and slower extension ones for combination. The test is the same as before a simple arm extension in the guise of  a punch. However the augmetic will also include the shoulder. We have increased the dosage of the painkiller as so to prevent the increased implantation volume from inducing a negative reaction in the subject. -Recording break-

The reaction from the hydraulics was stronger than expected, and the delay and stack up of orders has caused significant issues. A halt override taken directly from the nerve system needs to be implemented. 

He squeezed his eyes tight shut 

Audio-visual log transcript:

 The subject appears to be only semi responsive, appearing to function at a 12 on the GCS, Only held there by the active responsiveness of their motor function. This appears to fade somewhat when the subject is given physical stimuli by the scientist in the form of a light slap on the cheek. Bringing the subject back to consciousness. The subject is then encouraged to make the punching action as prior experiments. The subject does so, the fast reaction of the piston seems to achieve the scientist's goal, However the long extension piston appeared to continue extending. This continued, dragging the subjects arm outwards, dislocating the subjects shoulder, then elbow as well as wrist. The subject appeared to be distressed at this, however not unduly in pain. The scientist having stepped back to observe the outcome of events. The extension of the piston continued beyond tolerable human limits. The piston continues to extend despite the protests of the subject and attempts at removing it. The extension continued forcefully separating the subjects limbs at both the elbow and shoulder joint, ripping tendon and muscle as well as ligament structures, fully separating the limb in to two parts and away from the body. It is at this point the subject began to scream in terror and panic till the researcher sedated the subject. 

A door opened at the back of the courtroom as a few more people stepped out. Adam sat there on the bench, his head tilted back and staring at the ceiling breathing even and slowly as light and color swirled around them. He could what speaking, but didn’t really hear what was being said.

He just had to keep himself together.

“....Log 35 to the court.” 

Experimental log #35

Continued experimentation indicates that a combination of servo motors, torsion cables and hydraulics are likely to result in the desired effect. Since the previous experiments a stop override has been implemented in to the systems. This prevents the hydraulics from continuing to extend despite the users body having ceased movement. This should result in the desired movement structures. We are moving on from the single arm testing considering the current functionality and strength amplification satisfactory. The current test is simply to get the two lower limb implants to function in tandem with walking. We have had to once again increase the level of drugs in the users system to prevent the reaction to the pain induced by the interfacing devices. 

-Recording break- 

While the system is capable of walking, the addition of hydraulics have caused the system to be heavier and more cumbersome than intended. Additional servo motors and possible leaf springs for artificial support tendons will have to be added to prevent the augmetics from lagging behind their users.

“Objection your honor…. The court has seen enough….. This is simply…”

“Objection denied council. The evidence stands. If you must you may leave the room.”

“But members of the audience…”

“Can step out if they need to.”

Audio-visual Log transcript:

The subject once again appears to be somewhat unresponsive. This ceases when the scientist provides a physical interaction with the subject, tapping them on the shoulder. The subject appears to be somewhat disoriented. Upon being prompted to walk the subject beings to walk without much in the way of impediment, though seeming to tug at the augments as if they are holding the subject back. The subject is then prompted to move at a might higher speed. Running if possible. The subject manages this for two steps before the continued pulling against the augmetic and movement against the interface needles appears to pull the subject’s leg free, removing large sections of the subjects muscle tissues and nerves along with it. The subject seems to be disturbed, if not in pain. Likely due to the drug reservoir and input mounted on the subjects arm. The subject however seems to be announcing that they can no longer move their legs as the researcher requested. The subject is then sedated and recording ends. 

Adam is being held up again by Admiral kelly his body tilting widely sideways and he is having trouble finding the orientation of the room.” 

“.... experimental log 38 as a demonstration of the scientists moving development far too quickly.” 

Experimental Log #38

Increased response time in the legs combined with the introduction of support springs within the armour have reduced that movement restrictions of the armour and made it much harder for the user to ‘pull away’ from the armor, this combined with several additional straps and metal binding to keep the users legs attached directly to the augmetics have solved several of the most recent problems. The newest set of experiments are moving on to vertical movement, focusing on the subjects ability to jump and move around obstacle strewn environments. 

-Recording break- 

It appears the engineers did not calibrate the hydraulics and other systems to function as shock absorbers, but rather only as force amplification devices. Meaning that impact shock is taken fully by the users body, This would normally not be an issue, however with the additional force and weight provided by the augmetic seems to cause issues upon landing. 

Audio-visual Log transcript:

The subject is suffering the same symptoms as prior subjects, low levels of function and unresponsiveness. Once the subject is roused from the stupor via an open handed impact to the cheek, delivered by the researcher,  they are directed to attempt an obstacle course. The subject seems to have little trouble with the primary obstacles, clearing them with little effort, however their recovery from each obstacle appears to be ungainly and improper. The subject is then presented with a  three meter high wall and instructed to go over it. Rather than scaling it as expected the subject simply jumped over the wall, exhibiting far more mobility and control than prior subjects in experiments. However upon landing the subjects legs appear to buckle and collapse under them, folding at several points that do not have joints. Indicating shattering of the bones. The subject seems unphased by the injury, Pointing it out to the researcher and asking if that is normal. This indicates that the drugs being used are of a high enough dosage and strength to suppress not only extreme pain but the shock reaction of the body. 

He can feel another person holding him up from the other side, but mutters that he is ok when anyone asks. E just keeps counting and breathing counting and breathing knowing that it has to be over soon. He just needs to hold himself together 

Experimental log #42

The final tests regarding midriff functionality have been completed, with shockingly low failure or complications compared to prior testing phases, we are putting this down to our own excellent ongoing improvements of the system. This final text is a sequential system test where a single subject will be required to use each individual part in sequence to ensure that no errors are likely to occur during the whole body testing or further complications are likely to occur.

-break in recording-

The subject suffered no ill effects due to the armour itself. However the subject seemed to become agitated and seemed to be suffering ill effects until they were returned to the augmetics. So long as prolonged exposure to the augmetics is not an ongoing factor we do not see an issue with this. 

“These testings had immense costs and horrific side effects to those who participated. Many of these men and women seen here are not functional or alive to testify in court as to what happened, however, the prosecution would like to call Admiral Vir to the stand as a representative of those who could not be here today, and s a member of the steel eye operation himself to ive the court a little idea about what this experiment did to people even when fully operational.”

Adam was still feeling light headed but even then he still knew what this was. This is what he was here for. Thi was the moment he had come to be a part of, the moment that he was here to help all those soldiers and test subjects used by steel eye.

Admiral Kelly stood with him as he made it to his feet, but he brushed off her hand and walked towards the witness stand. The judge stopped him on his way up.

“Are you well enough to testify Admiral?”

“This is why I came, your honor. Even if I had to crawl through a field of glass to get here.”

The courtroom murmured as he was sworn in, and he sat down feeling the eyes of the entire room on him.

He was still sweating and light headed.

“State your name for the record.”

“Adam Allen Vir.”

“And what is your position in the UNSC.”

“I am Fleet admiral of the UNSC space armada on loan to the GA.”

“And what branch?”

“Originally the air division. I trained at the Aerial combat academy as a fighter and shuttle pilot before being a member of the crew on the enterprise.”

“And how did you end up on Anin.”

“The Enterprise was being decommissioned for some wok, so I offered to go to Anin and be part of the war effort against the Drev.”

“And as a fighter pilot, you didn’t see much time on the ground.”

“No ma’am, I was primarily air support at that time.”

His voice was strong and hard, and the longer he talked the straighter he sat. he had to do this for them. He would NOT fall apart now.

“How did you end up on the ground forces then, Admiral.”

“Volcanic activity, ma’am, they call it the dark season when ash chokes the ai miles into the sky. It isn’t safe to land a ship or fly a jet in such conditions, so my vehicle was grounded. By that time the war was going badly and they needed every man they could get.”

“Were you trained for ground combat, Admiral.”

“Yes at the academy we were trained in ground combat though not as extensively.”

“And you lost your leg to a Drev.”

He reached down hand to his leg remembering the screaming of a red sky above, “Yes, I did.”

“What happened after that?”

“I ended up in a triage tent in out forward operating base. There was no medicine because all our supplies had been used up.”

“Would you say that you were delirious during that time.”

The defence stood quickly “Objection your honor. Leading the witness.”

“Dismissed, council.” The judge said, waving a hand.

“There were no painkillers, ma’am, so maybe. If not delirious than I was at least not in a right state of mind. I remember floating halfway in between being conscious and unconscious. I was in so much pain its…. Had to describe.” His voice wavered before he had it back on track shoring it up and strengthening it with memories of the men and women waiting back at the rehabilitation center.

“And at this time you were approached by Admiral Ablemen about the steel eye project?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And did he detail any specifics.”

He paused thought for a moment trying to remember back into memories that he really didn’t want to foster, “Not…. really. It's hard to remember but I…. I remember him saying that we could help him win the war. I remember him saying that when I woke up I would be a new man. He gave us the choice to go home or serve the UNSC one last time.”

“In your opinion, would you have said yes had you been more conscious.”

“Objection based on conjecture your honor.”

“Objection accepted.”

Adam paused and the mn let him continue, “Wat DO you remember about what happened to you.”

“I…. remember pain and….. Anger. I was never really all there during the steel eye project. I remember feeling invincible, like I could do anything but at the same time, hazy. I remember getting orders and going out, and then nothing after that.”

“Did they tell you there would be rugs involved.”

“No ma’am.”

“And after the war was over, what happened. How did all of this affect you?”

He paused and struggled to speak for a moment, opening his mouth and then closing, “I…. have never been so hopeless in my entire life. I tried to get help with the Veterans association but my claim was denied. I…. went through withdrawals…. Horrible horrible drug withdrawals where I. I was in so much pain, I just….”He paused then lifted his head to look up at th courtroom making eye contact with them. His voice was as strong as ever “I wanted to die, and I would have done it if I hadn’t had a good support system in my family. After a few months my brother got me in contact with a group of people who got ahold of my service dog, and I was able to heal.”

“Does what happened still affect you”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“In what ways.”

“I still have long term PTSD, and while it is controlled and I am no longer on medication, I still have bad days. Days where I can’t move or think, days where the quietest nosies send me into a panic.”

“Were you ever compensated for your injuries, Admiral.”

He paused again and shook his head, “No ma’am, I never received help.”

“Thank you admiral, you may be seated.”

He stood, his head was clear and his hands were dry. He stepped down from the podium with his chin raised and his back straight returning to his seat. He had done it. He had done what he needed to do and the only thing that was lft was to survive the rest of the trail.

He could do that.

He survived operation steel eye didn’t he?

So he could certainly survive this.

[greenninjagal-blog]

Stars Die (But We Don’t)

What is up everybody?! I’ve brought you more anxceit! This is the next story in my Space and Everything In It Series, which if you missed the first installment of, you can find it [here]!

Summary: Janus and Virgil have a talk about Scars, Death, and Names. Space is still a really big place.

Word Count: 7178

TW: talk of scars, survivors guilt,  death

Quick Taglist: @alias290 @chelsvans @coyboi300 @dante-reblogs @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @mrbubbajones  @musical-nerd18 @nonasficcollection @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @the-sunshine-dims @themagicheartmailman @themultishipperchild @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @welovelogansanders  

Read on AO3 || My General Writing Masterlist

“What am I supposed to say?” Janus said indignantly. Virgil hadn’t thought it was possible to miss the sound of something so annoying, but here he was, somehow grateful to hear the way that Janus’s tone conveyed absolutely no remorse for his actions. Condescending, patronizing, and snooty.

Apparently, very little about him had changed at all in the three years he had been declared dead, funneled through space, and ended up a very loyal member of Remus Prince’s Sucky Space Crew Extravaganza. The warmth in Virgil’s chest seemed spread, until he couldn’t quite place if it was an emotion or just part of being close to Janus again, like the way that Roman’s tail wagged the more Erefrens he was around.

“You could start with “Hey Patton, sorry for almost shoving a knife in your eye”.” Virgil suggested as he pressed the alien aloe to the cuts on Janus’s face as lightly as he could. Janus still hissed out a curse-- one of the many he seemed to know. Virgil thought that maybe that was his specialty because he had lost count of the scraps of languages that Janus had spouted.

“Sorry, Sorry,” Virgil muttered, “This is the last one.”

“That shit burns,” Janus whined because he was still the untouchable golden boy who had never even skinned his knees before he met Virgil.

“Sorry,” Virgil said because he was still the stupid kid who hated seeing others in pain. 

Janus pulled back slightly, just an inch or two out of Virgil’s reach. His eyes danced with a mischievous light, as he fluttered his eyelashes ever so innocently. “Kiss it better for me, Vee?”

“Kissing?” Virgil repeated, pretending like he wasn’t already leaning forward just a bit, like he hadn’t been eyeing the soft pick of Janus’s lips through their entire previous discussion, like the fact that Janus’s shirt was not his own through this whole thing was entirely coincidence and not by both their designs. “I don’t know, Jan…. on my Christian Minecraft server?”

Janus laughed, and Virgil was almost certain that sound alone added seventeen years to his lifespan. It felt a bit like serotonin being directly injected into his bloodstream, making him absolutely stupid happy. Or perhaps that was just part of being near him, like the warmth in his chest. Maybe somewhere in the three years they had been apart Janus had developed a superpower, like an off brand power ranger who had a really pretty smile.

“Oh, chastity,” Janus said, “Thou art my biggest foe!”

Virgil rolled his eyes, scooped a glob of the aloe on two fingers, and swiped up to catch the bottom of his chin. Janus tossed his head back hissing.

“Betrayal!” He whined scooting away.

“Janus!” Virgil laughed, “Come on, stop being a child!”

“My own best friend!” Janus continued, “Betraying me!”

“Is that what this is?” Virgil muttered chasing after Janus with the aloe, “Trying to take care of you is a betrayal, now?”

Janus hissed again as Virgil made contact and the aloe did its job accelerating the speed at which the scars on his face were healing. It had only been two days since the incident-- two days since they had come face to face on that Pol’turian ship, two days since Janus had nearly killed Patton with a knife, two days since their very close call in the teleporting room and just barely managing to get back to their own ship. But even so the cuts on his face already looked several weeks old. The new scar tissue was pale and light and looked hella cool in Virgil’s opinion.

He just wished that the way that Janus had gotten said scars wasn’t because he had nearly been dismembered and literally sold for parts.

“How will I ever recover?” Janus playfully batted Virgil’s hand away again. “Oh Brutus! My brother! What have I done to incur a wrath like this?” He swung off the medical cot and fell to the floor in an over dramatic heap. He rolled over to stare up at Virgil, languidly draping his arm above his head, and smiled. Virgil who had seen galaxies, had seen suns and stars, had seen distant moons and auroras and nebulas, still thought that he was the prettiest site.

“Et tu, Brute?” Janus whispered.

“Oh my god,” Virgil snorted. “Please stop being a dramatic whiny bitch, will you?”

“Ah, but my dear Virge,” Janus kicked his foot up to tap Virgil’s own swinging feet, “Dramatic whiny bitch is my defining character trait.”

Virgil had a response, he did. But like every other instance where he ended up staring up at Janus for an extended amount of time, all his rational thought evaporated. It was definitely some sort of superpower and Virgil would defend that theory until the end of his days. There was something about his eyes that were so hypnotizing, something about his lips that were mesmerizing, something about the softness of his skin and the twitch of his nose that made the whole world melt away. Virgil could stare at him forever if Janus let him; could drink in the sight of him and live on just the glimpse of his brown curls bouncing to the tune of his voice. 

Even when he was lying on the floor there was a way that he held himself that was so undeniably Janus-like, Virgil couldn’t really explain it. He was smooth as silk, with a tongue sharper than a knife and twice as cutting. With just a word or expression he could change the atmosphere of the entities around himself, befriend a foe, slaughter a friend, raze the world and all its inhabitants. Janus Ekans had always been something that very few people could look away from.

But so very few people had been able to actually see him. In light of empty words and pretty promises and cheshire smiles, Janus had become a master of the English language (and Spanish and Japanese too) and then used those syllables to build the facade around him.

Virgil had taken a sledgehammer to that facade once and no one had forgiven him for it.

“Are you even listening to me?” Janus cried out from the floor, pitifully whiny and offended and all those things that rich white boys were when they weren’t the focus of attention. “Virgil! How can I complain about the state of your betrayal when you aren’t even paying attention to me?! This is an outrage! The disrespect!”

He tossed his other arm up and over his head letting them both sit on the pristine floor and the sliver of his stomach peeked from under his borrowed shirt. (It was Virgil’s shirt, the cleanest one he had and it fit him well all things considered.) Virgil’s eyes were drawn to the pale skin like a moth to a flame, drawn in and frozen in place.

Janus’s laugh died, “...Virgil?”

Virgil placed the open container of aloe on the medical bed and hopped down to the floor, so he was right next to Janus, his fingers hovering lightly over where the shirt had been moved and the pale skin that was marked by a crisscross of healed flesh. It was an old scar, but it wasn’t an old scar.

Because Virgil had seen Janus before, shirtless, like that time they had snuck out of Janus’s Mansion to go for a dip in the pool on a dare from one of them and Janus had tossed his shirt to the side right before doing a subpar cannonball. Or that time that they had gym and been forced to play some bastardized version of kickball and Janus had sweated his team's way to victory and peeled off his shirt halfway back to the locker rooms. Or that time that they had been hiding from the sweltering heat in the library during the summer and Janus had striped in front of about seven different people and made one girl faint.

Virgil had seen Janus shirtless before.

He had not seen that scar before.

So it was new, despite how old it looked.

“Oh,” Janus said chuckling, and lying back down with his eyes closed, “That’s from a Sblorp attack.” 

“A what.” Virgil repeated because there was no way that Janus had said that so casually.

Janus waves a hand up in the air in a flippant dismissive movement. “A Sblorp attack. You know Sblorps? I’m sure you’ve seen them before: Feathers? Fangs? An adoration for fresh flesh? I’m running out of words that start with F, here.”

Virgil carefully pressed up the lip of Janus’s shirt higher, hesitating in case Janus was about to smack his hands away. But all the other boy did was breathe deeply and sigh through his nose, watching him the way that he might have watched saturday cartoons (if Janus had ever had time to watch Saturday cartoons between his extra studying and being stupidly perfect).

The scar was a criss-cross, matching Virgil’s memory of the pointed teeth shape of a Sblorp. The jaw of it had definitely needed to unhinge in order to make the marks, digging in and gripping with the barbed notches. Sblorps were known for consuming flesh raw, for surprise attacks of unhinging their jaws to catch creatures wriggling on the ground, for latching on and never letting go. 

Virgil’s fingers ghosted over the old wounds, touching as featherlight as he could.

There had to have been a lot of blood, a lot of pain. And yet somehow Janus was still holding on to that passive smile, as if the memory was more fond than agonizing.

“It was my fault,” Janus said in lieu of explaining, “You know how Sblorps are afraid of anything bigger than them, right? Well Remus neglected to inform me that their fight-or-flight instincts are more like freeze-and-bite. I didn’t even see the thing until it was two inches from tearing out my large intestine.” He chuckled softly in a way that caused Virgil’s hovering fingers to make contact with his skin again.

“Ooh, cold,” Janus hummed, reaching down to catch his hands and weave their fingers together. “It took them forever to get that thing off me. Remus was laughing so hard he started oozing his goo or whatever it is.” 

“Toxin,” Virgil managed, “They… its a poison, that ignites all the pain receptors in the body.”

“Yeah that,” Janus squeezed his palm, then squinted and turned Virgil’s willing palm, “What’s this?”

At first Virgil wasn’t sure what had caught his eye. His hands were slender, but they had always been that way, more for the steady grace of piecing together electronics than for getting into fist fights, despite what the teachers at school always thought. He had calluses from work around the ship and a few scrapes on his knuckles from where he slammed it on the doorway yesterday while talking to Janus. His nails were bitten down to the quick from nineteen plus years of anxiety and three years of a miserable, directionless void when Janus had been dead and gone and past and Virgil was missing the company of his ghost. 

But Janus tilted his hand and revealed the faded red line along the side of his palm that ran from the base of his pinky to the heel of his hand. Janus rubbed his thumb along it, as if Virgil was delicate and breakable and fragile.

It almost made him want to snort: the idea that of the two of them, Virgil was the one that needed to be protected. Like Janus hadn’t been placed on that pedestal for all to see and never to be touched, like Janus hadn’t been the one who had chunks of his face carved into by an alien, like Janus hadn’t been declared dead by everyone back on Earth.

Janus looked at the mark, scarcely a scar and more of a reminder, and tutted softly. “What happened?”

“It was nothing,” Virgil said.

“You are a terrible liar still.”

Virgil blew out a breath, somewhere between annoyed and comforted by the way that he was so easily read by the other human. 

“Come on, I shared about mine,” Janus sat up as he spoke until they were sitting only a hair's breadth away from each other and their hands linked between them.

Virgil stuck his tongue in his cheek and glanced around the rest of the medical bay. It was empty except for the two of them, although it really shouldn’t have been. With the amount of damage Remus had taken he shouldn’t have been up and walking for weeks, but Remus wouldn’t let a simple thing like his own personal health and wellbeing stop him from terrorizing Roman. Virgil wasn’t sure where he had snuck off too, but after two days and dozens of escape attempts, Virgil had just stopped caring. Remus was Roman’s problem now.

Janus leaned forward. “Virrrrrgil!” He sang. “You can tell me anything!”

“Oh, can I?” Virgil said, also leaning forward. “Anything at all?”

“Absolutely! I’m a great secret keeper!”

Virgil leaned in, leaned in so close he could feel Janus’s breath on his cheeks, leaned in and squeezed their fingers together. “Hmmm…. Okay, how about this: I am in love with this boy.”

“No way,” Janus faux-gasped. “You’re gay?”

Virgil struggled to keep the smile off his face. “I am in love with this boy and he’s really pretty. Like super pretty.”

“Just pretty?”

“Oh no, He’s pretty and he’s a smartass.”

“You think my ass is smart?”

“Who said it was you? I was talking about Roman.”

Janus squawked, reeling back, like the words were a physical blow to his ego but he was laughing all the way. He tried to separate their hands but Virgil held tight and Janus yanked him forward. Before Virgil knew what had happened, he was lying on top of Janus, his forearm framing Janus’s head, and pressing his stomach to Janus’s chest.

“Hey,” Janus said in that same soft tone had that haunted Virgil’s most cherished memories: the late nights in Janus’s room, the early mornings when Virgil was trying to sneak out before the Mayor's security caught him, the quick greetings in the library before a study session.

“Hey yourself,” Virgil said, his own breaths tickling the wisps of his own hair falling over his eyes. He gently brushed his fingers through Janus’s own hair strands, teasing a lock or two between them. 

“So you really don’t want to tell me?” He asked, “After I shared my silly story?”

“I’d hardly call getting eaten by a Sblorp a silly story, Jan.”

“Perhaps you just lack imagination.”

“Perhaps you’ve spent too much time with Remus.”

Janus paused for a moment, offered a half shrug, and then conceded the point because he was such a good person. He smiled again, a bit of a crooked thing, craning his neck so that they bumped noses.

“What if I said please?” He offered. 

Virgil sighed, although he guessed it was really more of a laugh after all. How had he forgotten how stubborn Janus could be? How he could latch onto a concept (such as how a golden boy and a rebel punk could be friends) and simply will it into being with nothing but his determination?

“You can’t laugh about it,” Virgil said. “I’m serious.”

Janus happily squirmed under Virgil’s body weight, part of a victory dance that made Virgil want to kiss away that smug expression again. Instead he leveled a look down at his face-- a mistake if he had ever made one. His eyes were almost impossible to look away from once he started looking that deep. They were black holes, dilating when he looked at Virgil until they sucked him right in and promised to never let him go. His left eye was gold, like the summer sun rays through the tree branches back on Earth, his right eye was brown, like fresh chocolate chips ready to become ammo in an impromptu food fight, and staring at them both reminded him of the best days of his life. 

“The truth is….” Virgil sighed, “I fell down a flight of stairs.”

Janus laughed anyway, because he’s a liar at heart and for some reason Virgil found that very attractive and liked him anyway.

“Wait, really?” He giggled-- honest to god, giggled. Virgil shook his head, but laughter like that was contagious and it had him swallowing back a smile.

“Yes, really,” Virgil pursed his lips, “We were on this little planet, uh, K3-450-something, and I had caught this cold from some Dreyfel that we were ferrying across the sector and Patton had regulated me to the medical bay, but in my lovely sick haze I thought that it was some sort of virtual reality escape video game where the damage didn’t translate over--Oh god please shut up.”

Janus laughed so hard he actually dislodged Virgil from on top of him. “I can’t-- I can’t--!! Oh my god, a game?”

Virgil hid his face in his sweatshirt sleeves. “You said you wouldn’t laugh, asshole!”

“I--I’m s-sorry!” He did not sound sorry at all, Virgil noted. He sounded like he was taking immense pleasure in making Virgil’s ears turn brick red with embarrassment. “But I said... no such t-thing. A game? Did you have a health bar too?”

“I think you're due for a date with the airlock.”

“S-sorry can’t... hear you!” Janus wheezed. “Over the...sound of-- fucking video game!”

Virgil groaned folding his arms over his head and hiding as much of his face as he could. “See this is why I didn't want to tell you!”

Janus’s laugh filled the air, his gasping breaths, making Virgil’s heart do some type of improvised dance routine without his permission. He peeked, because of course Virgil wasn’t going to miss a chance to see the mirth adorning Janus’s face. He peeked and sucked in a breath at the way Janus laughed with his whole body, kicking his feet and curling around his abdomen as he imagined the 99 million ways that sickly Virgil had managed to toss himself down a flight of stairs and gain a scar for his troubles.

“Are you done yet?” Virgil said breathlessly. He had to keep a reputation after all, didn’t he? He didn’t want Roman or Logan glancing by and assuming that he was anything other than a grumpy, nervous disaster human, after all. What would they do if either of them realized Virgil was soft and weak for Janus’s smile?

“No- No!” Janus gasped. He rocked back on his spine and lifted his leg in the air so he could roll up his pant leg, and showed off a series of two slashes on his lower calf. “Okay! You see this?”

He waited for Virgil to drop his sleeves from covering his face, waited until he could see Virgil’s beat red embarrassed face himself, waited with a grin and tried to catch his breath against the threat of giggling forever at Virgil’s stupidity.

“Yes.” Virgil said.

“This,” Janus traced his calf muscle, circling the very clear mark, “This I got from a little old lady on T7-365 who was selling these bad luck charms in a market place, except that she was an undercover police force or something and when she saw that I was a Deathworlder she leapt the goddamn table--I’m not joking! This lady had to be like 400 years old and you know that Shylans rarely live past 200, right? I thought if I defended myself she was gonna shatter!”

Virgil poked his leg, “She did that?”

“Yes! Those claws….” He shook his head, quirking his lips upward. “Remus tackled the lady off me. I swear he nearly crushed her entirely. And the entire police force chased us all back to the ship. I thought we were gonna die. Almost left behind Bowers and Kyle in the frenzy and--” 

Janus stopped. Virgil felt his own stomach hollow out and his breath catch in his throat in an insurmountable lump. The words had left Janus’s mouth so suddenly they had bowled over the others and reality had locked back in place around them.

The medical bay, the cuts on Janus’s face, the death of the rest of his and Remus’s crew.

The friends and family that they had lost and that everyone had done their best to tiptoe around and not bring up. Virgil knew that it had been wrong, to just pretend like none of it had happened to him, but at the same time… he was watching Janus's spark of happiness drain from his body and leave an empty coldness in its place. 

And Virgil had always been a bit of a coward.

If he still had nightmares about the strangers he had been forced to fight in the Welsor fighting rings, of the dust and the pain and the terror, of the bloodlust and the memories that were so obscured by his need to forget that he could not remember the faces of those that he killed….

If Virgil was still haunted by ghosts without names, he couldn’t imagine the horror of being haunted by those that had them. 

Janus curled up slightly, the same way he had done once upon a time when they were strangers who thought they knew each other and Virgil’s parents refused to be proud of him for anything and Janus’s refused to be disappointed in him for everything.

He forced a laugh. “Its stupid, you know?” He said in a way that made Virgil think that it was absolutely not stupid at all in any way shape or form. 

“I keep…” Janus huffed, “I keep thinking...if we had just... God, Virgil there were so many times…if we had just been a few minutes slower and gotten caught by the police, or just hung out longer on any one of the moon bases... maybe they would-- they would--” 

He sucked in a breath and let it back out, long and slow and painful in a way that was beyond physical.

(Compared to Remus, he had very little damage done to him. No lasting bruises, no broken bones, no head injuries. Virgil hadn’t had to ask why; they all knew that Pol’turs like their merchandise to be as undamaged as possible.)

Virgil wanted to say something, wanted to say anything to bring back that smile to his face, wanted to tell him it was okay but even twelve years of school could not have prepared him for this type of bullshitting. It wasn’t okay, and he didn’t need to force Janus to call him on that lie too. 

“It was bad, Virgil.” Janus said, with his eyes closed and voice so soft it could have been drowned out by the silence of space. 

He sucked in a shaky breath, one that caused his entire body to tremble, one that made Virgil want to reach out and hold him tight and make himself a human shield between Janus and the pain of memories.

"I wasn't even close to any of them." Janus admitted, "I mean Remus picked me up off a dwarf planet, and you know being a human and all...no one wanted to get too close." He laughed humorless, "They thought I was gonna rip their throats out in their sleep for a while."

"Deathworlder perks," Virgil whispered. 

Janus snorted, nodding, "Perks, yeah right." He sighed into his hands. 

Virgil watched him, watched him as he ground the heel of his palms into his eyes, watched as those hands trailed upwards and hooked on his bangs, watched as he tugged on his hair the way he used to when they were studying chemistry and Virgil understood it immediately when Janus couldn't figure out the differences between intermolecular and intermolecular forces.

"I should've…" Janus started. "I should've--"

"Hey," Virgil cut in. Because his heart was twisting, because his chest was aching,  because his eyes were burning. Because Janus was in front of him and he was doing a song and dance that Virgil had done three years ago when that detective showed up at his house and asked what Virgil had been doing on the fourteenth of the month and if he had anyone to collaborate his alibi.

He reached out and tapped on Janus's hands and slipped his fingers under the palms and wedged open the tight holds.

"Hey," Virgil said, waiting until Janus looked at him, "It wasn't your fault."

"I should have--! Virgil! I should have--!" He floundered, flubbed, scrambled for words in a way he was completely unpracticed in. He yanked at his hands but Virgil was stronger and held him, "I could have...done something!"

"Like what?"

"What?"

Virgil moved so he was directly in front of Janus, so that there was no missing him, so that there was no mistaking him. He squeezed Janus's hands tight and ground and pressed their knees together. "Like. What.” He repeated, “What could you have done, Janus?"

He was shaking, or maybe that was Virgil. Maybe it was both of them. Shaking together, shaking apart, shaking.

"I--"

"Tell me what you could have done," Virgil said lowly, "that wouldn't have cost you your life in the process?"

It was a selfish thing to say, but Virgil was a selfish creature. He hadn’t meant to be, hadn’t grown up being taught that way at all. If his parents had caught wind of how selfish and stupid and mean he had become they surely would have both had strokes. 

No, this was a type of selfishness that Virgil had learned and learned and then learned again. It was the selfishness that had reared its ugly head that night that Janus had caught up to him and begged to know how Virgil had known--known-- when the dirty little truth had been Virgil just being an awful person. It was a selfishness that had snuck into his heart when his feet had dangling off the fenced balcony and his lips had tasted like “Blackberry Breezer” and Janus’s had tasted like “Bahama Mama” and Virgil couldn’t decided if he liked the taste of them together or not. It was a selfishness that had torn him to pieces when he couldn’t tear his eyes off the empty desk next to him in Spanish III, when the police would show up at his house four days of the week and follow him around the town whenever he left, when he’d been told that he was not invited to the funeral and he said he refused to go anyway because Janus had not been dead, couldn’t be dead, he wasn’t dead, damnit!

It was a selfishness that Virgil hadn’t remembered he had until the moment that he had seen Janus again on that Pol’tur ship, alive and breathing and real--

He squeezed Janus’s hands, held him tight, held him here in this moment.

Because he was selfish enough to want to tear Janus away from the past. Because he was selfish enough to be grateful. Because Virgil was a terrible, awful person and he was happy that Remus and Janus’s crew had been torn apart because it had meant that Janus hadn’t been.

It had been two days since everything, since the escape from the mercenary ship since they had recovered Remus and Janus, since Virgil’s entire world had been desperately turned upside down. 

Two days since Virgil had been gifted back a part of himself he thought he had lost forever.

Janus had been an ingrained part of him. The Ying to his Yang, the inverse of himself, the funhouse mirror reflection at the world's crappiest funfair. When he had disappeared, Virgil had spent a year searching, waiting, hoping, praying. And it had gotten him nothing. 

Virgil had seen first hand how big the universe was, seen the most distant stars, escaped from the galaxy police, visited breathtaking moons-- Virgil had seen how massive Space With a Capital “S” really was.

And Virgil could have been on a distant moon. He could have been in space jail. He could have been back on Earth. He could have been anywhere in that massive amount of Space.

And Roman, Logan, and Patton could have been a few hours slower, a few days slower, they didn’t have to have gone after Remus at all, or Roman and Logan could have gotten Remus and then decided it was too big of a risk to go track down the mysterious last crew member-- 

And Janus could have died.

And he would have been just another nameless corpse.

And Virgil never would have known what had happened to the boy with two different colored eyes who had looked at him like he was something worth remembering. 

Virgil leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Janus’s, rubbing his thumb over Janus’s fingers, mixing their breaths together in a warm series of exhales and inhales and something else Virgil was too afraid to put a name too even after all this time.

“What could you have done?” He asked again, possibly a little desperately, possibly a little harsh, possibly a little mean and selfish and bad, “That wouldn’t have ended with you dead?”

Janus was shaking his head, moving it back and forth. There were words, incoherent and empty and Virgil heard them and felt his chest compress with every syllable. 

“Jan…” He said, dropping his hands to cup Janus’s face. His fingers haunted the marks on the cheek, reading the raised, healing scars like he was an expert in braille, trying to ignore the memory of blood where those cuts were.

“If I had just been faster...” Janus said brokenly. “They wouldn’t have been… I couldn’t...It should have been me, Virgil. I should have been--”

“Listen to me,” Virgil whispered, “Listen to me real well, Janus. Are you listening?”

Virgil brushed back a lock of Janus’s hair, brushed away the strands so he could stare into those nebulas he called eyes, brushed away the falling tears that reminded him of falling stars. It made his chest ache and heave with something distant and awful, made the words on his tongue feel meaningless and worthless. He wanted to understand, wanted to make Janus understand-- How could he not understand?

“I should have--” Janus said.

“No.” Virgil told him, “There’s no should haves or should have nots, okay? It happened, Jan. It happened and it was bad, but you can’t change it. If you keep thinking of things that should have happened, you’ll drive yourself crazy.”

But no that’s not right, Virgil thought even as he said it. Because the should-have-been-theres hadn’t driven him crazy. It had made him doubt himself,yeah, made him talk and beg deities he didn’t believe in, made him hate himself and the world and everything in it, but it never once made him crazy.

Empty, though. 

Empty was an entirely different story.

Janus had disappeared and Virgil had laid awake at night feeling like someone had removed the lungs right from his chest cavity and sold them to some Quitans on the black market.

And Virgil wouldn’t wish that feeling on Janus’s crappy parents, much less Janus himself.

“I keep thinking…” Janus whispered, “I wish it had been me. Instead of them. Why didn’t they take me first? Aliens don’t adhere to “best for last”! I don’t even adhere to “best for last”! I wish-- I wish--!”

Virgil’s throat went dry, too dry. “A very smart man once told me that wishing on stars is a stupid and pointless thing to do,” Virgil breathed softly. “Remember that?”

Janus huffed out a harsh laugh, a sarcastic, angry laugh that told Virgil that he was well aware of that sort of advice and who it had come from. 

“The stars don’t give a fuck about us.” He quoted, parroted, mimicked a version of himself that was four years younger, four years stupider, and four years a memory and nothing more. “I guess... I was right... about one thing, huh?”

The words he was going to say, all of the billions of them, got wedged in his esophagus, leaving barely enough room for him to breathe. He wheezed after Janus’s voice breaking, after the whimpering tone, after the crystal tears. 

How could he explain that Janus was always right? That Virgil would trust Janus over himself every time? 

He hoped that he could convey the message through telepathy or through his touch or something. Because if he had to say them out loud he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep himself from crying too.

Time passed, and Virgil didn’t think either of them really noticed. The lights in the medical bay didn’t change or dim and the door never opened. The halls of the rest of Roman’s ship were a respectful quiet that Virgil knew had nothing to do with either of them as much as Patton was reorganizing the cargo hold and doing an inventory check while Logan went through the communications they had missed and decided what job requests they should adhere to, and Roman and Remus were up on Bridge several floors away probably arguing because they had yet to stop really.

Time passed, and Janus didn’t say anything more, lapsing into that silent crying that he had perfected in the bathroom at their middle school because god forbid someone find out that Janus was fucking miserable being the center of attention every second of his life. Virgil kissed his temple featherlight and softly pressed their foreheads together. He didn’t move, even after his knees started to ache and both his feet started to fall asleep and Janus’s tears soaked through the sleeves of his sweatshirt and left his wrists feeling cold and uncomfortable.

Time passed, and Virgil counted Janus’s breaths the way he used to count the stars, back before he had ever thought about the possibility of actually going into space and the concept of alien life was as debatable as the idea of meeting Mothman one day.

“I…” Janus sniffled. Virgil waited patiently for him to finish, but he must have changed his mind because he just burrowed his head into Virgil’s shoulder, and breathed out shakily.

Janus fell into him like he was a blackhole, and Virgil did his best to hold them both up and keep his heart rate low and even and calming. He restarted his mental count of Janus’s breaths, feeling each inhale and exhale through his fingers that were rubbing circles on Janus’s shoulders.

Somewhere around a sleepy, soundless three thousand, Janus stirred back into himself. He inhaled deeper and pulled back from Virgil’s shoulder wiping away the leftover tear tracks with his pale and clammy hands.

“You said,” He started, with a measure of exhaustion that Virgil felt deep in his soul, “You said...back when you first saw me….Did my parents really declare me dead?”

Their Pride and Joy, they had called Janus once, twice, a billion times. If Virgil closed his eyes he could see them there: Janus’s mother who still looked to be in her late twenties despite nearing fifty now, with long blond hair that curled in perfect rings and so much glittering diamond jewelry that she was hard to look at in in the flash of paparazzi cameras, and Janus’s Dad, the Mayor, who’s dark brown hair and charismatic smile had been plastered across the city every election year. They had shown up to every event that Janus had been in, and had turned it into a showcase about how great and fantastic Janus was. Every award ceremony, every spelling bee, every sports game, Chess club, Robotics, Art shows--

Perfect, flawless Janus Ekans, they called him. Gonna grow up to be the finest President of the entire United States, whether he wanted to or not.

With a life like his, no one had ever really considered the idea that he might have run away. And two weeks without a ransom note had led everyone to assume that he had been murdered. According to the lead detective, kidnapped teenagers rarely made it past the first twenty four hours, no matter how much people loved him. 

Virgil’s expression must have given him away because Janus blinked hard again and furiously scrubbed away a new wave of tears.

“They…” Virgil swallowed hard, “They waited. A whole eight months. But there was no note, no ransom call, nothing. The detective wanted to close the case.”

Virgil didn’t tell him that he had been barred from the service, that Janus’s parents who had always hated the bad influence that was Virgil hadn’t stopped glaring at him, that the media had picked up on the cold exchanges and crafted their own story on what happened. Virgil did not tell him that everyone had eaten up that story, including Janus’s parents, and the rumors had spiraled into a noose strategically wrapped around Virgil’s neck.

Virgil didn’t tell him anything about the last four months he had spent on Earth, and definitely didn’t tell him that sometimes he woke up in a cold sweat wondering if the Weslor Fighting Rings were really worse than life back on Earth.

“Virgil I…” Janus’s hands reached forward suddenly, twisting around the edges of his hoodie and tightening. “Virgil, I’m dead, right? They killed me.”

And Virgil was ready for the sadness, ready for the harrowing realization that his parents had turned their backs on him, ready for Janus to realize that he had lost something important again.

Virgil was not ready for the blissed out relief on his face.

“I’m dead,” He whispered again in the silence Virgil left behind. “Virgil, I am dead.” He inhaled sharply. “I don’t ever have to go….” He tugged on Virgil’s jacket again, then let go quickly and smoothed out the fabric over his chest, as if he was afraid of offending Virgil somehow.

(As if Virgil wasn’t fully prepared to give him anything he asked for already.)

“Do you,” Janus asked, “Do you want to go back?”

His tone was entirely too level, too even, too emotionless for a guy who was overflowing with negative emotions. It pricked at a memory Virgil once had of a night far too long ago and buried in a Janus sized coffin: it was the voice he used to use in public when his parents were bragging and Janus was praying that they would stop putting him in the spotlight but knew deep down they would never knock it off.

It was the tone, the voice, the expression he used when he was afraid of the answer, but resigned to the fate of it.

“Do you?” Virgil asked back, because even if he knew the answer he needed to hear him say it. Out loud.

To make it real.

Because if Virgil had read him wrong, if Janus wasn’t drowning in relief, if this wasn’t hope of never needing to go back to Earth-- Virgil would-- He would--

He would ask Logan and Roman and Patton to take them back, if that’s what Janus wanted, if that was what made Janus happy. Virgil would leave all of the cosmos, all the distant planets, all the alien races, all the dying stars to follow him back to Earth. He would forget all about the great, huge, endless expanse of Space and stay with Janus on their tiny, little deathworlder planet in their tiny, little hateful city.

“My parents buried an empty coffin,” Janus said. “I think...that’s the only good thing they ever did for me.”

Virgil’s heart did a pitter-patter in a way he wasn’t sure it was supposed to do.

Janus scooted towards his side with a great amount of effort. Virgil watched him, cataloguing the sudden weakness in his arms, the tiredness of his expression, the fatigue that clung to the very essence of him. All that just to flop his head on Virgil’s shoulder. When he exhaled again, it sounded a lot like him letting go of a billion more unsaid words.

“I want to let Janus Ethan Ekans stay dead,” He admitted.

Virgil tilted his own head so his cheek pressed against Janus’s and breathed in deep. He smelled like the alien flower shampoo that Roman liked to use. Virgil hadn’t hated it, but he also hadn’t adored it all that much. Now though, he thought he might be okay if that was the only thing he smelled for the rest of his life.

“I’ll have to find a new name to go by, I think,” Janus continued, his tone dripping with exhaustion.

“Oh?” Virgil humored him, like he was prone to do.

“Yeah,” Janus smiled a little as his eyes fluttered closed. “I got...a few ideas already. Had them for a while.”

“Do I get a hint?” Virgil asked, settling back so that he could rest against the leg of the cot for support. He shifted a bit to get a good adjustment, and Janus very patiently whined while he did because he was still a brat.

“I was thinkin’,” Janus said, “maybe Janus Storm, instead.”

Virgil’s heart fluttered, like a butterfly’s wings on a billion butterflies that he could feel bumbling around in his chest all at once. For an absurd moment he flashed back to all those times in his Chemistry class where he scribbled “Virgil Ekans” in the margins of his notes enough times for him to be too embarrassed to bring them out after Janus had asked him for help studying. 

Janus Storm. Janus Storm. Janus Storm.

It made his chest feel light, but his stomach feel hollow. He hadn’t called himself Storm in two years, not since the Yurinks picked him off of Earth, not since the whole world had determined that Virgil Storm was a cold blooded killer, not since the detective had asked him to confirm for the record that he was indeed Virgil Storm, seventeen, male, son of--

“Nah,” Virgil said softly. “We should make our own. Something different from either of our families, you know?”

Janus breathed out part of a sleepy laugh, “Like Johnson?”

“Janus and Virgil Johnson?” Virgil tested.

They made twin faces of dislike.

“Smith? Hernadez?” Janus offered. “Miller?”

“Let's make a list,” Virgil suggested tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “I’ve always wanted... to be an Anderson.”

“Ugh, like Kyle Anderson?” Janus muttered. “He used to cheat off my Spanish homework.”

“So did I.”

“Yeah, but you’re cute.”

Virgil snorted. “What ‘bout….Davis?”

“Jones?”

“Janus Jones? You really want to be a JJ? ”

Janus made a noise of recognition, something disagreeable and agreeable at the same time. Virgil hummed in his own chest as he listened to it. The soft huffs of air from Janus’s lips lulled him into a calmness, of quietness, of peacefulness. By the time he realizes that Janus hadn’t responded, his own eyes felt too heavy to bother trying to open again.

Janus and Virgil. Virgil and Janus. 

“We’ll think of something,” Virgil murmured and let himself fall asleep as well.

[Next Installment: Happy Little Stars]

[mldrgrl]

I want to inject “Broken Things” directly to my bloodstream I love it SO FREAKING MUCH. Thank you thank you thank you for taking the time to write such a wonderful story. Please know that your writing is greatly loved and appreciated!!!

I don’t recommend injecting fanfic into your bloodstream, but imagine if there was a way to just load your brain with all your favorite fics and then have them play in your mind at will. It’d be like your own personal seratonin button. That would be great! 😘😘😘

[nike-shawn]

Can you please write a blurb about what happens when Shawn kills the vampires and when he brings y/n back from the island please I love this vampire Shawn imagine so much!!! 🥺

I missed Vampire Shawn! Here it is: Thank you so much for requesting! If you guys have more ideas for this couple, send me an ask :)

You’re crying on the beach again when he returns to the island.

You haven’t felt like yourself for weeks. At the risk of sounding cliche, you feel like half of you is missing. You talked to Shawn on and off-- he would come by for hours at a time, just enough for you to get comfortable before he would leave yet again. You couldn’t even be mad at him. After a while, his skin would take on a greenish hue and he would start to drag his feet, unable to keep his body upright as the power of the island wore him down.

The last time he was here, you sobbed from the second he arrived to the second he left. He felt horrible-- he told you so and you could feel it in the way he held you tighter than he ever had before, his hand cradling the back of your head to his chest. Your tears dampened his shirt until the grey was almost black. “Baby, baby,” he said, talking into your hair, “calm down for just a second.”

You shook your head and sniffed, trying to catch your breath. “I’m sorry,” you said, muffled by the cotton of his shirt.

“It’s okay,” he promised.

Now, weeks later, you haven’t seen him since that day and your appetite is gone, your skin is paler and you’re sadder than you’ve ever been. There’s paradise around you but all you can see is his retreating body and the sight of his boat getting smaller and smaller and smaller until the dock you were standing on felt like a tightrope and you were one gust of wind from falling into the churning ocean.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

You hear the familiar voice from behind you and for a split second you think that your brain is tricking you, that he wasn’t due back for another month, that you’ve gotten so weak that your mind has started playing games to keep it on its own feet.

“Ma’am,” it says. again, closer, then he drops the act with “Y/N?”

You turn around and you think that your heart just about leaps out from its ribcage. You immediately start crying and melt into his arms, your warm skin against his icy body. Immediately you feel better. You feel like a shot of caffeine was directly injected into your bloodstream.

His arms wrap around your waist and he spins you around like a ride at the state fair. His lips connect with yours, then his teeth as he smiles. Your palms come to rest on his shoulders and you breathe in his flowery scent, the warmth of familiarity overcoming you. Mixed with the sound of the waves crashing to the shore and the smell of salt in the air, you realize that this moment is the closest you’ll get to paradise in this lifetime.

“How’d you get here so soon?” You ask, finally pulling away. His genial expression drops. Your energy plummets with his. “What?” Shawn shakes his head and leans in to peck you again. You gently push him away. “No, I wanna know. What’s going on?”

“Don’t you wanna just get out of here and go back home?” Although his tone is kind, there’s a hint of pleading behind his words, begging you to just drop it.

“Will you tell me on the way back?”

Shawn bites at his bottom lip, staring at his feet which have now sunk into the warm sand. “Let’s just go get you packed, yeah?”

You swallow back your protests and grip his hand tightly as you both walk towards the sparkling resort. The friends you’ve made during your time here squeal with happiness as you pass them, hand in hand with the boy they know you’ve been miserable without. The sweet housekeeper who has been cleaning your room stops the both of you, kissing both of your cheeks and squeezing your clasped hands between two of hers. She says “God bless” and you try to resist responding with “thank you, we’ll need it.”

Shawn helps you throw your things into suitcases, asking you about how your life has been on the island. You keep it vague, trying not to show just how miserable you’ve been. You tell him that you “rode dolphins, played tennis, that kind of thing” but you really stayed in bed with the covers tightly cocooned around your body, shutting out anything and anyone who tried to cheer you up.

“Greta told me that this little... break...” he coughs, struggling to find a good word for their situation, “would be tough for you. But I knew you could do it. Tough as nails, eh?”

He’s smiling, joking around with you, and you muster up a fake smile back, hoping that it stops the barrage of questions coming at you. “Yeah, it was fine. I’m just glad you’re back.”

That was the first true thing you’ve said to him since he arrived.

After saying your goodbyes, you and Shawn start the journey back home. As soon as you board the plane, you fall asleep, your body finally able to relax now that Shawn is near. You wake up as the plane touches down in your city.

Snow sticks to Shawn’s hair as he helps you into the backseat of the Uber, popping the trunk and stuffing your luggage there. He slides in beside you, his hand immediately positioning itself on your thigh. “Easy flight,” he remarks.

“Mhmm,” you agree.

“Tired still?” You shake your head no, resting your head on his shoulder. “You’re not usually so quiet.”

“I’m just thinking, I guess.”

“What about?”

“You. What you did while I was gone.”

He tenses. “Oh.”

You don’t talk for the rest of the drive.

🖤🖤🖤🖤

After seeing your parents and filling up on your mom’s cooking, you and Shawn head to his apartment. Usually, the two of you take refuge at your place, but you told your roommates you had dropped out as an excuse for going to the island. You’d been to his home a couple times, but only briefly, and both times you were taken aback at how nicely decorated and luxurious it is.

This visit is no different. You breathe out the breath you’d been holding as you walk through the doorway, dropping your suitcase at your feet and finally allowing yourself to smile a real smile. Something about Shawn’s home is so incredibly comforting-- he told you last time that, when you mate with someone,  their scent calms your nerves. Here, his scent is all over the furniture, the bed sheets, the rugs, the everything.

You feel yourself gravitate towards the couch where a throw blanket is inviting you to cuddle in it. You do, and your eyes close in bliss. Soon enough, your gangly vampire boyfriend slots in between your back and the couch. He kisses your ear. “Feel better, now?”

You smile and burrow in further. Shawn chuckles and gives you one last kiss on your earlobe before resting his head on your pillow. His long hair tickles your neck.

Right before you let sleep overtake you, a thought shoots through you like a lightning bolt. “Shawn?”

“Hm.”

“You had to kill them, didn’t you.”

The calm that previously enveloped you dropped abruptly. “Why would you say that?”

“Shawn. I know what had to happen.”

He doesn’t say anything. He sits up and gently moves you so he can wiggle out from underneath you. As he starts to walk away, you barely catch the words that left his mouth.

“Don’t hold my actions against me when I did them to be with you.”

[moscarific]

Some of you might have noticed that I have a new fandom. As often happens, the fandom itself isn’t new: Roswell, New Mexico, has aired for two full seasons on the CW, and a lot of the fans jumped on board at or near the beginning. I, on the other hand, sauntered in late, martini in hand, and binged the whole thing on Netflix in a week to get my mind off the fact that my HVAC had died in the middle of a heat wave and nobody could figure out how to fix it. The stubborn appliance is now fixed, and my condo is now a placid 74 degrees Fahrenheit throughout, but in the time it took, I not only watched all of RNM but wrote and posted my first fic in the fandom. It is a classic case of new fandom glow, and all it took was an aggressively mediocre TV show about attractive queer aliens and two weeks of sustained negotiation with the heating-cooling repair company.

Since I have friends in the fandom and they seem happy that I’ve shown up - especially since I brought martinis for everyone - I’m now on a Discord server where a lot of the RNM fandom stalwarts hang out. (Discord: yet another fandom platform that reminds me that the days of Livejournal were terrible but also makes me feel ancient.) Here I am, two days after joining the server, giddily chatting with my fellow nerds and plugging away at fic #2, when someone starts fretting that everyone is leaving RNM fandom and there will soon be nobody left. 

In my mind, this fandom is vibrant. My Tumblr dash is full of new gifs, fanart, and stories. The Discord is not overwhelming, but there is plenty of action, most of it on topic. AO3 listings indicate a steady stream of new material. It’s possible that things have slowed down since the initial boom, but this fandom is still moving at a healthy clip - especially since, as someone else on Discord pointed out, we’re in the middle of a long show hiatus (made longer by the pandemic and by some behind-the-scenes tsuris) after a season that mostly separated the fandom’s consensus OTP. 

My reaction to this concern is that RNM is the kind of fandom that has legs. At first, that was an inkling, fueled by the desire for more Malex fic to be injected directly into my bloodstream, but the more I thought about it while folding laundry (You know what else got fixed last week? My dryer. I am so happy. Never get old, kids.) the more I saw myself responding to a pattern. The upside to being old - and by old, I mean that the Star Trek fans I used to hang out with on a Yahoo Group dubbed me a Brassy Old Fandom Queen in approximately 2002 - is that you have perspective. 

At this point, I have written upwards of 200 stories in something like 50 fandoms. (Not all of these stories are on AO3; some of them are buried on Dreamwidth where they belong.) You know what still gets read? Stories in fandoms with a large amount of canon that is readily available on a major streaming platform. I haven’t watched a Gilmore Girl since there was a Bush in office, but I still get kudos almost daily on Rory/Paris fics that are older than the characters were in the first season of that show. Sometime around 2011, I wrote Mass Effect femslash because I was modding a fic exchange and took a difficult sign-up for the team, and that thing still gets read all the time. Not only are my own Star Trek: DS9, Teen Wolf, and Firefly fics still being discovered by new readers, but I continue to find new fanworks for all of those fandoms on my Tumblr dash and on AO3, mostly created by people who just now took a deep dive on Netflix and fell in love for the first time. Some of these canons have become dated, and several were not great in the first place, but they’re easy to become obsessed with and to say fresh things about. They’re also easy to maintain interest in. I’m not really creating new works in any of these fandoms anymore, but I eagerly pick up new fanworks by others when they come my way. One of the best fics I’ve read in the past year is a sparkling Garashir AU that you should read if you have any DS9 feelings at all. I’ve been disillusioned with the central Avengers storyline of the MCU for years now, but I’ll be damned if I ever stop reblogging Stucky gifsets.

You know what doesn’t get new fans or fanworks? Short, time-dependent fandoms that everyone consumes at once and then gets tired of quickly. I got a bajillion kudos in the first 48 hours when I wrote my one and only Venom fic, and I don’t think anyone has touched that thing since. It’s a pretty good fic, but nobody cares anymore. A decade ago, everyone was wild for Kradam, but I suspect that if I ask the dewy-eyed college students on my dash what a Kris Allen is, they will blink at me with sweet incomprehension. Last year, when Good Omens was the place to be, I followed a bunch of fandom-specific side blogs, all of which are now either abandoned or so slow they’re effectively defunct. I have dim memories of lingering on endless LJ photosets of Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson at some point in 2008, but I think we have erased this from our collective memory. In all of these cases, people got all their ideas and excitement out in one explosion of fannish energy, and then they moved on - usually drifting back to the large-canon fandoms they’d come from.

The flavor of this month is The Old Guard. Everyone is making gifs and writing fluffy backstory for Nicky and Joe. Almost everyone will be bored with this by Halloween. By then, there will be some other movie or RPF ship or live musical extravaganza that we are all either obsessed with or incepted into via fannish osmosis. Fandom needs these large, centralizing events to remind ourselves that we can all feel something in unison. But they don’t last.

That’s not to say that one kind of fandom source is better than another. Gilmore Girls is not a purer or more admirable source text than Lost Girl simply because you have forgotten that one of these shows exists. It’s just that some canons are better equipped than others to draw in and retain new fans, while others can’t sustain themselves without collective fannish energy to prop them up. And the best way to sustain any fandom is to lure your friends and neighbors into it, whether by talking up the merits of the canon or linking everyone to That One Fic or reblogging pretty gifsets until they give in. If everyone’s leaving the party, make a fresh batch of martinis. Chances are, a lot of people wanted to keep hanging around anyway, and a bunch of others were lurking by the door, wondering whether it was safe to come in.

[kitcat992]

Identity Crisis  | Chapter 3: Grounded

“Beginning clinical trial 10.F—G in three...two...one...”

The liquid dropped from its contained, secured case the moment the buzzer went off, the sound piercing and sharp. The feel of it always got to him; dense, thick, slimy, and somehow worse than all the times that came before. Like a raindrop, it hit the back of his hand with a pluck.

It was hot.

It was always hot, burning against his skin, sizzling at the touch. He had lost count of the chemical burns that scattered along his body, scars that told stories of the many attempts he endured in the pursuit of health. Life. A chance.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. No, never in the battery of tests he subjected himself to was it ever lost on him. He was destroying his body in the attempt to heal it.

It wasn’t ideal, and certainly not his first choice in the grand scheme of things. But they didn’t have time — he didn’t have time. There was no animal testing or research studies that could be done before reaching him.

Not if he wanted a chance.

So he closed his eyes, tight. Tight enough to feel the muscles in his face twitch and scream and beg for the release that he wouldn’t give until he heard the word ‘success’. He held his breath and bit his tongue through the searing pain that spread across his skin, rendering his fingers numb and his wrist rigid with immobility, all as he waited.

It always felt like an eternity. He would often think of Emily in these times. Deep, mahogany hair that countered her smile of pure sunshine, one he’d still picture every night before going to sleep, accompanied with the purest, brightest blue eyes he’d ever witnessed before. Even now, decades after becoming nothing more than a memory to him, she kept him calm. As long as he had her memory —

“Host organism Symbiote cytoplasm results produce...another failure for organisms protoplasmic material in binding with subject.” The voice, albeit calm, professional and tame, was nails on a chalkboard to his ears. “The changes formulated to the cell structure from clinical trials 9.E—G appear to be unsuccessful.”

His eyes stayed closed, though the pressure on his eyelids lessened greatly. He could feel the burning begin to fade on his hand, the tell-tale sign that the liquid had dropped off, running down and off his skin like water in the shower. It would fall down into a drain placed beneath his feet, where the earth shattering disappointment made it feel like his legs had wavered despite the ground staying still.

His heart beat heavily and he fought to control the emotion, taking in three deep breaths to remain composed. Each lifted his chest high, pulled his shoulders back taunt. He kept those blue eyes in his mind, fighting to remember exactly what shade they were. Always close to sky blue, but never quiet so pale. Vivid, like ice.

“How would you like to proceed, Mr. Osborn?”

And with that, he opened his eyes to the world around him, no longer able to stay in the memory of a better time and place, a memory of warmth and content. His environment was sterile and cold, a lot like the expression he wore on his face. Because if twenty-eight years of owning and running his own business had taught him anything, it was to never show weakness.

“You are...highly credentialed, Doctor Frye.” Norman grabbed the towel offered to him by one of the many scientists standing nearby, slowly but confidently wiping his hands with it. “I have the upmost faith that you will figure it out.”

The towel was damp, saturated with a cooling gel to ease the burns that blistered on his skin. He smeared it generously across the back of his hand, stepping down cautiously from the platform where he stood. The other techs began to scatter, leaving all but one white-coated doctor standing amidst the departing crowd.

“Sir, with all due respect,” Doctor Frye started, “I have been surveying the progress on this project since day one. And since we’ve discovered that this Symbiote bio-structure won’t bond without the DNA markers of it’s original conception, you continue to try and change the cell nucleus of the genetic make-up with no success.”

Norman approached him with long strides, confident steps that spoke more than his words ever could. He cocked an eyebrow high in the air and discarded the towel to the side.

Doctor Frye held his tablet firmly in his grip as he continued, “This is the tenth failure, and the tenth time my team has played God to the membrane of an organism that cannot thrive without the mutation markers of its birth host.”

“And as we are both aware,” Norman was quick to respond, his tone smooth yet firm, “the birth host perished two years ago with an autopsy report that showed no remaining embryo fluid in the sack. Is that a fact you fail to recall or do you simply prefer that I remind you the cause behind our perennial struggles?”

There was something unique in Doctor Frye that Norman respected. For starters, the man was never afraid to stand up to him, talk science with him, throw equations back and forth. He had intense grit, a dedication to his craft, dare he say an unhealthy need to be present at the job at all times. It played greatly in his favor, the unfortunate passing of Frye’s wife, leading him to divulge all his time into his work. It kept the good doctor focusing on the cure Norman so desperately needed.

“That spider was our last chance at finding success with this project, Mr. Osborn,” he reminded, his voice going so far as to pitch with unnerve. “Without injecting the mutated cells directly into your bloodstream, there’s no way this Symbiote bio-suit will bind to your genetic DNA. It requires the mutated markers of that radioactive spider.”

As the doctor spoke, Norman began to roll down the sleeves to his white button-down, taking care in buttoning the cuffs back together on each arm. He never once looked down during the task, keeping his eyes focused intently on Frye, frowning a bit as he digested what was said.

“Your vacillation is disconcerting to hear, doctor. It seems you’ve forgotten that sitting beneath my entrepreneur credentials lays a scientific genius with doctoral degrees in chemistry and electrical engineering. So when I say this can be done, I say it with more than just words,” Norman’s words were even, clinical, nearly emotionless. “I say it with the knowledge and ingenuity to substantiate the matter.”

Aggravated, Doctor Frye shook his head with animated exaggeration, spinning around as Norman began to walk past him.

“You aren’t listening. You don’t — !”

Norman calmly turned to face him, so close that it physically startled the doctor, his muscles so tense it showed in his lips.

“This Symbiote is a living organism. And like all living organisms, you can work with its biology,” Norman insisted, his tensely knitted eyebrows the closest thing he had shown to frustration so far. “I would advise that you not allow any defeats to keep you from pushing forward onward to success.”

Deliberate to linger on a hard stare that created a sheen of sweat across Doctor Frye’s forehead, Norman gave a curt nod when the time felt right. Only then did he walk passed the man, careful to avoid bumping shoulders.

He made it to the door before a voice was heard again. It wasn’t unexpected. Norman would have paused there in anticipation regardless of what sound came his way; the doctor had grit, after all.  

“You have to give me clarification here, Mr. Osborn. Why can’t you lend my team the formula for the OZ Experiment Arachnid No. 00? We’ll create it from scratch, we’ll give the Symbiote the DNA markers it requires to bind and latch onto it’s subject matter,” he paused for a beat, his throat constricting as he stressed,  “You, sir.”

There was enough hesitation from Norman to make it seem like he had been pondering up a response. In reality, he had one ready to go long before the man had ever asked the question. It was a sore subject. It had become the bane of his existence. The loss of all his files, the OZ formula, the records of the arachnid experiment from years ago that could easily save his life — gone. And why?

“Because, Doctor Frye,” Norman said, swiping his badge to gain access out of the laboratory, “those records were recently loss in a very unfortunate...water-logging incident. Now carry on. I expect progress by the morning.”

The heavy weight of the door closed loudly behind him, an echo that shot through the air. Norman was walking down the halls before it had even slammed shut.

— — —

Can I just say...I’m really going to enjoy writing this character?

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