#s/o to the camera crew for getting all the right angles..

[misc-headcanons]

Could I get an angst scenario of Ace's fem s/o who's been depressed ever since he died and hasn't been able to cope or function properly so his spirit visits her and does little things to take care of her and cheer her up please?

(I tried to make the whole ghost angle a bit more subtle than him just appearing, A Christmas Carol-style, lol. Hope this depiction of Ghost!Ace is to your liking, and that you enjoy!)

Mourning Ace

Word Count: 1404

Marco, Izo, and the rest of ____'s family within the Whitebeard pirates had tried everything they could to just get her out of bed every few hours, to make sure she kept eating, to let in a bit of sunlight into her room everyday so she didn't waste away as she mourned in a dark, cold, room that seemed more empty than it ever had before. All of Ace's loved ones had been devastated by his death, but after mourning and trying their best to move on, the healing process had slowly begun over the passing months. The others in Whitebeard's crew were hoping that with enough support, ____ would be able to heal, but...you can love and care for someone as deeply and as long as possible, but there's never a guarantee that they'll be able to recover from their loss.

After Marco set a small cup of tea on ____'s bedside table, he quietly asked if she wanted him to stay with her or if she'd like to be alone. Her gaze slowly drifted from the ceiling to Marco's face, and the hollowness in her eyes made his heart sink in his chest. "Alone, please," she said in a barely audible voice. She shifted under her blanket slightly and she looked away from Marco.

Marco bit the inside of his cheek, not wanting to have her spend another evening by herself, but not wanting to upset her by insisting he stay. He rose up from his chair and left the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him and standing still for a moment with his arms crossed. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and let out a tired sigh; he was the crew's doctor, and a damn good one at that, but he had no idea how to help ____ with something like this. He left to take care of some business in the ship's clinic, leaving ____ alone.

____ rolled over on her side and watched the steam rise from her mug of tea. The sickly sweet scent of lemon and honey was barely able to reach her, from how dull her senses were. Everything seemed numb ever since Ace had...ever since Ace. She silently watched as the tea cooled, and when the steam had subsided she sat up to take a small sip and then crawl underneath her sheets. The scent of clean cotton and the soap he used to wash with made her chest heavy, but she couldn't bear to leave it behind. 

A few tears welled up in her eyes as she tried to close her eyes and sleep for a while. 

As she felt herself drifting off, a draft from the cracked-open window gave her a chill; Izo had opened it a bit when he'd visited, to give her some fresh air. She frowned and pulled the blanket off of her face, and the extra exposure to the breeze gave her a few goosebumps along her arms. Right when she was about to try and find the strength to roll out of bed and close the window, she felt a familiar rush of heat warm the back of her neck and shoulders. The familiar warmth left her with the faintest trace of a smile, and she crawled back under the covers with sleepy half-lidded eyes. She'd always loved the way Ace would use his Devil Fruit to create some small flames to warm her up whenever she complained about being chilly, and whenever he would use the cold as an opportunity to wrap his arms around her to hug her from behind--as if he needed a reason to cuddle her.

The familiar comfort of his small flames was followed by the usual softness of a warm body curling up against her, and she smiled drowsily. In her dreamy haze though, she could tell that it seemed a bit off: a bit less warm, a bit less soft, a bit less...there. Still, she was too tired and too comfortable to think about it too much as she drifted back to sleep. "Thanks, honey," she mumbled with a half-yawn, letting out a small hum of content when she felt something soft (with the scent of Ace's shampoo) graze her cheek.

A few seconds later, ____ eyes snapped open and she threw back the covers so harshly that she knocked over her cup of tea as she leapt out of bed. There was nobody else there, but that fact did nothing to slow down her heartbeat as it raced in her chest. Did she really feel that just now? Was she dreaming? Was she going insane?

The tea spilled over the wooden planks of her bedroom and when she took a small step back, the sudden feeling of cool liquid on her heel made her flinch. She whipped around and saw the knocked-over mug, and her tense shoulders relaxed just a bit; at least that feeling was something that could be easily explained. ____ ran her fingers through her messy hair before sinking back onto the bed. She could pick up the mug and clean the floor tomorrow, but right now she just wanted to try and go back to sleep. She crawled back under the blankets again and covered her face as she tried to slow her shallow breaths. "Just a dream," she muttered, her voice thick as she tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat. As much as she wished it weren't true, Ace wasn't there. He was gone. She was just dreaming. A few tears fell from her face as she repeatedly mumbled "Just a dream" over and over until she had fallen asleep once again.

A few shafts of sunlight streamed through the opened window, and ____ slowly opened her eyes. She rubbed her eyes and poked her head out from under the covers, grimacing at the sudden morning light hitting her face. When she turned her head to see how stained the floor had become thanks to her puddle of tea, her eyes widened as she stared at the floor by her bed; the cup was no longer on the tea-stained floor, and was sitting upright on her nightstand. It...it must have been…

"Izo," she muttered to herself, pinching the bridge of her nose and sighing. "Or Marco, they did it. They checked on me and…and cleaned up." Her tone was feeble and hollow, and she didn't sound fully convinced of that at all. When she picked up the teacup, she gasped and almost dropped it when she saw what was inside of it; amongst a few dried drops of tea, there were a few freshly-cut hibiscus petals in her favorite color, along with a small red marble. Her mind raced as she tried to remember where she'd seen a flower like that when she looked across the room, on Ace's old nightstand, and realized that the answer was literally standing in front of her. Amongst a few items and mementos, there was one silver locket and one small golden locket containing a portrait of Ace's mother; she was smiling at the camera, and a pink hibiscus flower in her peach-colored hair. Ace had mentioned once that he'd always wanted to find that kind of flower and get a second locket that contained a picture of ____ wearing a hibiscus. For their two-year anniversary, ____ had managed to make that dream a reality after buying an old camera DenDen Mushi, and a hibiscus in her favorite color on a random island. Ace had started crying the moment he saw her face beaming at him from inside the shiny silver locket.

____ could almost hear Ace's voice outside of the echoes in her memory, and she stared down at the cup as tears began to fall down her face again. Whether they were tears of sadness, happiness, relief, or worry, she didn't quite know. She sat back down on the bed and set the cup in her lap, tracing the rim a few times before holding the red marble from Ace's hat in her palm. The moment she felt it against her skin, an all-too familiar feeling of warmth settled on her back, shoulders, and face. She smiled to herself as she felt something unseen graze her cheek. In the reflection of the marble, she swore that could see someone else's smiling, freckled face nuzzling her neck.

"G'morning, Ace..."

[nomnomsik]

Eavesdropping - (m)

Word Count: 2.1K

Pairing: Idol!Jimin x Idol!Reader

A/N: To @chinkbihh bc she was being a hoe for Jimin. 

Trigger warning: DOM!JIMIN, Smut, profanity, possessiveness, yandere-themes, humiliation, protection is used. Please do not read if you are sensitive to these topics. [EDITED]

The endless sea of chants and screams roared, filling the whole venue. A bright smile was ingrained in the idol’s face which hid all of his fatigue and annoyance. The end of the year award shows wrapped up all the music that had come out in a pretty little bow; the most influential and popular ones being rewarded in the form of a glamorous award.

Each time his group was called for an award, Jimin hid his smirk behind a polite smile and his constant bows to other idols. He was finally being rewarded for all the struggle his group had to go through and those bastard idols who constantly looked down on them. The rewards were finally and rightfully his. Jimin had to remind himself not to get too carried away with his smug. But, how could you blame him when his group was snatching all the important awards of the night?

To top off his pleasant mood, your group had also attended the award show. Not only did you look gorgeous like usual, but the dress hugged your body that it was difficult for him to not stare at your ass. For once, he was actually thanking those ridiculous Korean beauty standards. He couldn’t stop staring at your thighs and legs, completely infatuated with your confidence and aura. You already killed the red carpet, articles popping up left and right minutes after your appearance. You were the gem of the group and you knew it. Your attitude completely hooked him in. He just had to have you.

Jimin was waiting for this award show because for once in his life, you were MC’ing with him. He was going to stand right next to you, converse with you, and maybe later in the backstage, seduce you. Jimin sat with a straight poker face, his legs crossed over each other and his hands shoved in his pockets. Excitement built up in his body as scandalous thoughts popped in his head.

How he just wanted to shove you into the bathroom and have his way with you. He wanted you to cry out his name, bend to his will, and lose all of your innocence at his hand. Jimin stared blankly at the performance on stage, completely lost in his racy thoughts that he didn’t feel the touch on his shoulder. With a harder shake, Jimin was forced to turn around, looking up at his manager who pointed to the backstage entrance. Jimin brushed himself off as he ducked and made his way through the black curtain.

The hair and makeup stylists retouched their work as he sat in the changing room. He wore his black suit with the low cut black shirt underneath that exposed his the top of his chest. His rose gold locks fell over his eyes as he let out a frustrated sigh. He couldn’t focus at all.

“Whatever.” He muttered, trusting himself to just go with the flow. With a push, he stood up, the stylists desperately trying to get their finishing touches as if it actually mattered. His manager guided him through the hallway as the staff hooked him up with his mic pack that was pushed in his back pocket. He kept his cool as he was finally introduced to you, your outfit also changed.

You wore a black lace knee-length dress with a cascading waterfall opening chiffon jacket. The ends of your dress were delicately accompanied with a scalloped lace hem trim. Jimin almost felt his jaw fall in amazement as he stared. As he looked down, the gleam of your heels caught his eye. Your feet were comfortably strapped in a pointed cross-strap heel decorated with a crystal on the back. The heel was maybe almost four inches and yet you stood straight, clearly not bothered by it at all. Although you had the chiffon jacket overtop of your dress, he could see just how tight the wrapped around the curves of your body.

His eye twitched in irritation as the male staff attached the mic pack onto the back of your dress. He watched as the staffer pushed your chiffon jacket to the side, revealing your bare arms and helping you hook the pack with a bundle of cloth. Jimin glared at the male staff behind you back, earning an apologetic bow from him. The corners of his lips curled up as he had complete control over the people in the room.

Of course, they won’t want to mess with one of the most influential artists here. You better step back, that’s right.

As you looked over to Jimin, he bent his elbow, microphone in hand. You wrapped your arm around him, the staff giving you a countdown before your entrance. To Jimin, this was a pre-debut to the world of his relationship with you. The most beautiful woman of the night, arm wrapped around his as the two of you took powerful strides onto the stage. The pleasant sound of your heels clacking on the crisp floor further increased his smugness. It was a small thing, but so satisfying and sexy to him. The two of your charismatic looks earned the squeal of thousands, the loud screams bouncing off the large walls.

On the other hand, you were oblivious to his intentions, your sole goal of not messing up on live television. Jimin was handsome, his bright smile directed towards all the cameras catching his every angle. It made you flustered inside that you stood next to one of the most sought out man by so many. Like the professional he was, Jimin noticed your slight nervousness and hesitation. He picked up his mic, bringing it up to his mouth as he read the first cue card. Jimin’s voice broke you out of your hesitancy, as you brought your own mic to your lips, smiling up as if nothing had happened.

There she is.

Jimin smiled proudly, his eyes always looking straight ahead. The rest of the night had gone smoothly, you and Jimin sharing some funny moments live. Normally, the aegyo the show would force the MC’s to do would make him cringe. But he found it quite endearing and interesting that you were willing to humiliate yourself like that. Maybe you were into that. He’ll find out later anyway.

The next shift of MC’s were up as Jimin waited for you to wrap your arm around him again. The two of you gave waves to the crowd as you both stepped off the stage. The backstage crew immediately huddled around you, taking the earpiece off and the cue cards. As soon as you had handed your batch of cue cards, Jimin had dragged you by the wrist. You sputtered, unsure why this famous man was touching you at all. His touch made you feel dirty as he led you down the hall. He was too high above you that your face heated up in embarrassment.

Jimin pushed the door to the men’s room open, dragging you to the last stall and pulling you in. The back of his hand caressed the smooth surface of your cheek as you stared at him with fear in your eyes.

“Uh, Mr. Park… W-what are-... I mean what’s going on…” You looked around in the small stall as Jimin stood a bit taller over you.

“Do you know how annoying it is to watch you flaunt around in this outfit, completely blind to all the hungry stares directed at you?” He seethed, tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

“Mr. Park, I knew that though… There’s not much I can do about it though…” You murmured, a sudden wash of submissiveness overcoming your body. It was a peculiar sensation that you never really felt before. But you wanted to please him through your obedience.

A smirk graced the corner of his lips as he let out a chuckle. “Oh, so you’re one of those girls, huh?”

“Mr. Park, I would greatly appreciate it if you could let me out. I’m very tired.” You ignored his comment, remembering that this meeting could change both of your careers forever.

“Turn around.”

“E-excuse me?” You squeaked.

“I said, turn around.”

You turned your body around until you were no longer facing him anymore. Not only was his voice threatening, but the desire to make him happy sent a thrill up your body. Jimin’s hand landed on your ass, rubbing his hand through the fabric of your dress. With a loud slap, his hand sent a shock through your body as you felt your legs on the verge of giving in and falling.

Jimin grabbed both of your hands, pulling them behind your back. He pulled your arms and forced your back to his chest as he whispered into your ear.

“I’m going to fuck you here and now. How does that sound, baby?”

“U-um, Mr. Park…” You gulped, embarrassment flushing your face. “Make it quick.”

“What happened to that confident woman from before?” Jimin sneered, unbuckling his belt and letting his pants fall a bit. He brought his hand into the inside pocket, pulling out a very familiar wrapper and ripping the top with his teeth.

“Why the fuck do you have that with you?!” You blurted out, your face searing in embarrassment.

“Because I know I get what I want in the end.”

He pulled your dress up to your stomach, his fingers brushing over the wetness of your undergarments. Without a sound, Jimin pushed your panties to the side, stroking his covered length a few times before slipping in.

You squeezed your eyes at the pain. Damn you for being stupid enough to not tell him to prep you at least. On the other hand, Jimin was in heaven, enjoying the rare tightness that he hadn’t felt in a while. With a rather large grunt, Jimin thrusted at a fast pace from the start, watching as you struggled to support yourself on the stall wall. Jimin held onto your hips, groaning at the intense pleasure that turned his mind blank.

You cried out as Jimin slammed back into you, sending a sharp shock of pleasure each time. Jimin took one of his hands off your hips, preferring to take a bunch of your hair as he pulled it back.

“You’re s-so fucking k-kinky, Mr. Park.” You stammered as Jimin harshly tugged your hair back. Jimin let out a huff, grinning.

“And you’re a proper bitch, calling me Mr. Park.” You let out a groan, feeling Jimin’s balanced pace become more erratic. “Call me that o-one more time and I swear I’m going to make sure that this whole facility hears you.”

You whined as he tugged onto your hair, pulling your body back to meet every thrust he sent into your body. You bit your lip to prevent slipping out his name, focusing on the pleasure that began to buildup in your core.

“S-shit… Fuck… I’m-” Jimin lowered his head, his pace slowing down as he emptied his contents into latex. His teeth found its way to your shoulder, biting and sucking on your skin.

The aftermath was uncomfortable as you pulled your dress down and cleaned yourself of the wet juices. Jimin stood in front of the bathroom mirror, checking his appearance once more before nodding. He looked as if nothing had happened. You, on the other hand, had to go to painstaking lengths to fix your hair and wrinkled clothes.

Jimin patiently waited for you before leading you out the bathroom door together. He found it charming that you could barely keep your head up. A bunch of staff looked at the two of you, their faces obvious that they knew what had transpired. Jimin hummed, not really caring. You were the only thing that mattered. Before the two of you split ways, a male staffer came up to the both of you, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. Jimin recognized him as the same guy who had helped you put your microphone pack on.

“Uh… We need you to return your microphone packs… please…”

Jimin chuckled. “Well sweetheart, I guess you didn’t need to stop calling me ‘Mr. Park’. They heard anyways.”

“I hate you, Park Jimin.”

Dispatch had a field day with that content, taunting it in front of both of your agencies. You were absolutely mortified when you were told that it had gotten into the hands of Dispatch, but you sighed. Of course, it got into their hands. The vast contrast between your reaction and Jimin’s made it even more unbearable.

Jimin sat in the office of his manager, on Wednesday morning, as he was explained what had happened.

“We received something from Dispatch about your…” The manager trailed off, before clearing his throat. “About your rendezvous with y/n.”

“And what about it? You know I’ve done this so many times.” Jimin spoke nonchalantly, tilting his head back to stretch. “I’m going to keep her. I claimed her and I don’t need anyone else. She’s mine.” Jimin snapped. “Is it my reputation and career at stake? Just tell Dispatch I’ll give them 2 million if they keep their mouth shut.”

The manager just nodded, turning around to send a call. He just sighed.

What a mess.

Before Jimin walked out, he quickly added with a smirk.

“Also tell them to send it to me. I want to keep it.”

[hollywooduniversityalumnus]

8. no power over me

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

The day she went with Elaine Peaches, Margot was so numb that she didn’t feel her knees scraping against the concrete when she tripped on the way to her house, or the hunger that rumbled through her body. Though she had been provided with jam-dotted cookies, water, and an apple, food after however many days alone only whetted her appetite. Her body ignored all pain signals (the scraped skin, the little rocks embedded in her palms when her hands broke the fall, her eyes’ sensitivity to light), focusing its energy on keeping her upright long enough to get to wherever she was being taken.

The police had asked a lot of questions and she didn’t know the answers. She didn’t know her mother’s real name, or where anything that could have her name on it would be, or where she might have gone. Margot didn’t even know how long she had been waiting inside.

“First time I saw her mother, she was on her way into the shed with some groceries,” Elaine Peaches had told the officers. “I thought it was peculiar for her to be keeping groceries in there, but Ned – Ned Kulpturn, the man who owns the big house - told me he’d rented the space out, fixed it up with amenities.”

“Ned Kulpturn.” One of the officers scribbled the name onto the paper balanced on his thigh. “Where might I find him?”

Elaine lifted one of her shoulders. “Beats me. Haven’t seen him since last Sunday. Sometimes he takes his boat and disappears for a week or two. Normal for Ned.”

As the adults kept talking, another officer – Bailey, according to her uniform - knelt by Margot’s side, offering her an apple she’d rinsed in the sink.

“You’re a brave girl,” Officer Bailey said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “You were in there for a while.”

Margot only nodded, taking the apple in her hands. There was a bump on it that was darker than the rest of it, but it was otherwise perfect, like an apple she’d drawn. She dug her fingernail beneath the small sticker and peeled it off, pressing it to her bare knee while Officer Bailey looked on.

The officer speaking to Elaine came over and joined Officer Bailey by Margot’s side. He was much older than his co-worker, graying hair on his temples and wrinkles sagging his face. He did not smile.

“Margot,” the officer said quietly, “we’re going to need you to come with us now.”

Margot, whose mouth was already poised around the apple, pulled away from the fruit. “Why?”

Officer Bailey’s hollow smile reappeared. “You can’t stay alone here.”

“But I have already.”

Officer Bailey’s lips pressed together in a thin line, and she looked away, shoulders shaking.

“It’s not safe,” the other officer said sternly. “You could get sick or hurt or worse without supervision. You’re . . . how old are you again?”

Margot threw her two hands up in front of her, fingers on both hands flying up to convey the number.

“Seven. All right.” The officer rubbed his forehead. “Look, Margot, I know this must be scary, but we have to make sure you have somewhere to stay tonight and-”

“Wait.”

Elaine Peaches crossed the yard in a few strides and stood on Margot’s other side defensively.

“I live next door,” Elaine continued. “I have a spare room with a bed all set up. I can keep an eye on her. It wouldn’t be any trouble. If her mother comes back, or if something happens, I’ll call right away.”

And, though Elaine and the officers kept talking over each other for a while, in the end Margot was pushing herself off the ground again and again on the way to the front door that led directly into the neighbour lady’s kitchen.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

“Hold still.”

Margot tried not to move as one of the makeup artists rubbed more crumbled eyeshadow onto the skin where her costume was torn. Beside her, in the cramped (for lack of a better word) passageway, Oliver was getting similarly dirtied up, though his artists were circling him with a gun-like contraption that oozed fake blood with every squeeze of the trigger.

“It looks too neat. Remember, they’ve been through literal hell. He’s staring in the face of death. She’s beginning to accept that she may never escape.” Penn Cattrall’s strong voice echoed around the area. “I want them looking halfway to decayed.”

“Yes, Penn,” the artists said in unison, as if they had practiced it. Margot wouldn’t be surprised if they had; Penn Cattrall’s crew was mostly made of previous collaborators who’ve known him for longer than he’d been in the spotlight for his work.

Once her makeup artist, Milla, deemed her look suitably “halfway to decayed,” Margot sidled up to Penn to do their typical pre-take talk. It was something Penn implemented after seeing her and Oliver struggle through their first few scenes in the catacombs, and she was grateful for it.

“Miss Margot,” Penn Cattrall greeted, eyes glued to the monitor they’d squeezed into the part of the catacombs they were filming in. “Do you have any questions or concerns about the scene we’ll be tackling?”

Margot smiled. “No more than usual.”

Penn finally looked away from the monitor, nodding to himself at the sight of her bloodied skin peeking from beneath the torn fabric of her shirt and jeans. “You will do well.”

“I will.”

“Remember the signal if you need to stop.” Penn did the gesture, and Margot mirrored it. “Good.”

And then the director turned away and began barking orders, giving Margot the out she needed so she could escape back into the passageway and stick her head between her knees.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

“Do you think my mommy will come back?”

“Eat your cereal, Margot. It’ll get soggy.”

Margot made a face at the O-shaped bits in her bowl of milk. They didn’t taste like chocolate or sugar. And they were already soggy; the milk soaked in them as soon as Miss Peaches poured the cereal in.

(Yes, Miss Peaches put the milk in first. Margot would always think that was weird.)

“Come on, Margot, or you’ll be late for school.” Miss Peaches reached up to fix her bun, which had two unsharpened pencils sticking out of it in weird angles.

“Your education is important.”

“Why can’t I stay here with you today?” Margot argued. “My mommy let me stay home all the time.”

Miss Peaches frowned. “School is good. You will learn lots of things. Important things, like multiplication and division.”

“I hate math.”

“You dislike math. Hate is a strong word for you to be using.”

Sensing that Margot was not going to shovel any more Cheerios into her mouth, Miss Peaches finally relented and had the garburator noisily make a mush out of the soggy remains. Then, she swung the bright blue backpack she’d purchased for Margot over her shoulder and held out her hand. Margot’s closed around it, and they slipped through the front door and down the steps.

The school Margot had been lucky enough to get enrolled in late was not the best school – far from it, to be honest – but it promised an education, and that was what she needed. Miss Peaches had to sign a lot of papers to get her in, but she figured she had to suck it up; weeks had passed and neither Margot’s mother nor Ned had returned. She had allowed Margot to stay home for the first two weeks while they both got used to each other, and because Margot was visited often by Officer Bailey, who always had a new question that she couldn’t answer. But it was time for her to go to school and keep her on track, so off she went. She’d been attending it for a little more than a week and was still dragging her feet whenever they made the walk over as if it were the first day all over again.

“I’ll be here at two-thirty to pick you up,” Miss Peaches said, holding out Margot’s backpack while she readjusted the Velcro on her shoes.

Margot nodded.

And Elaine Peaches watched Margot walk through the doors, standing there until she couldn’t see the bright blue backpack through the window anymore, before heading home.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

“Action!”

Oliver lay on the ground, leg bent in an unfortunate angle that exposed bone and pulp. A pool of blood slowly grew beneath him. Beside him, on her knees, Margot held one of his hands between both of hers, fingers lightly tracing the rune he’d cut into his palm in an earlier scene.

“We’re almost out,” she said, and even she could hear the falseness in her words. “Just hold on.”

“No.” The urgency in Oliver’s voice was tinged with his obvious pain. “You can still . . . make it.”

Margot pressed a hand to his head wound, closing her eyes upon feeling the blood rushing between her fingers. “Don’t leave me here, Peter. You promised.”

Oliver choked. “I’m so s-sorry.”

Margot began to cry, cowering over his body as he slowly slipped away. She let the tears fall onto his clothes, and did what came naturally to her, like raking a bloody hand through her hair as she sobbed.

And then the flashlight she’d propped up in the middle of the passage died, plunging her into darkness.

Margot felt her heart seize upon being cloaked in mostly darkness. A little light came from where the camera had been set up, and she knew that Penn was using a night-vision lens that would capture her movements even in the dark.

But still, the tears that slid down her face were real.

She remembered ants on a peeling windowsill, searching for crumbs on that cold concrete floor.

An unnecessarily loud sob tore from her throat.

And then, as if a ghostly hand had pressed itself against the small of her back, she was surged by a memory, a small comfort, a glow in the darkness.

You are not alone.

There are people here.

You will never be alone like that again.

She ground the palm of her mostly clean other hand into her eyes, as if to suppress the tears she allowed to spill over anyway. Then, she scuttled over to her flashlight, shook it a few times, and flipped its switch. Enough light for her to see the only other hole in the passage that she could go through. Big enough for her to fit into, but not much bigger than that.

Setting down the light, she lifted one of her legs and notched her feet into the hole. Then, with her hands on the top, she pushed herself through.

Or, at least, she did a pretty good job of pretending.

“Cut.”

One of the crew members flicked on the lights. Another helped Margot out of the hole they’d built into a false wall they had to make, disassemble, bring into the catacombs, and reassemble. The makeup artists circled like vultures, descending upon Oliver as he opened his eyes and blinked at the bright light.

“I think we got it.” Penn checked the monitor again, before clapping his hands twice. “Nineteenth time’s the charm.”

“Up we go?” asked a makeup artist hopefully, already zipping up their touch-up bag.

Penn smiled. “The usual people stay behind. Everyone else, great work today. Rest up. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

“Every day’s a big day,” a boom operator named Jaime retorted.

At the director’s words, Margot strained to remember what was planned for the next day’s shoot. They’d conquered Peter’s death scene, most of the traps, and the first appearance of the Presence, so . . .

“Your call time will be early tomorrow, Miss Margot,” Penn reminded her as Oliver began ushering her out. “Come ready with energy to fight.”

Oh. Right.

That scene.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

After grabbing dinner with some of the crew, Margot returned to her hotel room to unwind after yet another exhausting day “in the ’combs,” as Milla called it. She indulged in a bath in the old-school clawfoot tub in her spacious bathroom. Steeped tea without doing the mindfulness bullshit. And finally, wrapped in a fluffy robe with the hotel insignia stitched into the lapel, she opened her laptop.

No new comments.

The production progress journal entry she’d inputted the night before had been seen, as per the checkmark next to the date. But no comments. No smart aleck responses or biting criticism about her “bordering-on-whiny progression notes” from the man eight hours and an ocean away.

She really missed them.

The responses.

Oh, who was she kidding?

She missed Hunt. She missed Thomas.

She missed whoever he was when he spoke to her, for sometimes she swore he was a hybrid of both identities, of both people she knew he was and could be. Sharp, critical, cold. Thoughtful, heartening, spirited (well, as spirited as Thomas Hunt could get).

He seemed not to care anymore, now that her and her limitation have learned to co-exist long enough for the cameras. After the phone call she’d made the morning of her first solo shoot in the catacombs, and the resulting entry about how she’d managed it, his replies went from encouraging to non-existent.

She felt hollow every time she opened the program and found a checkmark next to the last entry’s date, but no little pencil symbol indicating a reply.

It had been like that for too long.

Still, she started a new entry and wrote the expected things. How she was doing, how the production was going, how she dealt with the scenes she shot that day, and so on. And then, wholly unsatisfied, she submitted the entry and tucked herself into bed.

Tomorrow’s a big day, she reminded herself.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Her sobs rend the night, shaking Elaine from her dreams of muscular men on horses with billowing white shirts and flowing hair. She pulled herself out of bed and padded barefoot into the hallway, stopping just outside the spare room’s door. She held her breath and listened, then knocked upon hearing another wail.

“Margot?”

Elaine twisted the knob, and the door swung open with a creak loud enough to wake the dead.

Margot sat on the centre of the bed with her forehead balanced on her knees. The only source of light came from the moon illuminating the room through the spaces between the blinds, casting a bluish light about the sparsely furnished room Elaine had originally planned to convert into a home studio.

Elaine flicked on the light, and Margot’s head snapped up to look at her.

“Margot, what happened?” Elaine came over to her and pressed a hand to her forehead. “Are you sick?”

Margot’s voice was watery. “I miss my mommy.”

Elaine smiled sadly.

“Margot, sweetie.” Elaine sat beside the girl’s legs. “What can I do to help you feel better?”

Margot stared up at the ceiling light, blinking into the brightness like it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. The streaks of tears on her cheeks shone.

“Bottle the sun so my room never gets dark,” she replied.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Long before she’d enrolled in Hollywood University, Margot amused herself by watching movies and guessing how they’d filmed parts of them. Any and all live-action movies that had CGI character components, like a certain reboot of a beloved animated children’s show, brought her joy to dissect, watching scenes over and over again to see how the actors coped with talking and acting seriously to something that, at the time of their filming, was a silly prop stand-in, like a tennis ball mounted on a mini-tripod that would later be digitally replaced with a fan-favourite lightning-blasting rat-like creature.

She’d seen behind-the-scenes videos of how certain cinematic creatures were filmed, like the faun in Pan’s Labyrinth, with the green screen suit that hid Doug Jones’s lower legs that were not part of the end result look. After that, she usually imagined a person or a small team of people puppeteering the creatures, squinting to see if she could tell where the creature’s body ended, and the green screen suit began.

She didn’t think too much about how horror movies might use the same techniques. She was more focused on the fantastical elements.

But now, staring at the figure fully encased in a green screen suit, she realized she definitely should have looked into it before.

“Miss Margot.” Penn beckoned her to come over to where he and the green-suit stood before the monitors. “We are just placing the mats, then Erika will work you two through the blocking.”

The green-suit seemed to look at her. She couldn’t tell; there were no holes for the eyes or mouth, but the indentations indicated that there was indeed a nose and lips under there.

“Hi,” she said to it.

The green-suit did not respond.

“This is a pivotal moment in the film,” Penn continued. “The Presence is upon her. She either fights or dies, and she has come too far and lost too much.”

She nodded along with his words.

“We will most likely have to reshoot parts of this on the sound stage,” Penn admitted, “but we hope to capture most of the scene here. The more authentic, the better.”

“And the less work the editors have to deal with,” chortled Lewis, the boom operator for the day.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

The stunts for the day weren’t hard to do, especially since they’d picked a surprisingly spacious area to film in. They took take after take, adjusting for different angles, and though she found herself embarrassingly out of breath by the time Penn called for their lunch break, she had to admit that she was relieved that the green-suit was there to guide her movements and ground her desperate struggle to survive in realism.

After all, it would be pretty hard to fight and tumble with thin air and make it look convincing.

She smiled upon reaching the surface with her group – “Buddy system!” Lewis crowed – soaking in the sunlight while pinching her nose shut at the smell of piss that seemed to waft around the area. As she made her way to her favourite panini stand, she watched as the green-suit slipped into a nearby trailer and closed the door behind them. There was no name on the door.

“Hungry, are we?” Milla slung an arm around Margot’s shoulder, catching up with her stride easily. “You’ve probably burned more calories today than I have this whole year.”

“Feels like it, too.” Margot rolled her shoulders back. “I have to admit, the green-suit person makes it pretty easy to be scared.”

They reached the stand and made their orders to the kind old man who ran it. As he layered smoked salmon, spinach, and creamy cheeses between slices of bread from the market a short walk away, they sat and chatted on a nearby bench.

“Who’s the green suit, anyway?” Margot asked. “I tried to ask for their name, but they weren’t talking. Method actor, I guess.”

Milla took a sip from her water bottle. “Oh, yeah. I have no idea, either.”

“Do you think that’s, like, on purpose, us not knowing?” Margot watched the old man press the paninis on a grill pan.

Milla rolled her eyes. “Probably. I can never tell what Penn’s got up his sleeve.”

“He’s very accommodating,” Margot said. “I mean, between you and me, I was giving him absolutely nothing to work with at the start. Though, in hindsight, I guess it was pretty obvious.”

“He’s not yet hardened by Hollywood,” Milla replied. “I kind of doubt he will ever be just like the other directors preening on red carpets and delegating their work to lesser knowns who won’t get credit for it.”

“And dating nineteen-year-old models when they’re in their late sixties,” Margot added.

“Yeah, what is up with that? Every time I see someone more than three times my age, I don’t think, ‘Wow, a viable sex partner.’ I think, ‘Cryptkeeper.’”

Their laughter was explosive, scaring away the nearby birds pecking at crumbs.

“Maybe it’s a sugar baby thing?” Milla guessed. “I mean, why else would a twenty-something bombshell play with some old dude’s saggy-”

“Shh, Milla!” Margot clapped a hand over her mouth. “I don’t want the mental image, thanks.”

“Mademoiselles,” called the panini man.

“Saggy,” Milla whispered into Margot’s ear as they headed up to the stand.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

After they ate, Margot came up and put a few bills in the tip jar without looking the kindly old man in the eyes.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

She was choking, choking, and she was sure she was going to die.

Her fingers raked along the floor of the passage, trying to find something to grip onto, to give her leverage to buck off the Presence climbing over her. Her fingers closed around the wrist strap of her now-broken flashlight.

She struggled under the Presence’s hold. Grinding her teeth together, she mentally chanted that empowering line that always came to her now when filming in the dark before letting herself go limp. Tears spilled down her face. Her eyes began to close. She mouthed something to the air, an apology, an acceptance.

“Pete – Peter -”

Her grip loosened on the wrist strap.

The Presence slowly climbed off her, walking backwards to the wall from which it burst through.

She silently counted to ten.

Then her eyes sprang open, and she gasped for air, hands rubbing at her throat in confusion.

“Cut!”

Margot looked up at the green-suit, who silently offered their hand.

“Thanks,” she said.

They nodded at her before turning to look at the monitor.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

“I think we’ve got it all for today.”

Penn was practically glowing, and everyone on set felt its warmth. It was a stark contrast to when production began, and the two leads kept getting panic attacks or violently ill. Now, the energy was infectious. And, since everyone had the next day off, there were whispers of finding a bar or club to loosen up at after the shoot.

Margot just wanted to go to her room and bury herself beneath her bed’s thousand-thread-count sheets. Maybe order Labyrinth, one of her favourite fantasy films, to watch on repeat until the next shoot. But a drink, especially after being tousled around by someone whose identity was still unknown to her, sounded good, too.

As the crew packed up, Penn shouted, “Don’t go too wild tonight and tomorrow! Your days off are for rest and recuperation. I do not want to hear of sprained ankles.”

“Yes, Penn,” Margot said in unison with the rest.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Two cocktails, one shot, and a hit off Lewis’s dab pen later, Margot felt like she was floating a foot above the ground.

Kamil, a member of Penn’s regular film crew, had found the nightclub with the private room and texted the address to every person in the production group chat. He had bought the first round, dedicating it to “their whip-cracking director and his wild-ass ideas,” then disappeared into the crowded dance floor with a few other crew members. Oliver had shown up and downed three shots before he and Milla took refuge in the corner to make out. And then Jaime had dragged Margot out for a dance, which turned into two, which turned into three, before Lewis and a few other guys from the crew she had barely interacted with usurped her for dances.

Her hands were on some tattooed, muscular forearms, and she didn’t quite know what she was doing with the rest of her body, but she was having fun. Her dancing partner was handsome, almost clichély so, and she sort of wanted to cry over how pretty his eyes were. In the strobe lighting, they flashed green and gold. The musky smell of his cologne clashed with a nearby dancer’s classy perfume, and the mix of those scents made her press her thighs together.

She impulsively ran her fingers through his dark hair. Ran a finger over his sharp jawline, his high cheekbones, the lone freckle just beside his nose. He leaned down, for he was so, so tall, and pressed his mouth to her neck.

“You got a boyfriend, Miss Margot?” teased the man she was dancing with.

He meant no harm. A simple question.

But it blew the wind out of her sails.

She began to touch the ground again, and everything around her was discordant. The flashing lights, the lit-up dance floor, the writhing bodies bouncing and grinding. A mouth against her ear, whispering something about a hotel and making her feel good.

She pushed him away.

The shock on his face morphed into worry. “Are you all right, Margot?”

“I-” She swallowed hard. “I’m tired.”

She was. She felt like her body had reserved all its tiredness until that moment and dropped it upon her like she was some cartoon villain standing under the conveniently placed anvil.

“I’ll walk you to your hotel.” At her look, he held his hands up. “Not to, you know. I just want to make sure you get there.”

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

True to his word, the man walked her to her hotel, distracting her from the darkness between lamp posts with small talk and pointless stories. He offered his jacket and his arm, both of which she took gratefully.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he reminded her.

“Which was?”

He smirked. “Is there a boyfriend waiting for you at home?”

Margot wanted to match his smirk but was too tired to bullshit. “There’s no one waiting for me at home.”

His eyebrows rose. “I doubt that.”

“Don’t. It’s true.” She shrugged as they entered the hotel lobby. “Just how it is for me.”

“So, just to be clear,” the man said, “no boyfriend.”

“Nope.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Nope.”

He hesitated. “Anyone under the impression that they may be in a relationship with you, whether it’s exclusive or not?”

She burst out laughing, startling the clerk behind the counter.

“How specific,” she remarked dryly.

It was his turn to shrug. “Can’t be too careful these days.” He cocked his head to the side. “So . . . ?”

Margot thought of dark hair, dark eyes, suits.

You are not – and will not be – alone. You will never be alone like that again.

He had not replied to her. Had not spoken of the masquerade, of that night on the set, of the date auction, of the Fairy Kingdom Formal. She did not know how he felt about her or them, other than how it “cannot be.” He had shown his kinder side to her time and time again, but did that mean anything?

To her knowledge, her feelings were unrequited.

And there was a handsome man standing in front of her, kind and courteous and funny, to whom she felt attracted, who certainly would not give her the cold shoulder or tear her self-esteem down if she kissed him right now.

She did not doubt he’d be a man of his word, making her feel good.

Still, she reached up and pressed her palm against his cheek. He leaned into her touch, and she smiled.

“Thanks for walking me back,” she said.

He nodded. “Thanks for humouring me.”

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

It was only when the elevator was rocketing her up to her floor – alone – that she realized she didn’t catch his name.

And that it didn’t really matter.

Not then, anyway.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Production Progress Journal Entry 24:

Today was one of the hardest days. I had to fight the entity known as the Presence, which was physically portrayed by someone in a green screen suit who never actually identified themselves to me or the rest of the crew. I suspect Penn knows who it is, but he didn’t volunteer the information.

Anyway.

Four weeks into production. We’re right on schedule, which is apparently very rare for a film production. Within the next two weeks, we’ll be working on the sound stage.

I’m sure you’re wondering how I’m coping. It’s going okay. I think I’ve found a failsafe way for me, and it really doesn’t require a lot of work on my part.

If the great Thomas Hunt has ever deigned to watch it, he would know from which movie I had adopted my mantra, which I repeat to myself during harder parts of filming:

“You have no power over me.”

I’m learning a lot about myself and what I can handle. I won’t let what happened to me hold power over me anymore. At least, not enough to interfere with what I’m most passionate about. I want this film to be something I am proud of.

And so far, I am.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

After submitting her entry, Margot slipped into the bathroom to wash off the grimy feeling the nightclub left on her skin. The hotel provided adorable miniature bottles of body wash and hair products, and she used a sample of a hair mask she’d gotten with her last Sephora order. On a whim, she decided to hop into the tub, using a complimentary bath bomb that smelled of citrusy sweetness and had a core of dried rose petals and lavender buds that clung to her body. She had to hop back into the shower to rinse them off.

More than an hour later, she stepped out of the steamy bathroom to a notification on her laptop.

One new comment.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Thomas Hunt’s comments on Production Progress Journal Entry 24:

I am well aware of 1986’s Labyrinth, thank you very much.

Still, I’m pleased to hear that you are coping. You are working with your limitation. Perhaps it’s not much of one now.

Good luck with the rest of your production, Miss Schuyler. Professor Singh will be marking these entries from hereon out.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

[heroes-writing]

Yo, can I get some headcanons where Saitama, Iaian, Amai Mask, Flashy Flash, Metal Bat and Mumen Rider caught doing couple-like things. (talking dirty, whispering sweet nothings to each other, cuddling, making out, having sex, whatever you want.) Thank you so much!

Word Count: ~1296

Metal Bat: I feel like in school he might be theboyfriend that gets pulled into kissing sessions between class. You know thecouples eating each other’s faces? He’s not quite that level, but you mightfind him huddled in the stairwell trying to squeeze in some smooches before hehas to part with his s/o for an entire hour--(Oh, the AGONY!)

He’ll be pissed if someone interrupts, but on the other handhe might become incredibly embarrassed too. Especially if it wasn’t his idea!He is usually courteous and dislikes rudeness, so he’d apologize to thosefollowing the general flow of hallway traffic with a bow. Then he’ll try torecover by taking his s/o by the hand and escorting them back to theirclassroom, blushing all the while.

-The rest venture into nsfw territory!-

Saitama:

It’s hard to imaginehim getting caught out in the open. I feel like he’d be the one to get flackfor “public indecency” by some hero because he even dared to kiss his s/o onthe cheek…So in a different circumstance, he would most certainly be caughtwhen he’s at home. Mostly by the rag tag crew he’s collected from the HerosAssociation: Genos, King, Bang, and Fubuki.

Saitama may just be hanging out in the evening watching amovie, or things are heating up in his futon with clothes being removed at aneasy pace. He’d have an arm around his s/o or have them cuddled against hischest while they kiss and grope. They could be talking in hushed undertones,about anything, but it would be intimate all the same while the sun setsoutside the window. Whoever barges in and ruins his moment with his s/o willget a glare for sure.

(AND I JUST REMEMBERED: I also have an OLD (ugh, 3 years old apparently???) scenario fill forthis: https://heroes-writing.tumblr.com/post/134074860971/could-i-request-a-scenario-where-saitama-and-his)

Iaian:  

While Iaian trains, his s/o could meet him at AtomicSamurai’s dojo to save him the trip of going into town. Seeing his s/o alwaysmakes Iaian beam with joy and race towards them like a certain dogbreed...-cough- (Blonde Kelpie) -cough-

It’s pretty funny actually. His s/o is always in thesame place beneath a large red torii, and wherever Iaian happens to see them,he jogs right over at a forward tilt.

Kama and Bushi, Atomic Samurai’s other disciples, are theones who can’t help but stumble across the couple when they pass by Iaian’s superobvious meeting spot. Usually it’s chaste, and nothing is outright indecent,but sometimes it’s been quite a while since Iaian and his s/o have seen oneanother…They simply can’t help but share some passionate kisses at the veryleast.

Iaian’s signature move would be a gentle kabedon. A strongarm over his s/o’s head so he can angle his right above their own.  If his s/o is eager they’ll pull him in forsome kisses for his whole dojo to see. In most cases, he can’t help but returntheir affection with gusto. His whole body will align with theirs; his embracewould be gentle and warm.

Amai Mask:

Unless he’s not adamant in keeping his relationship a secretfrom his all adoring fans, he’ll detest the thought of being the subjectof illicit photo leaks, controversy, or even simple rumors. He won’t be caughtdead with his s/o in a way that could be construed as anything but platonic.

The only ones who can catch them in the act is his closeinner circle that he employs for his idol-work, and the upper echelons of theHero’s Association. (Since he seems to have an iron fist over class A, I assumehe has a lot of people in his back pocket.)

In the case that it’s his Idol manager, he’ll be caught inhis dressing room before a show. Amai mask seems like he would want to assertcontrol over his s/o or be domineering in some way. He would pin them to hisdressing room door with both hands clasping his s/o’s arms above their head.He’d be pressing kisses, licks, and possessive marks into their skin that onlyhe can see. One of his knees would press between their legs, possibly slipping eagerhands beneath their clothes.

He’d only stop because his manager would knock on the doorsaying that the show was ready to begin. Amai would have no problem invitingthe man inside for a chat, and his s/o would have a hard time fixing theirclothes or hiding their blush. Amai, on the other hand, wouldn’t give a damn.

Flashy Flash:

This is a rare sight to see! Not only do I think he’s rathersubdued in ordinary circumstances, he’s a ninja. If he doesn’t want tobe seen, he won’t. If he doesn’t want anyone around while he’s distracted,he’ll stay alert to anyone’s presence. Maybe in a location where he can lowerhis guard completely will Flashy Flash be caught gently stroking his s/o’scheek and speaking to them in low tones. If the location is the HeroAssociation tower and he took his s/o there to stay under guard during anattack, he’ll be trying to part from them to tend to his duty as a hero.

A worker of some kind watching through the security cameraswould see it. Flashly Flash hushing his s/o’s worries in a darkly lit room andtrying to soothe their fear in the ways he knows best. Close contact, his armsslung low around their hips, while speaking to them calmly. One desperate kisswill turn into a dozen. 5 minutes will turn into 10. His hands will slip everlower, till he’s gently kneading his s/o’s behind, and he’s hefting them atop alarge meeting table to step between their legs...

The security camera will turn to follow their movements byjust a fraction, and in a flash, the feed will go dark.

Mumen Rider:

Sweet Mumen would be caught cuddling his s/o in public! Beinghis s/o takes some real toughness after all. He would make even the most hardenedperson worry for his wellbeing.

I imagine that he would have gotten into a scuffle of somekind, or he’d be making his way home on his bike only to see his s/o at themarket.

With a cheerful grin he’d wave them down, and they’d sooncome running. He get’s hurt so often, so I’m sure he’d be bleeding fromsomewhere or have a horrendous crack in his glasses or helmet. His s/o would bequick to run their hands over him, worried and cautious of anywhere he may behurt.

Mumen would try to soothe them with confident words andsentiments full of the appreciation for JUSTICE. He’d gently claps their handsin his, and tell them he’s alright, and that he would escort them home safely.

Overcome with affection, his s/o would throw their armsaround his middle and give him a swaying hug that he could never hope toresist. He may protest and blush about the display, but it won’t stop him fromrubbing his cheek into theirs or accepting a swift kiss.

After he tries to ignore the cooing crowd forming, he’descort them home. I imagine he’d like to place one of his s/o’s hands on thehandlebars of his bike and placing his own on top! He doesn’t want his bike toget in the way of some quality hand holding!

[felix-tee]

atlas wept | felix + costin

@cvnstantin​

felix-tee‌:

Oh, obviously, [he says with a delicate laugh—though the response is rehearsed, and not necessarily true. He’s never been confident in who his true friends are—but he’s also never learned how to put other people before himself, and so he’s never made it much of a priority to earn them. Actually, it’s always sort of blown his mind that he has to earn them at all. That his beauty and fame and blanket popularity isn’t enough to do all the hard work. 

But as it turns out, he’d had plenty of fans and followers and admirers who’d liked to call him a friend so they could name drop at parties and feel important or impressive—but somehow, it didn’t matter how many hundreds of people had come to his birthday parties, he’d always ended the night feeling alone—whether someone had shared his bed with him or not.

So he’d learned not to need them. The good things friends bring, fans can bring too. And the bad things friends bring, well—fans don’t come with those. There’s no sense of responsibility, no petty fights, no hurt feelings or betrayal or broken hearts—except the hearts of his various admirers who’d give anything to sleep with or court him, or both. ] I had plenty of good friends. Though I’ll be honest, people I modelled with became sort of my more constant social circle—it’s hard to make time for friends outside of the lifestyle, when you’re as busy as I was. I was hardly ever home, so it was hard to stay in touch with childhood friends. [And no one had really cared to try. He’d had admirers in grade school, not true friends, really. So in many ways, that had been a constant reality for him. It’d made the transition smoother, at least. He was used to being isolated by his popularity. 

It’s okay, [he says, his smile still easy—he genuinely does like talking to Constin so far. He’s charming and innocent seeming, and there’s something very soothing about his voice, and the way he mispronounces the ‘w’s. Like a simple, foreign old man hanging around a museum. A sweet little bloke, with a heart of gold—and whom Felix would totally let fuck him so long as he let Fee clean him up a bit first. Not that that’s Fee’s intention at all right now. It’s just really nice to have someone pay him so much attention. He really does feel like a cat, all of a sudden. Pleased and purring to have all the focus on him.] 

You’re not asking too many questions. I actually quite like questions. [And talking about himself.] I’m used to it anyway. It’s almost comforting, these days. 

[It’s a good thing Fee likes being asked questions, because Constantin enjoys asking them. It’s refreshing to focus on someone else for a little while, to think about someone else’s life. The last couple of months have been heavily focused on Constantin recovering, which naturally means discussing a lot of the same details again and again. He’s tired of his broken body. He’s tired of his harrowed mind.

Better to inhabit the mind of a bright, playful kitten for a little while.] 

It is very hard work then, if you never go home and cannot speak vith friends so often? I thought I vork very hard vith  Agenţia Spaţială Română, but I still go home every night and see my cat, and go to dinner vith friends. Until they send me up, of course. But if I am being honest vith you, I alvays think modelling seem easy. Just look pretty and make nice face for camera, no? It is more difficult than I believe?

[It’s not that he’s ever thought models must be dumb or anything, it just seems so… straightforward. Can’t anyone smile for the camera if they’re pretty enough? He’s not asking to be rude, he is truly curious. It doesn’t occur to him that it takes hard work to learn your angles, and how to work with the light, and the social skills it takes to work with the photographers and designers, and the hundred other things that make modelling a job that not just anyone could do.]

[It’s a sensitive chord to pluck at with Felix, because it’s one that’s been tugged at so many times before, by so many people. And yeah, duh, it’s totally insulting. Even before he’d started modelling, he’d never imagined it’d be easy, necessarily. He’d always sort of been dazzled by the job, and assumed there was a lot to it that he didn’t know or understand but would like to. But when he had started—yes, it’d been harder than even he’d been expecting. And definitely not exclusively as glamorous as people make it out to be. It’s a lot more than that. 

He sighs, but it’s sort of hard to be horribly offended by the suggestion, considering how many times he’s had this conversation before—it’s more irritation, than anything else, and more at the tiredness of the notion, than at the man himself. One look at Constin and it’s clear he knows nothing about modelling anyway. It’s the least Fee can do to educate him a little bit.] 

Honestly, everyone thinks that, and it’s really fucking annoying. Because that’s not what it’s like at all. There’s so much pressure in the job to be perfect, like, all the time. It’s your responsibility to make the clothing look good and the designer look good and the product look good—the magazine, the company, the photographer, everyone. Because as a model, like, if you’re doing a photoshoot, for instance, you need to know what works and what doesn’t, and you need to be able to deliver it fast. They’re paying you a lot of money and everyone else a lot of money, so every minute counts. The photographer is expensive, so is the studio, and the clothes they’re renting, the crew... 

And It’s not just about making a pretty face. You could get a lot of people here who are pretty to look at, but put them in front of a camera and would they know how to take a good picture in six inch heels or sell a million dollar clothing line? Not a chance. As a model, it’s your own responsibility as much as the photographer’s, to make yourself and the line look good—and most people are like, horrifically awkward and don’t know how to use their bodies or their face in a way that actually works. It’s a lot of work. And if you can’t deliver good photos in a short amount of time, you’re fired. It’s stupid easy to get fired, because there’s a million models out there who are biting at the chance to take your job from you, and no one wants to waste their time and money on someone who can’t deliver.  So it’s like, so so important you know your body, and know your audience, and the client. Like, it’s not enough to be ‘just good enough’. You have to be the best every single time, because if you’re not, they will find someone else. 

And then in fashion shows? Oh my God, that’s a whole other thing. Like, usually, there’s like, no time to figure out what you’re wearing and when—changes are stupid fast, outfits are sometimes confusing to put on, or easy to rip or painful to wear and impossible to walk in. And your walk has to be just right. And you have to be noticed and remembered on a stage full of people who are like, the most beautiful people in the world. If people forget you, you’re as good as fired. If they remember you for the wrong thing, like screwing up or tripping? You won’t just be fired, you might never be hired again. Reputation is everything, and it’s so fragile. 

And then, oh my God, other models try to sabotage you all the time and can be really nasty and competitive.... honestly, I could go on. It’s not what everyone thinks it is—besides... no offence or anything... but most people who say that like... either aren’t attractive enough to be a full time model at all, or have never had to work to, like, keep their figure up to standard. It’s kinda cut throat. I’m naturally very lean, and I didn’t have to work hard to look the way I did when I first started out, but you think once I was doing international runways I got to do things like drink or eat pizza or popcorn? No. Of course not. Never. Like... it’s easy for people who aren’t doing it to judge, but it’s really frustrating because maybe I didn’t have to like... go to college or whatever to do it, but I also worked really fucking hard and like... sacrificed a lot, you know? People don’t know. And they criticize, but they’re all just jealous. 

[ruffoverthinksthings]

Can you please do the ship meme for audrey and Harriet

1.Whois the most affectionate?:

Audrey.

Harriethas lived most of her life believing that your “lovely wenches”are largely, or exclusively for sex, that there’s something in itfor them outside of your love and affection, and that they will “sailoff for better shores” at any given moment.

Tohave someone that will willingly stay by her side through the goodparts, legitimately and frequently seek out her company, and valueloyalty and fidelity towards Harriet specifically is new to her.

It’sstrange and confusing, but in the good sense.

2.Bigspoon/Little spoon?:

Harrietis big spoon, Audrey is little spoon.

Harrietis also generally very physically possessive of Audrey as a matter ofhabit, “keeping close to me what wandering hands might want to takefrom me.” Seeing as there’s few who’re willing to (eitheremotionally or physically) steal Audrey away from her, thisleads to a lot of Harriet casually being close to her, holding herhand, and draping herself over her like “I was the season’shottest new fashion accessory: mostly reformed descendant ofpirates.”

3.Mostcommon argument?:

Harriet’smore illegal, irresponsible, and self-destructive habits and personalissues, such as her alcoholism.

Audreyhas gotten her to make her drinking habit more “palatable anddecent” (and to her mild shame, into looking for relief at thebottom of the bottle every once in a while) with various rules andconditions that Harriet obliges most of the time. To name a few,there’s not drinking in certain public areas, always having adesignated driver to get her home safely and a means to lockeverything but her phone’s emergency calling feature when she’swasted, and changing her drink list to much more “refined”choices like cocktails, spirits, and fermented products that weren’tbrewed in a crusty, partially rotted out barrel with bilge water.

However,whether or not she’s musing over how stupidly named yetdelicious mudslides are, the end result is still Harriet goingabout doing stupid, dangerous, and/or irresponsible things whileunder the influence, frequently ending with her waking up somewheremysterious without her “peg leg.”

Fortunately,a knee-down prosthetic leg is very easy to find and bereturned to you when a large and noticeable component is a smallcutlass with Harriet’s name inscribed on the blade.

4.Favoritenon-sexual activity?:

R.O.A.R.training and traditional sword fighting for fun, with a bit ofunarmed self-defense and martial arts to mix things up. Since Audreywill “argue till the Blues find yer corpses pointing fingers ateach other like they were swords,” they solve most of their debatesand conflicts through combat.

5.Whois most likely to carry the other?:

Harriet,in spite of her having a prosthetic leg, and sometimes even withoutit, though Audrey complains loudly about the over-the-shoulder tacticthis requires, along her having to help balance Harriet while shehops around.

“I’msupposed to be able to swoon or faint while in your arms, notpitching my weight around to keep your balance!”

“D’youwant to get yer pretty little arse home, or d’you want the both ofus to sit here and wait for someone to get us un-marooned fromwherever the fuck we washed up now?!”

6.Whatis their favorite feature of their partner’s?:

Harriet’smuscular arms are Audrey’s favourite, for looking at, or especiallybeing handled with. “I got cannons lined up port and starboard,best ye think thrice ‘fore you fuck with me.”

Inpolite company, it’s Audrey’s lips, in impolite company, it’sher breasts; the courtesy and not incurring Audrey’s wrath beside,Harriet loves both equally, just in different ways.

7.What’sthe first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings forthe other?:

Harrietstarts being more specific and exclusive with her flirtations, seeingas “ye Auradon wenches like to feel like yer the only treasuresthat can catch a pirate’s eye.” There’s also floating about theidea to the other VKs in the hopes that she can subtly get themtalking about their relationships, as her pride does not let her askoutright.

Audreypanics, questions everything, makes serious, practical considerationsabout whether she would be able to let alone want to pursue arelationship with Harriet, and consumes far more piratefantasy romance novels than is probably healthy.

“Fuck’ssake, and here I thought us Villain Kids were a thirsty bunch...”when Harriet first learns of the shockingly prolific and variedmarket for “Villainous Romance” novels.

8.Nicknames?& if so, how did they originate?:

“(Me)Lovely Wench,” or just “(Me) Love,” for Audrey, “(Me)Treasure,” and “Yer Highness” are the ones Harriet uses forAudrey, the former three being her usual terms of endearment towardsher exes, and the last being because Audrey is actually royalty, andorders her around a lot like she was one of her loyal servants.

“Notentirely wrong, but not entirely right, either.”

“Honey,”“Sweetie,” “Darling,” and all the usual terms of endearmentbecause Audrey is the “Classic Princess” sort of girlfriend, butthanks to Harriet’s influence, she has also expanded her book toinclude “Fuck-Face,” “DPOS (Drunken Piece OfShit,” and the “Most Daring Pantie Raider in all ofAuradon.”

Ofthe latter half, the first is used verbally or textually, the secondis used as an acronym in informal written communication like text,and always spoken in full otherwise, and the third came fromHarriet’s habit of stealing Audrey’s panties after they have sex,and hiding it in places that forces her to wear or buy new ones, or“sail with a lovely breeze between her legs.”  

9.Whoworries the most?:

Audrey.

It’spart and parcel with her neurotic tendencies, and her hyper-focus andcare on her public image and reputation. Harriet is much morelaissez-faire, but then again, she prides personal freedom first ofall and was always comfortable with the fact that she will bedespised and feared by pretty much everyone.

“It’skind of the dream of any Pirate Queen, to have that kind ofreputation preceding ye.”

10.Whoremembers what the other one always orders at a restaurant?:

Harriet,surprisingly enough.

Asa Captain who has no qualms getting down with the crew when it’s“all hands on deck,” she’s got a very strong memory forspecific details, things she needs to do, and what happened recently,largely because she and the rest of the Villain Kids move fast, inkand paper that you can write on is a precious commodity, and theyfrequently get soaked and unreadable in rain or particularly nastysea storms.

Pleasemind that after getting to Auradon, she’s gotten a lazy streakabout her now that she can piggyback on all these people who arealready paid to do things for her. Back on the Isle, she couldn’treally afford leaving a job unfinished because no one wants to do it,lest the entire section of Hook’s own ship she controlled at themoment collapse, or her siblings get the advantage in their wrestingit from her.

Hernewfound laziness and eagerness to “delegate” bothers Audrey, butshe doesn’t complain lest she appear hypocritical to Harriet.

11.Whotops?:

Dependson who “wins” during foreplay and/or the duel beforehand.

12.Whoinitiates kisses?:

Harrietdoesn’t really do the rest of the affectionate actions likepublicly or privately declare that she loves Audrey, but if there’sone thing she loves doing, it’s publicly “claiming” and showingoff her latest treasures.

13.Whoreaches for the other’s hand first?:

Harriet,again, with the possessive nature of hers, and her paranoia of peopletaking her “treasures.” It becomes a lot less about security andmore about affection as time goes on, though.

14.Whokisses the hardest?:

Audrey.

Thereis a LOT of repressed and much more blatant and aggressive sexualityinside her, and she was keen on doing most everything she could tokeep whatever boyfriend (or in this case, girlfriend) she had withher.

Herreasons have gotten less superficial and selfish over the years, butHarriet still has this thought at the back of her head, the one thattells her to watch for Audrey pulling out a knife while she has herdistracted with the force and enthusiasm of her kisses.

Therehave also been some rather enlightening conversations with Benand Chad, over drinks and without cameras trained on them.

15.Whowakes up first?:

Harriet.

“It’sthe dawn of a new day, time to live it to the fullest!”

16.Whowants to stay in bed just a little longer?:

Audrey.

“No,it is not! Now shut up, get back in bed, and letme get the rest of my beauty sleep!”

17.Whosays I love you first?:

Harriet,because she’s already comfortable with her sexuality of “mosteverything that lives, breathes, and moves,” and because “I loveyou” doesn’t really carry as much weight in the Isle as it doesin Auradon.

Sidenote, she found the way Audrey panicked and got flustered quiteamusing.

18.Wholeaves little notes in the other’s one lunch? (Bonus: what does itusually say?):

Audrey.

Theyusually have reminders about important things that Harriet needs toshow up to like doctor’s appointments, public events, andoccasionally a “treasure map,” with specific instructions forHarriet if she wants to get to Audrey’s “treasure chest” anytime soon.

19.Whotells their family/friends about their relationship first?:

Harriet.

It’sreally nothing new for Captain Hook to hear that his kids have hookedup with someone new—he was guilty of it himself, of course.

20.Whatdo their family/friends think of their relationship?:

CJand Harry both silently make bets about how long it’s going tolast, and start thinking up angles on how to exploit it to theiradvantage, such as kidnapping Audrey and using her as a bargainingchip to get Harriet to their bidding.

(Theystopped doing it after they learned the hard way that Audrey can a bea VERY unpleasant hostage, whether or not you gag and tie her andthrow her in the deepest, most secure brig you have. She will find away, she always does.)

Hookis disappointed but understanding that she’d want to dedicateherself to someone exclusively, and hopes that it won’t hamper hisdreams of his children going on to concur Auradon, and have the Hookname live on in infamy once more.

Audrey’sfamily are all incredibly chill with it, save perhaps hergrandmother. They’ve all really gotten over the initial shock ofVKs dating AKs, and in some ways, they’re happy that Harriet isgetting Audrey to be more daring and independent, be her own personrather than just be someone’s “prize.”

Theother AKs are concerned, Ben especially with how he knows Audreyspecifcally, but they don’t really question True Love, or ones thatare Generally Good.

TheVKs wholeheartedly and passionately warn Harriet against datingAudrey because she’s several shades of problematic, but inhindsight, it’s a good thing that Harriet ultimately listens to herown thoughts than others’.

21.Whois more likely to start dancing with the other?:

Harriet.

Inthe wake of her losing her original ankle in a horrific accident, shemade it a point that she would never be handicapped by herhandicap. As a result, she trained for long hours, getting around andeventually performing acrobatics with her “peg leg,” one of hermost common exercises being forcing herself to dance to whatever seashanty the bards in her crew were playing now. It was a gruelingcouple of years, sincethe initial prototypes were prone to breaking and injuring her fromstress, excessive use, and lack of maintenance.

ToHarriet, dancing in public is a form of therapy for the lingeringshame and the difficulties of being an amputee, proudly showing offto others that she’s not any less than anyone for having one lesslimb, and if she gets to show off Audrey and the two of them have aroaring good time?

Well,that’s just the new treasure map hidden inside the chest’s lid.

22.Whocooks more/who is better at cooking?:

Audrey.

WhileHarriet has cooked for herself and others, her skills are of the “howcan I make this not terrible and actually edible” variety, whileAudrey has had rigorous training and habit of cooking, thanks to her(fairy) godmothers Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather enlisting her helpwith chores.

23.Whocomes up with cheesy pick up lines?:

Harriet.

“Wasyer mother a siren? ‘Cause that voice of yours’ got me changingcourse to yer twin peaks.”

Incase you were wondering, “twin peaks” is Harriet’s slang forboobs, especially when she’s got her face between them.

24.Whowhispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear duringinappropriate times?:

Harriet.

“How about you and me sail offinto the night, head down somewhere nice and quiet, just you and me?”Harriet says whenever she’s coaxing Audrey into leaving boring ortedious events, frequently followed by vivid descriptions ofher ideas for the moment.

25.Whoneeds more assurance?:

Audrey.

Harriethas her times when she’s unconfident or unsure, but she gets overthem quickly, as she’s always needed to put on a proud face for heryounger siblings and her crew. Meanwhile, Audrey’s whole worldtends to come falling apart when something comes along that provesthat she and her life isn’t as perfect and flawless as she thinksit should be.

26.Whatwould be their theme song?:

“SheWill Be Loved” by Maroon 5.

Audreyhas only really dated Ben her whole life. What she has of herromantic experience is strictly limited to a boyfriend that has thepatience of a saint, and a gigantic capacity for compromise andself-sacrifice.

Afterher rocky rebound relationship with Chad, Audrey quickly finds that aLOT of boys and girls (and the odd non-binary gender) are fine withjust looking at her, or stay only for the good parts and leavefor the rest of it—Auradon Kids are raised with very high, oftenunrealistic expectations for their relationships.

Harriet,in a change of pace from the usual “love ‘em and leave ‘em,then love ‘em again and leave em again, then again, and again, andagain” cycle of Isle relationships, finds herself actually growingfond of Audrey and wanting to try this “monogamy” thing as shelearns more about her past the outward facade and reputation, howshe’s broken like her in so many different ways, and that the twoof them are “floating shipwrecks waiting to crash and burn oncethey finally hit that last rock, get swept up by the storm that doesthem in, or meet someone who has the decency to finally put us out ofour miseries.”

Buteven if they’re broken and troubled and terrible people, “… Iwon’t mind being marooned on an island with just you fer company.”

27.Whowould sing to their child back to sleep?:

Theyswitch duties, depending on who’s less tired.

Audreyhas all the classic lullabies and tales of heroism, though with thenames and pronouns mixed up to reflect her new reality, Harriet has(heavily sterilized) sea shanties and tales of heradventures, with most of the bad and embarrasing (for her) parts cutout.

28.Whatdo they do when they’re away from each other?:

Harrietgoes about her usual business “lookin’ for loot, and spendin’it just as quickly,” trying to be a responsible adult all byherself, or hanging out with her new “crews” on land or at sea.

Audreyusually attends to the more delicate and sensitive duties that can dowithout Harriet’s “unique perspective,” like small meetings andevents with the other Royals and upper crust of Auradon, alongsidehanging out with her friends and being less dependent on Harriet forher social needs, and “me time” such as shopping for clothes,going to spas, and educating herself about numerous matters.

29.oneheadcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart:

It’snot really new for Harriet to not come home, or crash at any of herfriends’ places after going out drinking. Audrey has long acceptedthat her girlfriend is an alcoholic, and tries her best to mitigatethe effects of that.

Whenit goes WAY too far, however, is not the time Harriet throws up on adistinguished individual, or when she humiliates herself and Audreyon live television while she’s all out blitzed, it’s when shegets into a car crash after trying to drive herself back home, andit’s only through luck that it was her prosthetic leg that gotcrushed beyond repair.

It’straumatizing for Harriet as she’s reminded of her mortality and thelimits of her body, and it’s even more traumatizing for Audrey whohas to face the facts that Harriet’s old problems and habits aremuch worse, that she almost lost her for good, and that forthe sake of both of them, serious, much more dire steps needto be taken to reform her.

Audreyquickly becomes overbearing and even more strict than usual, losing alot of the warmth and affection that Harriet likes and needs fromher, and it gets so bad that Harriet finally snaps, yelling at herand telling her to leave her alone, “I don’t need yer help, nowget outta my sight!”

Audreyis initially stunned, then she’s confused, then she’s angry, thenshe’s saddened, and finally horrified. Harriet sees the realizationin her eyes, but her pride and old, maladaptive habits keep her fromdoing anything but continue to yell at her until one of the nursescall her out and Audrey leaves the hospital in tears.

Laterthat night in the recovery ward with all the other amputees, Harrietonce more finds herself laying down in a bed she can’t get up from,staring at the space where her right ankle used to be, and beingreminded that it’s gone forever, there is no turning back in time,or getting a replacement that could come close to the original.

Andfor the few times in her life, she feels scared, sad, and alone—sovery alone…

30.oneheadcanon about this OTP that mends it:

Therest of the VKs and the AKs quickly swoop in and take it uponthemselves to help save this relationship and their friends, bygetting Audrey to back off and trust that Harriet does not needsomeone to constantly baby her and dictate her every move, that heraffections have gone too far and it’s suffocating Harriet, and forHarriet to finally get a chance to directly and frankly share withAudrey that she never likes feeling like someone is telling her whatto do, because she hates people treating her like she’s tooincompetent to make a responsible decision by herself.

OnHarriet’s side, she’s given plenty of hard lessons with showingvulnerability, reaching out to others, and asking for help when she’sfallen down and can’t get back up, sometimes literally because sheonly has one leg, she’s lost her crutch, and has nothing nearby tograb and pull herself up by.

Ittakes a lot of time with just their friends and trained, professionaltherapists before they can or are willing see each other again, buteventually, Audrey and Harriet sit down for tea once more with justthe two of them at the table. It’s horribly awkward for a longwhile as Audrey sees Harriet’s crutch resting nearby, and Harrietsees that Audrey definitely looks sorry and repentant for the helllined with good intentions she put her through.

Eventually,the two of them blurt out “I’m sorry!” at each other, and goabout discussing all the ways they messed up, and how they’re goingto get better in the future.

Severalweeks later, Audrey wheels Harriet out of the hospital herself,before they take a picture together of her standing with her brandnew titanium “peg leg,” this time with a much better swordintegrated into the model itself.

Tocelebrate, the two of them quickly find a good spot in the parkinglot, and have their first duel in far too long.

Harrietloses, because her new leg is without all the design flaws, damage,and less-than-ideal repair solutions she’s used to, but Audreypromises there’ll be many more rematches in the future.

Interestedin financially supporting my writing habit? Consider donating to myPatreon!

[madoka-ikaruga]

the press conference (tazswap version)

hey so... @trainwreckgenerator‘s tazswap is giving me So much happiness, so I kind of rewrote the press conference bit in Episode 61 slightly to fit with tres rowdy girls, so. i thank god regularly for tazswap

The lights come up on stage, and the curtain rises over the seven of them as they stand, almost a little awkwardly. The introductory video just ended, and the press and reporters are eagerly clicking their fantasy DSLRs, trying to get the best possible angle of the seven brave explorers, heading out to see what lies beyond this Earth.

One of the others on stage tears off the large tarp off of the ship, with the name Starblaster etched onto the side of it. It is silver, and shining like starlight. It is about the size of a yacht, with a large elevated bridge, and a gorgeous, shimmering white ring tethered to the back of the deck. The paparazzi oohs and aahs, pictures and flashes of cameras being snapped left and right.

Davenport steps up to the microphone, coughing slightly to attract the attention of the reporters. The cameras almost immediately turn on him.

“This ship,” he begins, gesturing to it, “the Starblaster, it doesn’t run on any kind of fuel you’ve ever heard of. It doesn’t run on any kind of fuel at all, actually. This was the biggest discovery that the light of creation allowed us to harness. That ring powers the ship using Bonds.”

A couple of confused reporters cock their heads to the side.

“What we discovered while studying the light of creation’s power is that any two things in existence, from the whales in the sea, to the dust in the air, to every individual teaspoon in your kitchen cabinets back home are connected, somehow, by bonds. Bonds cover any number of observable phenomena, such as magnetism and gravity, electro and covalent bonds, but there’s infinite unobservable threads holding the matter of our universe together.”

More confusion. Davenport bites his lip, and tries again.

“In a manner of speaking, the interpersonal connections that we share are a type of bond, too. Emotion. Sympathy. You could call this a love boat, if you wanted to be extremely reductive. Bonds are what propel and power this ship, and it’s what’s going to allow us to go to places we’ve never even dreamed of.”

A reporter raises his hand, and Davenport gestures at him.

“Uh, Captain Davenport? Steve Johnson, Fantasy Times. Uh, did you say that the ship was called the Starblaster?”

“Yes, our R&D team was very, very excited about the name Starblaster.” Davenport says, completely deadpan. The seven behind him weren’t that lucky, covering their mouths as they giggled. “We were really excited about that name and we think it’s got a lot of brand potential.”

Another reporter raises their hand.

“Uh, Captain Davenport? Rex Reed, Hollywudd Reporter, that’s H-O-L-L-Y-W-U-U-D, a town near Neverwinter – um, you’re not gonna say anything about midichlorians or anything? Midichlorians were not involved in this process, were they?”

“Um, I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Davenport replies, brow furrowing. “So…I guess not?”

“Good, good.”

The computer being held up in the audience crackles with static, and everyone is momentarily stunned.

“Hey, my name is Rod Peterwax from The Freedom Constitutional, thanks for Skypin’ me in.” the static-y voice on the other end says.

“Yeah, no problem.” Davenport replies, smiling. “I’m glad to have you, we’re a big fan of your publication.”

“Yeah, so. Who’s paying for this thing? Us, the tax payers?”

“Good science pays for itself, who knows what we’re gonna discover out there, uh, y’know we’ve already made several exciting discoveries in building the ship that we’re gonna be able to sort of turn into exciting products.”

Rod seems to have something else to say, but the computer crackles again, and Davenport figures that they’re not going to get much out of that area for the time being.

“Uh, Captain Davenport?” a loud voice pipes out. “Clomp Hoofman, Minotaur Monthly, um, quick question: what’s your end-? What are you hoping to discover out on the reaches of this, uh, planar- what’d you call it?”

“The outskirts of our planar system, and that’s a great question, I’m gonna let our sort of science expert Kravitz up here to answer that question for us.”

Davenport steps off, and Kravitz starts up the way to the microphone. Lup bumps Taako a little, and Taako pulls his hat over his eyes.

“For the time being, we’re not sure what’s out there beyond this planar system.” Kravitz says, looking out at the crowd. “There could be new life forms, new types of energy. New worlds to inhabit. From a scientific perspective, the possibilities are limitless.”

“Nerd alert,” Lup whispers, and Taako almost whacks her. Kravitz either doesn’t hear it, or doesn’t respond, tone still smooth as he continues to speak.

“All things considered, I’m excited about the opportunity to get out there and find new things.” he says, succinctly, and returns to his seat.

A reporter waves his hand aggressively, jumping up and down until someone passes him a microphone.

“Uh. Captain? Cliff Cleveland, Boston Messenger. Uh, I’d like to ask a question of the dwarf member of your crew. Can I ask her a question?”

“Of course,” Davenport says, nodding. “This is Hecuba Highchurch, head physician and biologist. Hecuba, please come up to the mic.”

Hecuba waddles up, stepping onto the bench to get access to the microphone, quietly muttering about how this place didn’t really cater to dwarves, or gnomes, for that matter. She taps the mic, confirming it was on, and then leaned forward to speak.

“Yes, what is it?” she asks.

“As – As clearly the most beautiful member on this team,” Cliff begins, and the six behind her (namely Lup and Taako) groan slightly. “I – I want to know, is there anyone back at home waiting for you to come back on this mission?”

“No,” she says flatly. “I’m single as of this moment, and they said we couldn’t retain any connections with anyone here, just in case we were delayed.”

“Nobody told me that,” Julia says, and Hecuba turns to her.

“They told me.”

“That’s weird.”

A different reporter waves his hand.

“Hi, Jeff Jeffins from The Jeff Report, just wanted to ask you, Ms. Highchurch, how does a woman like you end up on an interplanar science expedition?” he says. Hecuba gives him a long, hard, stare.

“If you weren’t aware, most of the people on this expedition are women.” she says, slowly. “That’s all I have to say about that.”

Thoroughly burned, Jeff recoils slightly, only to be replaced by another reporter almost immediately.

“Whisp Blinkman from The Eye of the Beholder\geocities.com. Are you worried about any kind of run-ins with any kind of a beings out there in the void?”

Davenport walks up just as Hecuba walks down, giving her a quick high five before making his way up to the microphone.

“This ship is called the Starblaster, but it isn’t, however, equipped with blasters of any kind. However, we do have a security officer on the ship, Ms. Julia Burnsides. Julia, maybe you could answer this one.”

Julia smiles, and makes her way up to the microphone, smiling down at reporters. The cameras flash more.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat the question?” she asks, and Whisp seems visibly stricken.

“Ah – Ah, yes. Are there any weapons on board?” he replies, microphone shaking in his hand.

“No,” Julia says, looking back at the crew, and then at the Starblaster. “But I believe we’re all very capable of fighting without the use of any weapons, so there’s no need to worry.”

She steps back down, Davenport high fiving her as well before returning back to the seats. The line for questions shuffle along. Davenport isn’t aware when they started to line up.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Fraiser Crane, from the Fraiser Crane Show. Uh, question for Lup – I believe it’s Lup, according to her shirt – yes, what exactly do you do on the ship?”

Lup cocks her head to the side before coming up, coughing slightly.

“Well, uh. What I do, what me and Taako do, really, is that…we’re magic users, of course, so that’s one thing, but we also cook? We’re like…the sickest wizards and arcana users you can find on the ship. So that’s – that’s what we do.”

The line shuffles along. At the next presence, people step far back from the bugbear up at the microphone, as smartly dressed as he was, wearing glasses and a nice hat, and holding a notepad.

“Uh, Jamie Green from Bugbear Times. Uh, can you tell us about, a little bit about the one lady in the back that hasn’t said anything yet so far in the press conference and what purpose she serves?” he asks. Davenport furrows his brow again, but walks to the mic.

“Well, Lucretia will be serving as our chronicler during our journey. Lucretia, would you like to come up and explain more about what you’ll be doing for us?”

Lucretia seems a little shell shocked, like a deer caught in headlights, but walks up to the microphone, hands shaking ever so slightly.

“Well, uh, hi. My name is Lucretia. I will be the chronicler on this journey, which means I’m going to write down everything that happens up there.”

“That’s it?” Jamie asks, and Lucretia shrugs.

“I’m a biographer by trade. You may not know my name, but I’ve definitely ghost-written something you’ve read.” She turns back to the ship, smiling faintly. “I think…I think the story of the Starblaster will be a story worth telling well.”

She returns to her seat with that gorgeous nugget of information, and Davenport comes up again.

“Okay, okay. One last question.” he says, and one reporter almost soars out of her seat.

“Hi, I’d like to get a quote from Taako as well. Taako, are you really comfortable with leaving this world behind for such a long stretch of time?” she says, and Taako holds his hand to his chest, pleasantly surprised. He comes up to the microphone, adjusting it slightly.

“Well…Lup and I…well, I did this world already. I did this world and…you know. Crushed it. I’m pretty excited to get off this hunk of dirt, and uh. See what else is out there. It’d be pretty cool to expand the cooking thing to somewhere other than this, uh, stink-planet.” he says, and then starts back to his seat.

Julia raises her hand for a high five, and Taako grins, slapping his hand against hers, before immediately running back to the microphone, holding it right to his lips, leaning almost over the podium.

“And another thing! Sazed – you owe me fifteen fuckin’ dollars, and I aim to collect, you better believe, Sazed.” He extends his arm, holding the microphone over the stage.

Davenport runs up to stop him while Lup claps and whistles in glee as Taako drops the microphone, leaving the press conference with a loud, painful screech of static.

[lesbianrewrites]

The Martian Chaper 11

*disclaimer* This is a project done for fun, and none of these characters/works belong to me. I do not claim to own any of the material on this page.

This is a Lesbian edit of The Martian by Andy Weir.

Chapters will be posted every day at 2pm EST.

Google doc version can be found here. The chapter can also be found under the cut. Enjoy!

CHAPTER XI

“Something’s coming in… yes… yes! It’s Pathfinder!” The room burst in to applause and cheers. Venkat slapped an unknown technician heartily on the back while Bruce pumped his fist in the air. The ad-hoc control center was an accomplishment in itself. JPL had just 20 days to piece together antiquated computers, repair broken components, network everything, and install hastily made software to interact with the modern Deep Space Network. A team of engineers had worked around the clock, finishing only two days earlier. The room itself was formerly a conference room; JPL had no space ready for the sudden need. Crammed with computers and equipment, little space was left over for the many spectators squeezing in. One Associated Press camera team was permitted. The rest of the media would have to satisfy themselves with the live AP feed, and await a press conference. Venkat turned to Bruce. “God damn, Bruce. You really pulled a rabbit out of your hat this time! Good work!” “I’m just the director,” Bruce said modestly. “Thank the guys who got all this shit working.” “Oh I will!” Venkat beamed. “But first I have to talk to my new best friend!” Turning to the headsetted man at the communications console, Venkat asked “What���s you’re name, new best friend?” “Tim,” he said, not taking his eyes off the screen. “What now?” Venkat asked. “We sent the return telemetry automatically. It’ll get there in just over 11 minutes. Once it does, Pathfinder will start high-gain transmissions. So it’ll be 22 minutes till we hear from it again.” “Venkat’s got a doctorate in physics, Tim,” Bruce said, “You don’t need to explain transmission time to him.” Tim shrugged. “You can never tell with managers.” “What was in the transmission we got?” Venkat asked. “Just the bare bones. A hardware self check. It’s got a lot of “nonfunctional” systems, cause they were on the panels Watney removed.” “What about the camera?” “It says the imager’s working. We’ll have it take a panorama as soon as we can.”

LOG ENTRY: SOL 97 It worked! Holy fucking shit it worked! I just checked the Lander. The high gain antenna is angled directly at Earth! Pathfinder has no way of knowing where it is, so it has no way of knowing where Earth is. The only way for it to find out is getting a signal. They know I’m alive! Happy dance, happy dance, I’m doin’ the happy dance! All right. Enough happy dance. Time to make with the communicatin’!

“We received the high-gain response just over half an hour ago,” Venkat said to the assembled press. “We immediately directed Pathfinder to take a panoramic image. Hopefully, Watney has some kind of message for us. Questions?” The sea of reporters raised their hands. “Cathy, let’s start with you,” Venkat said, pointing her out. “Thanks,” she said. “Have you had any contact with the Sojourner rover?” “Unfortunately, no,” he replied. “The Lander hasn’t been able to connect to Sojourner, and we have no way to contact it directly.” “What might be wrong with Sojourner?” “I can’t even speculate,” Venkat said. “After spending that long on Mars, anything could be wrong with it.” “Best guess?” “Our best guess is she took it into the Hab. The Lander’s signal wouldn’t be able to reach Sojourner through Hab canvas.” Pointing to another reporter, he said “You, there.” “Marty West, NBC News,” Marty said. “How will you communicate with Watney once everything’s up and running?” “That’ll be up to Watney,” said Venkat. “All we have to work with is the camera. She can write notes and hold them up. But how we talk back is trickier.” “How so?” Marty asked. “Because all we have is the camera platform. That’s the only moving part. There are plenty of ways to get information across with just the platform’s rotation, but no way to tell Watney about them. She’ll have to come up with something and tell us. We’ll follow her lead.” Pointing to the next reporter, he said, “Go ahead.” “Jill Holbrook, BBC. With a 32 minute round trip, and nothing but a single rotating platform to talk with, it’ll be a dreadfully slow conversation, won’t it?” “Yes it will,” Venkat confirmed. “It’s early morning in Acidalia Planitia right now, and just past 3am here in Pasadena. We’ll be here all night, and that’s just for a start. No more questions for now, the panorama is due back in a few minutes. We’ll keep you posted.” Quickly leaving the press room, Venkat hurried down the hall to the makeshift Pathfinder control center. He pressed through the throng to the communications console. “Anything, Tim?” “Totally,” he replied. “But we’re staring at this black screen because it’s way more interesting than pictures from Mars.” “You’re a smart-ass, Tim,” Venkat said. “Noted.” Bruce pushed his way forward. “Still another few seconds on the clock,” he said. The time passed in silence. “Getting something,” Tim said. “Yup. It’s the panoramic.” A general loosening of tension coruscated through the room as the image slowly came through, one vertical stripe at a time. “Martian surface…” Venkat said as the lines displayed. “More surface…” “Edge of the Hab!” Bruce said, pointing to the screen. “Hab,” Venkat smiled. “More Hab now… more Hab… is that a message? That’s a message!” The vertical stripes revealed a handwritten note, suspended at the camera’s height by a thin metal rod. “We got a note from Maia!” Venkat announced to the room. Applause filled the room, then quickly died down. “What’s it say?” someone asked. Venkat leaned closer to the screen. “It says …‘I’ll write questions here – Are you receiving?’” “Ok…?” said Bruce. “That’s what it says,” Venkat shrugged. “Another note,” said Tim, pointing to the screen as the slow march of data revealed itself. Venkat leaned in again. “This one says ‘Point here for yes’.” “All right, I see what she’s going for,” said Bruce. “There’s the third note,” said Tim. “‘Point here for no,’” Venkat read. “‘Will check often for answer’” Venkat folded his arms. “All right. We have communication with Maia. Tim, point the camera at ‘Yes’. Then, start taking pictures at 10 minute intervals until she puts another question up.”

LOG ENTRY: SOL 97 (2) “Yes!” They said “Yes!” I haven’t been this excited about a “yes” since prom night! Ok, calm down. I have limited paper to work with. These cards were intended to label batches of samples. I have about 50 cards. I can use both sides, and if it comes down to it, I can re-use them by scratching out the old question. The Sharpie I’m using will last much longer than the cards, so ink isn’t a problem. But I have to do all my writing in the Hab. I don’t know what kind of hallucinogenic crap that ink is made of, but I’m pretty sure it would boil off in 1/90th of an atmosphere. I’m using old parts of the antenna array to hold the cards up. There’s a certain irony in that. We’ll need to talk faster than yes/no questions every half-hour. The camera can rotate 360 degrees, and I have plenty of antenna parts. Time to make an alphabet. But I can’t just use the letters A through Z. With my Question Card, that would be 27 cards around the lander. Each one would only get 13 degrees of arc. Even if JPL points the camera perfectly, there’s a good chance I won’t know which letter they meant. So I’ll have to use ASCII. That’s how computers manage characters. Each character has a numerical code between 0 and 255. Values between 0 and 255 can be expressed as 2 hexadecimal digits. By giving me pairs of hex digits, they can send any character they like, including numbers, punctuation, etc. How do I know which values go with which characters? Because Johanssen’s laptop is a wealth of information. I knew she’d have an ASCII table in there somewhere. All computer geeks do. So I’ll make cards for 0 through 9, and A through F. That makes 16 cards to place around the camera, plus the Question Card. 17 cards means over 21 degrees each. Much easier to deal with. Time to get to work! Spell with ASCII. Numbers 0-F at 21 degree increments. Will watch camera starting 11:00 my time. When message done, return to this position. Wait 20 minutes after completion to take picture (So I can write and post reply). Repeat process at top of every hour. S…T…A…T…U…S No physical problems. All Hab components functional. Eating 3/4 rations. Successfully growing crops in Hab with cultivated soil. Note: Situation not Ares 3 crew’s fault. Bad luck. H…O…W…A…L…I…V…E Impaled by antenna fragment. Knocked out by decompression. Landed face down, blood sealed hole. Woke up after crew left. Bio-monitor computer destroyed by puncture. Crew had reason to think me dead. Not their fault. C…R…O…P…S…? Long story. Extreme Botany. Have 126 m2 farmland growing potatoes. Will extend food supply, but not enough to last until Ares 4 landing. Modified rover for long distance travel, plan to drive to Ares 4. W…E…S…A…W…-…S…A…T…L…I…T…E Government watching me with satellites? Need tinfoil hat! Also need faster way to communicate. Speak&Spell taking all damn day. Any ideas? B…R…I…N…G…S…J…R…N…R…O…U…T Sojourner rover brought out, placed 1 meter due north of Lander. If you can contact it, I can draw hex numbers on the wheels and you can send me six bytes at a time. S…J…R…N…R…N…O…T…R…S…P…N…D Damn. Any other ideas? Need faster communication. W…O…R…K…I…N…G…O…N…I…T Earth is about to set. Resume 08:00 my time tomorrow morning. Tell family I’m fine. Give crew my best. Tell Commander Lewis disco sucks.

“I was up all night,” said Venkat. “Forgive me if I’m a little punchy. Who are you again?” “Jack Trevor,” said the thin, pale man before Venkat. “I work in software engineering.” “What can I do for you?” “We have an idea for communication.” “I’m all ears.” “We’ve been looking through the old Pathfinder software. We got duplicate computers up and running for testing. Same computers they used to find a problem that almost killed the original mission. Real interesting story, actually, turns out there was a priority inversion in Sojourner’s thread management and-” “Focus, Jack,” interrupted Venkat. “Right. Well, the thing is, Pathfinder has an OS update process. So we can change the software to anything we want.” “Ok, how does this help us?” “Pathfinder has two communication systems. One to talk to us, the other to talk to Sojourner. We can change the second system to broadcast on the Ares-3 rover frequency. And we can have it pretend to be the beacon signal from the Hab.” “You can get Pathfinder talking to Maia’s rover?” “It’s the only option. The Hab’s radio is dead. Thing is, all the rover does is triangulate the signal to fix its location. It doesn’t send data back to the Hab. It just has a voice channel for the astronauts to talk to each other.” “So,” Venkat said, “You can get Pathfinder talking to the rover, but you can’t get the rover talking back.” “Right. What we want is for our text to show up on the rover screen, and whatever Watney types to be sent back to us. That requires a change to the rover’s software.” “And we can’t do that,” Venkat concluded. “Because we can’t talk to the rover.” “Not directly,” Jack said. “But we can send data to Watney, and have her enter it into the rover.” “How much data are we talking about?” “I have guys working on the rover software right now. The patch file will be 20 Meg, minimum. We can send one byte to Watney every 4 seconds or so with the ‘Speak&Spell.’ It’d take three years of constant broadcasting to get that patch across. So that’s no good.” “But you’re talking to me, so you have a solution, right?” Venkat probed. “Of course!” Jack beamed. “Software engineers are sneaky bastards when it comes to data management.” “Enlighten me,” said Venkat, patiently. “Here’s the clever part,” Jack said, conspiratorially. “The rover currently parses the signal into bytes, then identifies the specific sequence the Hab sends. That way, natural radio waves won’t throw off the homing. If the bytes aren’t right, the rover ignores them.” “Ok, so what?” “It means there’s a spot in the codebase where it’s got the parsed bytes. We can insert a tiny bit of code, just 20 instructions, to write the parsed bytes to a log file before checking their validity.” “This sounds promising…” Venkat said. “It is!” Jack said excitedly. “First, we update Pathfinder with our replacement OS. Then, we tell Watney exactly how to hack the rover software to add those 20 instructions. Then we broadcast the rover’s patch to Pathfinder, which re-broadcasts it to the rover. The rover logs the bytes to a file. Finally, Watney launches the file as an executable and it patches the rover software!” Venkat furrowed his brow, taking in far more information than his sleep-deprived mind wanted to accept. “Um,” Jack said. “You’re not cheering or dancing.” “So we just need to send Watney those 20 instructions?” Venkat asked. “That, and how to edit the files. And where to insert the instructions in the files.” “Just like that?” “Just like that!” Venkat was silent for a moment. “Jack. I’m going to buy your whole team autographed Star Trek memorabilia.” “I prefer Star Wars.”

“Hello?” “I need a picture of Watney.” “Hi, Annie. Nice to hear from you, too. How are things back in Houston?” “Cut the shit, Venkat. I need a picture.” “It’s not that simple,” Venkat explained. “You’re talking to her with a fucking camera. How hard can it be?” “We spell out our message, wait 20 minutes and then take a picture. Watney’s back in the Hab by then.” “So tell her to be around when you take the next picture,” Annie demanded. “We can only send one message per hour, and only when Acidalia Planitia is facing Earth,” Venkat said. “We’re not going to waste a message just to tell her to pose for a photo. Besides, she’ll be in her EVA suit. You won’t even be able to see her face.” “I need something, Venkat,” Annie said. “You’ve been in contact for 24 hours and the media is going ape shit. They want an image for the story. It’ll be on every news site in the world.” “You have the pictures of her notes. Make do with that.” “Not enough,” Annie said. “The press is crawling down my throat for this. And up my ass. Both directions, Venkat! They’re gonna meet in the middle!” “It’ll have to wait a few days. We’re going to try and link Pathfinder to the rover computer-“ “A few days!?” Annie gasped. “This is all anyone cares about right now. In the world. You see what I’m getting at? This is the biggest story since Apollo 13. Give me a fucking picture!” Venkat sighed. “I’ll try to get it tomorrow.” “Great!” She said. “Looking forward to it.”

LOG ENTRY: SOL 98 I have to be watching the camera when it spells shit out. It’s half a byte at a time. So I watch a pair of numbers, then look them up on an ASCII cheat-sheet I made. That’s one letter. I don’t want to forget any letters, so I scrape them into the dirt with a rod. The process of looking up a letter and scraping it in the dirt takes a couple of seconds. Sometimes when I look back at the camera, I’ve missed a number. I can usually guess it from context, but other times I just miss out. Today I got up hours earlier than I needed to. It was like Christmas morning! I could hardly wait for 08:00 to roll around. I had breakfast, did some unnecessary checks on Hab equipment, and read some Poirot. Finally the time came! “CNHAKRVR2TLK2PTHFDRPRP4LONGMSG” Yeah. Took me a minute. “Can hack rover to talk to Pathfinder. Prepare for long message.” That took some mental gymnastics to work out. But it was great news! If we could get that set up, we’d only be limited by transmission time! I set up a note that said “Roger.” Not sure what they meant by “long message” but I figured I better be ready. I went out 15 minutes before the top of the hour and smoothed out a big area of dirt. I found the longest antenna rod I had, so I could reach into the smooth area without having to step on it. Then I stood by. Waiting. At exactly the top of the hour, the message came. “LNCHhexiditONRVRCMP,OPENFILE-/usr/lib/habcomm.so-SCROLLTILIDXON LFTIS:2AAE5,OVRWRT141BYTSWTHDATAWE’LLSNDNXTMSG,STANDINVIE W4NXTPIC20MINFTERTHSDONE” Jesus. Ok… They want me to launch ‘hexedit’ on the rover’s computer, then open the file /usr/lib/habcomm.so, scroll until the index reading on the left of the screen is 2AAE5, then replace the bytes there with a 141 byte sequence NASA will send in the next message. Fair enough. Also, for some reason, they want me to hang around for the next pic. Not sure why. You can’t see any part of me when I’m in the suit. Even the faceplate would reflect too much light. Still, it’s what they want. I went back in and copied down the message for future reference. Then I wrote a short note and came back out. Usually I’d pin up the note and go back in. But this time I had to hang around for a photo op. I gave the camera a thumb’s-up to go along with my note, which said “Ayyyyyy!” Blame the ‘70’s TV.

“I ask for a picture and I get The Fonz?” Annie admonished. “You got your picture, quit bitching,” Venkat said, cradling the phone on his shoulder. He paid more attention to the schematics in front of him than the conversation. “Ayyyyyy!” Annie mocked. “Why would she do that?” “Have you met Maia Watney?” “Fine, fine,” Annie said. “But I want a pic of her face ASAP.” “Can’t do that.” “Why not?” “Because if she takes off her helmet, she’ll die. Annie, I have to go, one of the JPL programmers is here and it’s urgent. Bye!” “But-“ Annie said as he hung up. Jack, in the doorway, said “It’s not urgent.” “Yeah, I know,” Venkat said. “What can I do for you?” “We were thinking,” Jack began, “This rover hack might get kind of detailed. We may have to do a bunch of back-and-forth communication with Watney.” “That’s fine,” Venkat said. “Take your time, do it right.” “We could get things done faster with a shorter transmission time,” Jack said. Venkat gave him a puzzled look. “Do you have a plan for moving Earth and Mars closer together?” “Earth doesn’t have to be involved,” Jack said. “Hermes is 73 million km from Mars right now. Only 4 light-minutes away. Beth Johanssen is a great programmer. She could talk Maia through it.” “Out of the question,” Venkat said. “She’s the mission Sysop,” Jack pressed on, “This is her exact area of expertise.” “Can’t do it, Jack. The crew still doesn’t know.” “What is with you? Why won’t you just tell them?” “Watney’s not my only responsibility,” Venkat said. “I’ve got five other astronauts in deep space, who have to concentrate on their return trip. Nobody thinks about it, but statistically they’re in more danger than Watney right now. She’s on a planet. They’re in space.” Jack raised his arms. “Fine, we’ll do it the slow way.”

LOG ENTRY: SOL 98 (2) Ever transcribed 141 random bytes, one half of a byte at a time? It’s boring. And it’s tricky when you don’t have a pen. Earlier, I had just written letters in the sand. But this time, I needed a way to get the numbers on to something portable. My first plan was: Use a laptop! Each crewman had their own laptop. So I have six at my disposal. Rather, I “had” six. I now have five. I thought a laptop would be fine outside. It’s just electronics, right? It’ll keep warm enough to operate in the short term, and it doesn’t need air for anything. It died instantly. The screen went black before I was out of the airlock. Turns out the “L” in “LCD” stands for “Liquid.” I guess it either froze or boiled off. Maybe I’ll post a consumer review. “Brought product to surface of Mars. It stopped working. 0/10.” So I used a camera. I’ve got lots of them, specially made for working on Mars. I wrote the bytes in the sand as they came in, took a picture, then transcribed them in the Hab. It’s night now, so no more messages. Tomorrow, I’ll enter this in to the rover and the geeks at JPL can take it from there.

“Come on up here, Jack,” said Venkat. “You get to be the most Timward today.” “Thanks,” said Jack, taking Venkat’s place next to Tim. “Heya, Tim!” “Jack,” said Tim. “How long will the patch take?” Venkat asked. “Should be pretty much instant,” Jack answered. “Watney entered the hack earlier today, and we confirmed it worked. We updated Pathfinder’s OS without any problems. We sent the rover patch, which Pathfinder rebroadcast. Once Watney executes the patch and reboots the rover, we should get a connection.” “Jesus what a complicated process,” Venkat said. “Try updating a Linux server some time,” Jack said. After a moment of silence, Tim said “You know he was telling a joke, right? That was supposed to be funny.” “Oh,” said Venkat. “I’m a physics guy, not a computer guy.” “He’s not funny to computer guys either.” “You’re a very unpleasant man, Tim,” Jack said. “System’s online,” said Tim. “What?” “It’s online. FYI.” “Holy crap!” Jack said. “It worked!” Venkat announced to the room. [11:18]JPL: Maia, this is Venkat Kapoor. We’ve been watching you since Sol 49. The whole world’s been rooting for you. Amazing job, getting Pathfinder. We’re working on rescue plans. JPL is adjusting Ares 4’s MDV to do a short overland flight. They’ll pick you up, then take you with them to Schiaparelli. We’re putting together a supply mission to keep you fed till Ares 4 arrives. [11:29]WATNEY: Glad to hear it. Really looking forward to not dying. I want to make it clear it wasn’t the crew’s fault. Side question: What did they say when they found out I was alive? Also, “Hi, mom!” [11:41]JPL: Tell us about your “crops”. We estimated your food packs would last until Sol 400 at 3/4 ration per meal. Will your crops affect that number? As to your question: We haven’t told the crew you’re alive yet. We wanted them to concentrate on their own mission. [11:52]WATNEY: The crops are potatoes, grown from the ones we were supposed to prepare on Thanksgiving. They’re doing great, but the available farmland isn’t enough for sustainability. I’ll run out food around Sol 900. Also: Tell the crew I’m alive! What the fuck is wrong with you? [12:04]JPL: We’ll get botanists in to ask detailed questions and double-check your work. Your life is at stake, so we want to be sure. Sol 900 is great news. It’ll give us a lot more time to get the supply mission together. Also, please watch your language. Everything you type is being broadcast live all over the world. [12:15]WATNEY: Look! A pair of boobs! -> (.Y.)

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Teddy said into the phone. “I appreciate the call, and I’ll pass your congratulations on to the whole organization.” “Thank you, Mr. President,” Teddy said in to the phone. “I appreciate the call, and I’ll pass your congratulations on to the whole organization.” “This a good time?” Mitch asked. “Come in, Mitch,” Teddy said. “Have a seat.” “Thanks,” Mitch said, sitting in a fine leather couch. “Good day today!” “Yes, it was,” Teddy agreed. “Another step closer to getting Watney back alive.” “Yeah, about that,” said Mitch. “You probably know why I’m here.” “I can take a guess,” said Teddy. “You want to tell the crew Watney’s alive.” “Yes,” Mitch said. “And you’re bringing this up with me while Venkat is in Pasadena, so he can’t argue the other side.” “I shouldn’t have to clear this with you or Venkat or anyone else. I’m the flight director. It should have been my call from the beginning, but you two stepped in and overrode me. Ignoring all that, we agreed we’d tell them when there was hope. And now there’s hope. We’ve got communication, we have a plan for rescue in the works, and her farm buys us enough time to get her supplies.” “Ok, tell them.” Teddy said. Mitch paused. “Just like that?” “I knew you’d be here sooner or later, so I already thought it through and decided. Go ahead and tell them.” Mitch stood up. “All right. Thanks,” he said as he left the office. Teddy swiveled in his chair and looked out his windows to the night sky. He pondered the faint, red dot amongst the stars. “Hang in there Watney,” he said to no one. “We’re coming.”