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greenninjagal-blog · 4 years ago

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The Space Between Us

Alien au? Alien au! I have no self control! Please accept this one shot that quickly spiraled into 23 pages of Virgil being a disaster in space. (If you guys enjoy it, let me know because I’m considering making it a series.)

Summary: The cosmos is a Gigantic place and somehow Virgil’s past still catches up to him.

Words: 11400

TW: Human trafficking, Human experimentation, dehumanization, fighting rings,

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

Read on Ao3 || General Writing Masterlist

“Tell me again why this is absolutely necessary?” Virgil asked, watching Logan’s hands dance across the console. On any other day the sight would be comforting. Every time his digits landed on a key, his nerves glowed with sparks of multicolored light through his transparent crystal skin, creating a beautiful firework show right in front of them all. Logan had told him once it was called Lightdancing, an evolutionary adaptation of the Tenkarie people: their bodies were near invisible in dim light, and they could control the pulses of light just enough to attract other cave dwelling creatures to them before striking the killing blow.

Now, though, the sight made Virgil’s stomach churn. Logan’s lights were a calculated system that he had trained to hone better than most of his race: he could make any part of his body glow at a brightness ranging from a flickering candle light to a flood light, he could make his whole body radiate or he could make just the tip of one of his sixteen fingers, he could even change the color of the light with just a thought. Virgil had always been glad that Logan was the only Tenkarie that dared venture from their caves on L0-G1C; Logan’s kind had perfected the use lights and dancing which made all other creatures become so nauseated they couldn’t fight back or become so mesmerized by the swirling motions that they didn’t see the attacks.

(Of course, because Virgil was rather distinctly human, it took longer for either of the effects of Logan’s fighting to work, which had saved both their lives more than once.)

However, in contrast to the usual focus of Logan’s fingertips on the control panel, lights were flickering all over his body, up and down each of his four arms and burning from the notches around his neck. The lack of control was enough to make Virgil’s stomach churn.

“Because its Remus,” Roman replied, although it didn’t help that he said his brother's name the same way he might have said puppy kicker.

“And we care about Remus because....?” Virgil prompted, running his fingers over his satchel again, checking the latches to make sure they were still there, still closed, still containing the supplies within. “If my memory serves me correctly, Remus was the one that set us up to be ambushed by those space pirates the other week. You know, the ones that nearly killed Patton?”

“We care because, in Erefrenian customs, blood bonds are the most sacred of bonds.” Logan supplied distractedly. “And Remus invoked the Oath of Brothers, which means that if Roman were to ignore his call for aid, Roman’s honor would be forever stained which would prevent him from crossing to the planes of heroes after his death according to the religion of his people.”

“Yeah that,” Roman says, even less excited than Logan at the idea. The bone spikes along his spine had been secreting that red poison that usually only happened when he got annoyed or anxious. Virgil had learned quickly to stay away from him when he was like that: touching it merely made Virgil’s limbs feel pins and needles, but the Orlun thief had screamed until unconsciousness.

It was one of the (very) few perks of being a Deathworlder, Virgil supposed. Most of the things that hurt the other species out here usually had a looser effect on humans because humans rarely made it this far. In fact, it was illegal for humans to get this far by at least sixty doctrines (all of which Logan had filed away in his room).

Humans were juggernauts-- the alien versions of the boogie man told to children to keep them from acting out. Virgil had seen some of the written documents about his kind, and the tales of bloodshed and terror invoked by merely existing were pretty horrifying. Graphic depictions of humans tearing aliens limb from limb, scientific studies on the amounts of chemicals that humans had absorbed and withstood against, an interview with a survivor of a human rampage who revealed the bite marks left by the so-called beast.

Almost every species out here was just as scared of him as he was of them.

The problem came from the ones that weren’t scared.

Which, of course, was how Virgil had ended up hundreds of literal light-years from Earth, on a ship with three aliens whom he was pretty certain he would end up dying for sometime very soon. Yurinks were crafty, shameless, bold, creatures, and they were notorious for visiting Earth and abducting humans for individual sale. Weslors ran fighting rings and humans were almost always the safest bets for some quick cash. Quitans were a fan of skinwearing, which was not something that Virgil ever wanted to see, based on the name alone. And Pol’turs loved learning how things worked and paid very handsome prices for human subjects on the space black market.

Virgil, himself, had sold for 300 griot. (Which was apparently a lot, based on the way that Patton’s eyes had quite literally bugged out. Virgil was still trying to figure out the conversation ratio of American dollars to griot and getting nowhere with it.)

“I hate him,” Roman said under his breath as he threaded through the spare armored uniforms in the storage, trying to find one to fit over the rigid bone plates along his back. His tail squirmed behind him as he searched, dragging the spikes through the air. “I hate him so much.” His bone claws cut through the fabric and he growled as he tossed the ruined clothes to the floor. “We’re gonna save him and then I’m going to toss him off into space, myself.”

Logan made an affirming noise, using his lower left arm to nudge his visor back up his nose. Virgil had only caught sight of Logan’s eyes once or twice, as most light strained his sensitive eyes. They had paid a pretty griot for a repair and a spare of his light blocking visor after the first time some space smugglers had surprised them and managed to break the lens. Logan’s pained scream was the worst thing that Virgil had ever heard and he had sworn he’d do anything to avoid ever having to hear it again.

(That had been the first time that Roman and him had truly worked together on something, Virgil noted absently. Between Virgil’s uncharacteristic bloodlust and Roman’s furious wrath they had taken out the smugglers in less than five minutes and they hadn't been very nice about it.)

Looking from the back, Roman resembled a stegosaurus to Virgil. If, like....stegosauruses ran around on two legs, flourished a sword, and were prone to acting like every minor occurrence was a slight against them personally. His red-ish skin had the appearance of leather but was twice as thick, his bone plates were slimmer rounded triangles than Virgil remembered from his kindergarten picture books but they ran from the based of his neck all the way down his back and to the tips of his tail which he liked to use as a spike-ball-and-chain attack along with his ridiculous sword. Virgil couldn’t count the number of times that Roman had nearly taken him out along with the enemy. His claws were only a few inches long but Roman whined like a baby when they broke-- which was ridiculous because his bone plates literally grew back overnight, and the ones on his forearms were made to be taken off and thrown. (Logan had indeed informed Virgil that Erefren grow new bones every moon cycle and proceeded to lose the old ones which Virgil had then mentioned that humans did that too sorta! With their baby teeth! And Roman and Logan had both looked unnerved by that information.)

“I’ve got it!” A voice sang from the ceiling, which was about all the warning Virgil got before a child sized figure vaulted down from the rafters of the teleportation deck right onto his shoulders.

“Jesus! Pat!” Virgil yelled as he stumbled swaying to accommodate the new weight that had stuck itself to Virgil’s back and then wrapped around to hug his chest. “Give a guy a warning, will you?”

Patton giggled, hooking his legs around Virgil’s waist so that he could sit comfortably, swinging the two other satchels he had been sent to fetch from his hands. Roman accepted one of them readily.

“What's a Jeeezus?” Patton asked, stressing the syllables as English terms never really fit right in his tongue. As far as Virgil was aware no species were equipped to speak human languages, although Roman’s Erefren dialect involved some rolling syllables. He probably could have picked up Spanish, if Virgil hadn’t barely passed Spanish III with a C minus.

To be fair though, that year had been bad. Janus had been in his class, and then he hadn’t. And it was hard to focus on conjugation of verbs when the golden student of the entire school who had sat next to him had been declared dead and Virgil had been the prime suspect of it.

That, and Virgil was pretty terrible at picking up new languages. He had only managed to figure out how to communicate with Logan by luck: hands raised with the fingers spread was a symbol of innocence and fear for the Tenkarie, while a sign of rage and fury for Yurink. This, of course, had also been in the middle of an illegal Weslor fighting ring which Logan had been dragged into and essentially sentenced to die in after being separated from Roman and Patton.

(Virgil tried not to think too much about those days. Alien blood was still blood and it was very not-good to feel dripping from his hands, even if it was him or them, even if it had been his life on the line, even if it wasn’t another human with heterochromic eyes and smug smirk. Virgil had fought nearly six times before Logan had been his opponent, and that was six times too many.)

Regardless, Virgil was lucky that when Roman and Patton had come for Logan, Logan had remembered his reluctance to fight and insisted that Virgil come with them in an escape. Roman and Patton had their hesitations but Logan wouldn’t take no for an answer.

(And Virgil who did not understand Common, had honestly thought that Logan had come back to kill him officially. Not a good first impression.)

Logan had made him flashcards to study from and taught him common in the sitting area of their ship. The endless hours of memorization, the drills, the sentences, all of which helped him more than he thought the others knew. They were something to do with his mind and Virgil had been in desperate need of something to do with his mind those first few months that wasn’t thinking about Earth or home or boys who were dead.

“We could go to Earth,” Logan had offered once during one of their sessions.

Virgil had blinked looking up to from the practice reading he had been studying with a bewildered look. “What?” It had taken a moment for him to realize that he had spoken in English rather than Common, but Logan must have picked up on the meaning of the foreign word anyway.

“You were… badly, ah, stolen,” Logan had said, pointing at the flashcards. “We could give you back.” He had used his lower two arms to mimic the motion of handing something off.

It had been so touching, the way that he had scaled down his speech to match Virgil’s progress, had offered despite Earth being the infamous Deathworld, had been looking at Virgil like he was living being and not just some animal. Virgil had cried.

He should have wanted to go back to Earth, should have wanted to go home, but instead he had begged in his broken, garbled Common for Logan to let him stay in space with them. And Logan had glowed nearly blindingly with purple light, a relief light, a content light, a happy light and promised that he wouldn’t have to go back if he didn’t want to.

Perhaps that had been the day the Virgil had realized he’d die for Logan.

And once Virgil had decided that for Logan it wasn’t hard to decide it for Patton too. The Reytin was just so nice. Even back in those first months when Virgil didn’t know how to talk to them and Patton had been so obviously terrified of him, the alien had made sure that Virgil was eating, that he was sleeping, that he had space when he needed it. Though, Virgil really suspected that their friendship had blossomed so quickly because of Patton's rare Reytin ability to see emotions with his frog-like eyes. Once he realized that Virgil was actually terrified of everything, and it wasn’t just ploy to kill them (or maybe despite that….Virgil hadn’t gotten a straight answer from him), Patton had done his best to befriend him back to good health.

And Virgil liked being on the ship. He liked his room, which was filled with stupid alien plants he had managed to collect and the weird shapes of the bed. He liked being right down the hall from the kitchen so he could smell when Patton was cooking something, and the way that he could always hear Roman singing in his room. He liked slipping out to the observation deck and just seeing Space the way no other human really had.

(Its stupid really, that sometimes he forgot it had been three years. Its stupid really, that sometimes he still turned to ask a question of someone who was never going to be there. Its stupid really that he could be so happy and still feel the gaping hole where someone used to be.)

“Oh this is so exciting!” Patton said happily, shaking his hands in the air to show his excitement. “Isn’t this exciting, guys?”

“Exciting isn’t the word I would use,” Virgil said hoisting the smaller creature from around his waist to settle him on the floor carefully.

“More like Vexing! Or perhaps burdensome! Irksome! Problematic!” Roman snarled, finally finding the armor that would fit around his plates and slipping it on. “You know what? Let’s forget it! Remus got himself into this mess and he can get himself out!”

“Now kiddo…” Patton warned, and wow, Virgil sometimes forgot that the alien who was half Virgil's height and twice as lively, was also older than all of them combined. Reytin lifespans were literally off the chart. Patton had been around way back when humans were first declared illegal on this side of the cosmos. “You know that we can’t do that! He invoked the Oath of Brothers so we have to!”

“We don’t have to do anything,” Roman griped. “Worse case, my soul just becomes eternally damned and I’m shamed by the rest of my race until I die a lonely, lonely death on some distant planet!”

“Must you be so dramatic?” Logan asked.

“You won't die alone!” Patton said, “We’ll be right there with you! Probably even die right next to you as well!”

“No offense Pat,” Roman said glumly, “But that makes me feel like I’m gonna be the cause of your death.”

“It’ll be fun!”

Thankfully before Roman could explain exactly there was nothing fun about making all his friends die, Logan cleared his throat and made his upper two palms glow with a soft blue light. Green and pink bulbs flashed up and down his neck. “I have mapped out the perceived trajectory of the enemy ship so we should be able to beam directly into the hold. However because of possible miscalculations I believe that I should be--”

“--The first to beam aboard as I am the only one who is not affected by the lack of gaseous properties and the extreme temperatures of the expanse of space.” Roman, Patton, and Virgil chorused together.

“Must you all?” Logan asked, with just enough fondness in his tone for Virgil to know that he wasn’t actually bothered.

“Change up your speech sometime, Teach,” Roman suggested, and then he sighed dropping his head. “You guys are really willing to do this for me? These are mercenaries, you know. If this doesn’t go well they’ll likely sell us for parts.”

Virgil really didn’t need the reminder. Just the thought of once again having his arms restrained, having his clothes striped away, being reduced from a person to a thing used for entertainment, was enough to have Virgil eyeing the door back to the rest of the ship. Even on the off chance that they didn’t try to take him apart to see how he ticked, they would still sell him for griot. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, survive being thrust back into the fighting rings. He’d shake himself apart before they managed to drag him into that dust riddled death trap.

Patton reached up and tugged the edge of Virgil’s under armor tunic, drawing his eyes away from the door and down to his friend. Patton, of course, was smiling, imitating the human action of bearing his teeth (something that Logan had explained was incredibly threatening to all other species and you may want to avoid participating in that activity with Roman in the vicinity, Virgil).

It was silly things like that that make Virgil hopelessly certain that he would do anything to protect his friends. He didn’t need to worry about being caught and sold off because the others wouldn’t let that happen again, and in turn, he wouldn’t allow them to be taken away either. They were a family, for better or worse.

(He wasn’t going to lose someone again. Not like before. Not without a fight, a trace-- not without Virgil doing every single thing he could to get them back first.)

“We’ll be fine!” Patton told Roman brightly.

“Yeah, cheer up, Princey,” Virgil added, hooking his satchel over his shoulder, “Worse case scenarios are my thing.” He offered out a folded fist, palm up and Roman dutifully knocked his own knuckles against it, as an upside down fistbump (a signal of friendship in Erefrenian).

Patton let out a chittering and jumped up to knock his own knuckles with them. And Logan’s left forearms flickered pastel pink from the wrist up to his neck and he begrudgingly added his own to the pile.

“Everyone remembers their part of the plan, correct?” Logan asked, letting his two lower arms finish typing a final sequence into the control panel.

Patton sprung in the air, jumping Virgil’s entire height, and shook his palms. “I’ve got the emergency pods and the armory, using Virgil’s thingies to shut down the access to the lower rooms and blocking off escapes as I make my way to the medic bay!”

“I’ve got the crew quarters to where I’ll use Virgil’s thingies--”

“Can we not call them thingies?” Virgil grumbled. “They’re just EMPs. Barely enough to take out the door locks. And it's likely they won’t do much of anything if this group has an emergency system reboot in case of an electrical surge. It’ll buy us five minutes, max.”

“--Virgil’s thingies,” Roman repeated with his tail rattling in that way that said he took pleasure in Virgil’s annoyance. “To lock as many of the doors as I can, before travelling to the cell blocks to get my brother and his crew and move them to the medic bay where Patton will have the necessary supplies ready incase of injuries.”

“I will take the Bridge,” Logan said, “and act as the major distraction, as Tenkarie are very rare and it is likely that they will have never encountered nor have preemptive measures against my Lightdancing. Once I have control of the bridge I will cut off the communications to other ships in the area and start inputting the redirection course. Once I have the new coordinates I will send them to Virgil for him to implement.”

“I’ve got the engineering deck,” Virgil said, finally, “To make sure they don’t try to blow us all up with the warp core and whatever. Then I’ll redirect the teleporting course and get us home while the rest of you take out the bad guys. Piece of cake.”

Logan’s neck notches glowed red, “There should be no stopping for cake--.”

“Idiom,” Virgil interrupted quickly, “Human saying. Means it should be easy.”

Logan hummed musically, which sent a vibration of multicolored lights off his shoulders and down under his clothes. “Ah, interesting. This should indeed then be a piece of cake.” He picked up one of the teleportation bracelets from their charging pads and fixed it on his upper right wrist. “I’ve already added in the coordinates to the watches, so merely wait for my signal and press the button.”

Virgil would be lying if he said he didn’t have a little bit of anxiety over their plan. It was pretty slapshot compared to the things that they had put together before, but Remus’s transmission had been shoddy, even after Roman and his combined efforts to clean it up. It was hard to remember that Remus was every bit a ship captain as Roman was with how he had appeared in the picture dressed in ripped and tattered clothes, oozing green poison from his forearm plates, and bleeding profusely from a wound on his forehead. He had been leaning heavily on the communication panel, gritting his teeth through the pain, but his tail had been dancing in the air behind him in the same motions that Roman’s did when he saw a new sword to add to his collection.

Remus had invoked the Oath of Brothers, spit up blood on the console, and then relayed as much information as he could about the attacking ship. They were lucky, in that way. Most of the Pol’tur ships followed the same base model, which meant that the Bridge was always going to be at the bottom, the engines would be at the top and the engine core center would be between them.

If it was possible Virgil was sure they all would have wanted more time to make a better plan, but they all knew that Pol’turs loved to work quickly. They had already lost three days chasing after the ship, and in that time, Pol’turs could cut apart fifty Reytins like Patton.

They were working mostly on the assumption that the Pol’turs would save Remus for near last, and they were going to be absolutely fucked if they had chosen to chop up the other Erefren first.

In addition, their plan had Virgil avoiding most of the fighting. well, as much as he could while being on an enemy ship. Virgil himself wasn’t sure how he would do in a lot of combat, but they had seen what happened when one of the others were in danger (when Logan’s glasses had broken, when the space pirates had almost shot Patton through both his hearts, when the spikes had been pulled from Roman’s spine by the Quitans before the new ones had grown in--). He could fight, and he could fight well, but the cost was a little bit of Virgil’s sanity and his ability to sleep through the night.

Patton plucked his own teleportation watch from the pad and hooked it on, before offering Virgil his. Well it wasn’t really his, the same way that the red one wasn’t Roman’s and Patton didn’t own the blue one. They were all Logan’s pet projects, but he had tailored them to their favorite colors. It felt a bit like coming home when Virgil clicked the locking mechanism into place and the screen lit up with the digital alien symbols.

“I shall see you all soon,” Logan said matter-of-factly, as if he couldn’t see all the ways that their plan could go wrong. Then with barely more than a breath he clicked the activation button and his form flickered out of existence.

Roman made a nervous noise with the back of his throat, which ended up sounding a bit like the first bars of a Disney song Virgil had forgotten. Virgil gently tapped his tail with the toe of his boot, avoiding the glisten poison spikes. Roman startled just enough to laugh.

“Its funny, you know?” He said, glancing towards Virgil. “A year ago Remus told me he had taken in a Deathworlder, and I thought he was crazy. A Deathworlder? But now that I know you guys I can’t believe I didn’t get my own sooner.”

“Remus has a human on his crew?” Virgil asked.

“Oh, I wonder if you know each other!” Patton added.

Virgil bit back his original comment, and let the weight settle in his stomach. If Remus had a human in his crew there was even more of a chance that Remus was dead, because the Pol’turs had chosen to save the mysterious human for last.

“Earth is a big place,” Virgil said instead. “Like really big. They’d probably be from like Russia or something.”

At the blank stares he got, Virgil tried rewording, “We probably never have met before. Or speak the same language.”

"There's more than one human language?"

Virgil breathed through his nose, warding off a memory of rolling Rs and failed pop quizzes. "Yeah," he said, "Humans can't agree on anything."

Roman thoughtfully crossed his arms, but Patton made a chittering again and bounced, “Oh well! Now you guys are gonna meet! All the way out in space! How cool is that?!”

Virgil hid a smile in his shoulder. Trust the Reytin to find the bright side to everything.

Roman looked like he had more questions (questions that Virgil wasn't exactly enthusiastic to answer; Earth was a sore topic for him) but mercifully each of their watches let out several musical bars from Patton’s favorite song. The alien shook his palms one last time, beaming at each of them.

“Oh this is gonna be so much fun, guys!” He said right before pressing the activation button and disappearing.

“I’m so going to kill Remus for this,” Roman grumbled, one hand on his sword hilt.

And, really, Virgil agreed with him on that. Tossing Remus into the airlock and ejecting him directly into the void sounded like an excellent plan for when they got back to their ship alive and whole and safe.

“Let’s do this,” Virgil said and jabbed his thumb into the activation button.

***

Predictably, their flimsy plan fell apart within seconds of them appearing on the ship. Starting with, exactly, Virgil did not appear in or near the engineering deck. Instead he had landed approximately two feet above a box in the Cargo hold of the Pol’turian ship, which likely meant he was somewhere left of where he needed to be.

It also meant that the Pol’turs in the Cargo Hold had a grand view of his body blitzing into existence, landing on a crate, and then tumbling off it with a lot of English cursing. It was a mere matter of luck that Virgil was able to roll his body to the side just before the first BZZZTTRRRT of their blasters went off.

(There was an actual name for the guns that most aliens used, and Virgil was pretty sure that it started with a hard K sound but he had never been able to remember it. He stuck to calling them blasters in his head, and hoped somewhere back on Earth George Lucas was proud of himself.)

The Polyfurnish of the crate hissed and sizzled as it took the brunt of the attack meant to vaporize Virgil, and the human hissed another curse as his hands dug through his satchel.

One of the Pol’turs-- the deep purple one although Virgil hadn’t truly been able to catch sight of how many there were-- shouted something in its language. Probably something along the lines of “Stop”, “Surrender”, or “Kill him”. Virgil wasn’t exactly a fan of any of those options.

He had heard them before-- too many times. The hundreds of variations of the terms spat and yelled and cheered down at him, and he scrambled away from the edge of a sword, as he tasted nothing by dust and dirt as he dodged another attempt on his life, as he desperately backed away from an opponent who couldn’t understand that Virgil didn’t want to fight, please, stop, please, I’m sorry, please I don’t want to hurt anyone--

Virgil curled up as another gold blast ricocheted off the top of the crate he was cowering behind. The air was cooler here, he told himself, the air was cooler and the floor was slicker, and he was surrounded by shelves of goods. He was not in a colosseum and he was not in a fighting ring and he was not alone.

He had the others to regroup with and no time to panic over the past here and now. Virgil gritted his teeth, remembering the feel of Roman’s knuckles bumping his, the sight of Logan’s excited lights, the sound of Patton’s laughter, and then his hand wrapped around the homemade smoke bombs in his satchel.

He yanked the pins from their sockets, wound back, and launched them over the crate into the mass of where all the shooting was coming from. Almost immediately the shoots veered off course, and the cavernous room echoed with high pitched screams. Virgil ripped his turtleneck up and over his nose and then he grabbed the edges of the nearest shelf and hoisted himself to a higher area, out of the range of the low hanging gas.

It was a pale red, near pink thing: a concoction formed by Logan out of Roman’s poison that had taken them literal years to perfect. Virgil was mostly immune to it, the same way he was mostly immune to most poisons that horrified the other species. Inhaling it made his head dizzy and his limbs a little numb, which was just unpleasant enough that he tried to avoid inhaling anything when he had the chance. Other species though...they weren’t so lucky. According to Logan, inhaling it allowed it directly into the bloodstream where it would swiftly ignite all the pain sensors in the body and could make one feel like they were being stabbed everywhere at once.

(He knew this, Logan admitted, because it had taken him many times to get it right. His scientific journals recorded experiments #1 through #357 as ��unpleasant” and “ill-advised” and Virgil had nearly throttled him when he discovered that Logan had used himself as a test subject.)

Using the shelves he boosted himself another level until his head was parallel with a box of what he thought were floating Welsor hearts, before he scanned the ground under him. There were three Pol’turs on the ground writhing in pain, blasters discarded, and pale smoke floating ominous above them. Their usually languid tentacles flopped up and down on the floor like a bunch of fish out of water.

The glass container next to his hip exploded, missing him by mere millimeters. Virgil cursed as he scrambled up another level, eyes darting around to find where the hell that shot came from. His armor took much of the hit but it was sizzling with heat in a way that was decidedly not-comforting.

“Up there!” Something shouted.

Another blast missed his ear and a container of Sblorp fangs shattered and sent the teeth spilling to the floor. Virgil kicked his feet through the lower shelf pushing through a crate and a dozen jars of various indeterminable body parts and squeezed his body in the place of them. The crashes on the next isle were rather satisfying.

He ripped the pin from another smoke bomb with his teeth, and felt his tongue buzz slightly as the proximity to the toxin before he launched it out at the direction of the other shooter. There was another scream and Virgil took the time to roll into the next isle and leap back down to the floor.

The gas still hadn’t cleared around the original three Pol’turs, but they had gone unconscious from the pain, with a few seizing tentacles here and there. Virgil would feel bad about it, really he would, but the last time he had been in a room of Pol’turs they had been discussing how nicely his skull would look in the centerpieces of their tables and tried to buy him for 270 griot.

His skin tingled the same way he thought it might right before he would get struck by lightning back on Earth. Virgil ignored the feeling in honor of sliding across the polished flooring to the nearest fallen mercenary and hoisting it up as a shield, while he grabbed its blaster from the floor.

Two blaster shots sunk into his Pol’tur shield and it dissolved into ashes in his hand. Virgil cursed again, raising the blaster with his other arm and using his ash coated hand to slide the trigger, because this blaster-- like all other blasters-- were not made for human anatomy at all.

The last Pol’tur was a sickly orange color, like some type of invasive evil moss with long arms. Virgil grinned as the blast exploded forth in a dangerous golden ray of death. The heat singed the edge of his fingers, although the mild numbness prevented him from feeling much more than the slight pressure he assumed was warmth. The shot went wide, and the kickback sent Virgil to the floor, but it was enough.

The blast shattered though several items on the shelves and Pol’tur scrambled back to avoid the avalanche of perishables-- scrambled back right into the pink fog of Virgil's last smoke bomb. It was screaming before Virgil could even sit back up.

Virgil inhaled heavily, sucking as much oxygen into his lung as he could afford and breathing it out through his nose. He squeezed his hand around the handle of the blaster, and tried to pretend like his skin didn’t feel too small. His empty hand-- the one that had held the Pol’tur-- was trembling, shaking, burning.

“I just think you’d be better off spending time with someone else.”

“You’re not fooling anyone, Storm!”

“What was it like, Virgil? When you killed him?”

His hand was covered in soot, tingling from nerves and poison and the heat of the blast that had annihilated all evidence of the living, breathing alien.

“It wasn’t….” Virgil breathed heavily, “I didn’t….”

He sucked in another breath, two, three, seven breaths, until he could feel the masquerading gas in the air turn his face numb, and the voices in his head went back to threatening buzzing.

“Fuck,” he whispered softly, and pushed himself off the ground.

Virgil took the blaster with him, and made a private note to ask Logan to look into building communicators for times like this. There were an untold number of things that could have happened to get them mixed up: the Pol’tur ship could have barrel rolled at the time of, or before the final teleportation codes were in, it could have slowed or sped up, it could have marginally changed direction. All of which just proved that only stupid people like Virgil, Logan, Roman, and Patton would dare attempt a teleportation on a moving ship. Virgil tried not to think about what would have happened if his coordinates had been a little lower in space, a little closer to the box he had landed on, a little more personal and prompted whatever was inside of the crate merged with whatever was inside of Virgil.

It took him a moment to realize that the lights had started flashing an interspaced red and yellow series: a visual alarm to the crew.

“Fun,” Virgil mumbled, hugging the wall next to the exit, with one last breath, and then punching the exit lock. The hydraulics took a moment to work (probably due to excessive use of the doors and wear on the components), but it opened to reveal a brightly lit, completely empty hallway. Virgil raised his blaster, checking both the direction before he stepped out and punched the door closed behind him. Then he lined the blaster up with the door controls and fired.

You know, for safekeeping. The last thing they needed was the Pol’turs inside to wake up with a vengeance and come after them before they were off the ship.

(If he was still on the ship by the time that they woke up, Virgil was pretty sure he’d be dead. But hey! Surprising things happened all the time when one lived in fucking space.)

The floor was springy under his feet, some mixture of carpet and flooring that Virgil didn’t know the name of, just that it was weird and he didn’t want it in his Sims House. He could feel the fibers through his shoes as he hugged the wall and sprinted towards where he thought the Engine room would be located.

He could hear the sound of more blasters echoing from the depths of the ship, some yelling, some cursing: all lovely signs that Roman was doing his best to be the most annoying moving target anyone had ever seen. Virgil found his lips curling into a smile as he faintly at the noise.

“Oh come on!” Roman taunted, “I’m a big guy! Surely, you can’t be that bad of a shot!”

There was deafening BZZZTTRRRT, a clamorous crashing, and an ear splitting series of screams.

Virgil flung around the last corner but in time to see Roman stand up from a kneeling position over a clump of bodies that had probably been more alive a few seconds ago. There were blaster marks all along the walls, and several had blown through a wall revealing a cozy living quarters with giant sword slices in the beddings and floors.

“Oooh, so close!” Roman said with faux-empathy bordering on smugness which at this point should just be his default to the mass. “Maybe next time you’ll think more before attacking an Erefren!” He spun at the sight of Virgil coming around the corner, pointing his sword and then shaking his tail in a greeting.

“Roman,” Virgil sighed in relief. “You okay?”

“Virgil! It seems like I got a little off course! Checked the prisoner cells but they were all empty. And then a few new friends of mine had some fun things to say about Remus.” Roman looked feral as he bared his teeth. He jabbed his sword down into the corpses and something wheezed painfully. Virgil didn’t look at them, didn’t look at them, didn’t look.

“Do you know where he is?” Virgil asked.

Roman used the edge of his shirt to wipe the blue grey blood from the tip of his blade. “Not yet, but if you give me a few more minutes with these lovely fellows of mine I will!”

It did not take “a few more minutes”. Roman hoisted on still gasping Pol’tur up by its gangly neck and it had already started blubbering in a mix of languages. Virgil watched the halls while Roman took notes from their new best friend.

Half a minute later Roman dropped their captive to the ground with a fire in his eyes and turned to Virgil with his bone plates clinking, and dripping poison.

“He was on the Bridge.” He said, coldly, “He didn’t know if they had finished with Re or not, but he was up there”

“Okay,” Virgil said.

“The rest of his crew, Virgil,” Roman growled, squeezing the hilt of his sword. “His friends! His family!” He stared down at the shaking cowering alien life. “They..!”

The back of Virgil’s throat tasted like his stomach acids.

Remus had tried to have them killed, he had sold them out, he had been a thorn in their side since before Virgil had become part of the team. Between the harrowing escapes and the near deaths, it wasn’t hard for Virgil to absolutely despise him.

But his crew? His entire crew? In three days?

Just….gone?

Condensed into the memories with a snap, removed from the future in just a blink. The initial attack on them must have been bad and bloody for Remus to call them for help, a surprise ambush type of attack. And for all Virgil hated Remus, he couldn’t help but wonder if Remus had had plans with them-- had they been discussing visiting the bars on L3-012 or shopping on K5-369 or relaxing on C2-276? Had Remus made plans with the people he had been close with and now those plans were meaningless because the people he had made them with were dead and gone and never coming ba--

The Pol’tur on the ground giggled something hysterically, one last brave blubbering comment, and Roman took the toe of his boot right into the creature's soft flesh. Its tentacles flopped on the floor with a plu-plat.

“Virgil,” Roman hissed, without looking up.

Virgil blinked and swallowed hard, “Right, Engines,” He said, turning to go back to his task but Roman reached out and hooked his claws on Virgil’s shoulder, stopping him there.

“Change of plans,” The Erefren said, “You’re coming with me to the Bridge to get my idiot brother.”

Logan was on the Bridge too. Roman didn’t need to have Virgil come with him-- in fact, Virgil shouldn’t come with him. Too many people, too close to fighting, and Virgil couldn’t wipe away the feeling of grit on his hand.

His entire crew. In just three days.

Roman didn’t mention anything about how Virgil was shaking from head to toe, and Virgil didn’t point out the way that Roman’s voice wobbled with silent pleading. He just nodded at the alien and let him lead the way towards where they suspected the examination rooms would be.

Two heads are better than one, and all that.

It was less of a guessing game when the halls and doors were labeled and Roman was very fluent in Pol’turian. Roman was quick to move, quick to sort his way through the poorly designed areas, quick to move. Virgil kept the pace as well as he could, watching the halls behind them for stragglers attempting to get the drop on them and Roman cut down anything in his way.

Blue grey blood splattered across their shoes, filling the air with a sickly sour smell that made Virgil want to gag. He settled for squeezing the handle of the balster and counting out his breaths again as he avoided Roman’s tail striking forward at astonishing speeds and squeezing his eyes shut when he thought he saw a pair of mismatching eyes in the reflection of the lights.

There was no way for them to go quietly through the halls, not with Roman stomping hard enough to shake the entire ship and his poison attacks turning every enemy into a screaming, begging, crying puddle.

“Roman!” Virgil yelled as heat billowed around them, and the taller alien stumbled back, hit the wall and fell to his knees.

Virgil snarled at one of the mercenaries and fired three times at them. Between the near misses and the scattered yells of “Deathworlder!” they retreated into nearby rooms and locked the doors after them. Virgil tore one of his EMPs from Roman’s belt and sent it flying down the hall to keep them trapped there for a little bit, before he turned to check on Roman.

His shirt was smoldering, and one of his bone plates were cracked, but he just looked out of breath and angry, “I’m fine.” His claws scraped the floor as he stood up. “Armor took most of it.”

Virgil checked the hallway again. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, like a cancerous lump that he couldn’t get rid off no matter how much he swallowed or coughed. It pulsed to a beat that he wasn’t sure he could replicate: too fast and yet the space between each thud had felt like forever. It was so loud he almost was afraid of missing the sounds of another attack.

(An attack where Roman’s armor wouldn’t be enough, where he wouldn’t be able to wheeze off the pain, where he’d hit the wall then the floor and he wouldn’t be able to get back up and it would be all Virgil’s faul--)

Roman’s claws pricked his shoulder as he looked. With a slightly trembling hand he pointed in the direction they needed to go and Virgil did his best not to let his churning stomach get the better of him.

“Virgil! Roman!” They both spun at the voice; Roman in particular struck out with his tail, and just narrowly avoided impaling Logan’s crystalline chest on spikes.

Logan didn’t even flinch, not that he could really. His lower arms spread with palms out to signal innocence but his upper arms were busy holding up the profusely bleeding Erefren that was leaning mostly on him. Logan’s arms were flickering with so many colors Virgil couldn’t keep track of them. (Vaguely it reminded him of a disco ball, of party lights, of something so Earthly it would have made him laugh if he wasn’t so busy trying to hold back a panic attack.)

“Remus,” Roman breathed, reaching forward, impossibly gently.

“Ro’mn,” Remus slurred, shifting his head ever so slightly. His blood was pooling down the left half of his face, his eyes were partially glassy, but other than that he looked remarkably like Roman: they shared the same face with a strong jawline, the same dark dark hair curled the same way, and the same long tail with dozens of bone plates. The only real difference was the tinge of white in Remus’s hair, the oozing green poison leaking from his bone structures in place of Roman’s red, and the gaps where someone had torn out his bone plates before Remus had grown new ones in.

“Didn’t think…” Remus’s head lulled to the side, showing off the smile he was desperately forcing on his face, “didn’t think… you were comin’.”

“I’m throwing you out of the airlock,” Roman told him.

“‘ounds fun…” Remus murmured, dropping his head back to Logan’s back, and wincing like each inhale was a battle.

“They had him on the Bridge,” Logan explained, “When I arrived, they were attempting to retrieve information from him through barbaric methods. I may have gone overboard with my retaliation.” Logan shifted Remus’s weight slightly, drawing a groan from the other alien. “I am by no means a medical examiner, however, I suspect that he may have several rib fractures, and a few wounds that need to be looked at and well bandaged.”

Roman nodded, although Virgil didn’t think he actually heard anything. Virgil was an only child himself, but he could guess that even if Remus had been the biggest asshole in the entire cosmos seeing him reduced to this weakened, bloody, broken mess was terrifying. From the stories of their childhood, Virgil had always guessed that Remus was as lively as they came. But this version of him couldn’t even stand by himself.

Roman’s head shot up, “Patton. Where’s Pat? We’ve got Re, now its time to get out of here and get him help--”

“NO!” Remus shouted lunging forward suddenly. Logan stumbled at the change of weight, nearly dropping him to the floor, but it seemed that the movement had taken most of the rest of his power. “I can’t… They have…Jay… I prom’sed…”

Virgil checked the hall for enemies because that was easier than looking at the desperation in Remus’s eyes. His voice was scratched and grated like a glass under the assault of a diamond. He coughed so violently it dragged out a glob of purple blood from him.

“Remus, you can’t--” Roman said.

And despite Remus looking like a simple breeze could end his life, he grabbed at Roman’s outreached arm, above the danger of the forearm spikes.“Me and... my crew,” Remus coughed, weakly. “The oath…”

“I talked to one of those bastards,” Roman countered, forcibly soft, forcibly strained. “Re, your crew is--”

“Ro…” He pleaded, “Please.”

Roman made a noise like something in him was physically shredding him apart. Virgil suspected it was his hero complex, which usually manifested the urge to save every living being he saw. Lost wasn’t a good look on Erefrens, Virgil decided right then and there. Hopeless and terrified and sad-- all of them made Roman look wrong.

“What's wrong, Vee? You look like you want to say something.”

“....It’s nothing.”

“What? Not even a joke? Come on, I know you--”

“Let it go, Ekans.”

Virgil blinked away the unwanted memory. He sighed out of his nose and reached up to hook on the back of Roman’s armor collar. “Let’s go.”

“Virge…” Roman murmured.

“If we don’t do this now,” Virgil said, “We’ll regret it.”

He didn’t wait for the others to catch up with his train of thought, or maybe he wasn’t waiting for his own train of thought to catch up. He tugged Roman back a step and nodded at Logan. “We’ll double back and find any crew that’s left and get Pat. You take Remus to the engine room room and get the codes ready for us to get back.”

“For real?” Roman said.

“Understood, Virgil.” Logan nodded back. He glowed purple softly, around his neck notches as if he had expected this after all. “Don’t be late.”

“Time is a construct.”

Remus laughed like he was choking on a handful of rusted nails. Roman tensed at the sound, gritted his teeth, and then tightened his grip on his sword. Resolved hardened in his eyes, burning through the lost expression like a lighthouse in the middle of a storm.

“Right,” Roman said, “Let’s go.” Roman grabbed Virgil’s hand and took off in the direction they had come from. “Any guesses where the guy’s gonna be? Or where Pat is?”

Virgil felt his stomach churn. He closed his eyes and let Roman pull him along as he tried to remember the 3D diagram of a Pol’turian ship. “Well if I was in cargo, you landed near the prisoner blocks, while Logan was on the Bridge...that means that while Logan was doing the calculations the ship probably did a half roll on the longitudinal axis, which he couldn’t have accounted for. Since this ship appears to be the same as the other makes and models of Pol’turs that means that Patton probably ended up in the medical bay. And if I had to guess that’s where any last member of the crew would be as well. Take this left here.”

Roman nearly stumbled over his own feet. “How in the name of the Great God, Disney-- have you memorized all the maps?”

Virgil furrowed his brow at the alien, “Haven’t you?”

“Well yes, but--” Roman’s face flushed with a bit of his purple blood, “Nevermind, Deathworlder.”

The medical wing of the ship was easy to get to compared to the other places. It seemed that either the Pol’turs had wisened up for an ambush or they had fled when they had the chance. Either way they only came across two mercenaries and Roman made quick work of them.

He knew they had arrived by the buzzing of air, the tingle of his skin that made him feel too big and too small at the same time. The walls were bare and there were four rooms lining them, each with a number engraved in the door and the lock panels glowing red with what Virgil guessed was the Pol’turian symbol for “closed” or “locked” or “dangerous chemical inside do not release”. Virgil reached for another EMP, but his bag was empty. There were scents around them, faint scents: something metallic, something sour, something clean, something, something, something--

Something that smelled like blood. So many different kinds of blood.

Virgil swallowed hard. He hadn’t known a lot about Remus’s crew, but he knew that Remus had had a dozen different species with him. A dozen different species that hadn’t survived the encounter.

“Pat!” Roman yelled down the hall, brandishing his sword.

“Roman! In here! Help--” A voice that was most definitely Patton’s yelled out.

Roman didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward to the room the voice had come from, almost feverishly, desperately, and he didn’t bother with the password. With a swift violent motion he jabbed his sword into the locking panel and then pried open the door with his claws and his hands.

Virgil thought that it would have been one hell of a sight: if he had been strapped to a table, a knife jab from death’s door, begging, pleading, crying and knowing that all his friends had been taking to the room before him and had not come back out intact? If Virgil had been bleeding out and clinging to the slippery bit of hope that was a miracle, and then he saw his captain’s brother literally prying open the door with his bare claws to get to him---

Virgil thought it would have been pretty awesome.

Not something that should have warranted a knife being thrown at them.

Roman let out a curse in Erefren and it was one of those don’t-repeat-this-don’t-tell-Patton curses that Roman specialized in. He staggered back, clutching his shoulder where the knife had sunk in all the way to the hilt, Jesus! What the hell! Virgil kicked the rest of the door open, dropping low as scalpel skirted by where his body should have been, and then he sprung back up with his blaster set on that asshole.

Except.

“Virgil!”

The room was small, almost claustrophobically small. Just standing in the doorway made Virgil’s breath shorten (his cell back at the Welsor fighting rings had been bigger than this--). And it was lit with cold harsh white light, nearly blinding, if it weren’t for the greyed walls and the splashes-- the splashes of faded pink and blue and other colors that Virgil recognized all too well as blood. The table took up most of the room, leaving just enough space for a Pol’tur to sweep around and a small hand tray of twisted instruments.

In fact there was a Pol’tur on the ground right there. Limp and unmoving with an eye scoop so far in it’s skull there was no way it was coming back out.

But Virgil wasn’t staring at the body.

“Don’t you get tired of being everyone’s favorite person?”

It couldn’t--

“Just shut up and help me with these conjugations, will you?”

This wasn’t--

“What do you mean no one can find him?”

He hadn’t--

The detective had looked at him with such a pity that it had made Virgil’s entire body flinch. He squeezed the plastic cup in his hand, crushing it, letting the fragments cut into his skin. He couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel anything. The man was still talking to him, talking softly like anything louder would shatter the fragile reality around them, talking so quietly Virgil couldn’t hear a single thing he was saying at all over the sound of his own heartbeat.

“You’re wrong,” Virgil had croaked. “He’s not dead.”

But he had been.

He had been for nearly two years now.

And everyone had thought that Virgil had done something to him, had thought that Virgil was the last to see him, had thought that his dark clothes and his eye shadow and a few sneers in the hall had meant that Virgil was suddenly capable of killing Janus Ekans in cold blood.

Except.

Except that Virgil was staring at Janus --fucking-- Ekans right now.

It was unmistakable, the shape of his face, the curve of his lips, the slimness of his nose. The wispy brown hair that turned golden under the summer sun, the mischievous eyes danced with different colors, the flick of his tongue that moved so freely when he let it, the tattoo of two theater masks on his chest that no one was supposed to know about-- Virgil could have spent days naming things, committing them to memory, staring in disbelief at him. This was the same boy who had sat next to him in Spanish. The same Janus who had been convinced he was so completely untouchable up until Virgil had dragged him off his stupid, golden pedastal.

It was the same Janus who was currently wrapped around Patton like a boa constrictor cutting off the alien’s ability to move and had a knife perched ever so closely to one of Patton’s eyes.

“What the hell?” Virgil had said because-- because--

Because Virgil had asked Logan once if there was a race that could pick through minds, pull memories from heads, change the way someone thought. And Logan didn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t lie to him. There were no alien types that could break into a mind and drag illusions into reality and there were no races that could bring ghosts back from oblivion.

“Virgil,” Janus said barely a whisper, barely enough to be heard, barely enough to mean anything. The knife was tilting in his hand, tipped like he wasn’t sure what he was saying, wasn’t sure what he was doing. “What-?”

Partially drugged, Virgil thought with absolutely no room to breathe in his chest. Partially drugged, holding a knife to Patton’s weakest point, and alive.

“Janus,” Virgil said, ”Put down the knife.”

He’s still partially strapped to the table, bound by his left ankle and sporting a lovely series of cuts on the side of his face as if someone had started carving scales into his cheek for funsies. If Virgil had to hazard a guess he would have assumed that Patton had dropped in literally as the Pol’tur was taking Janus-- Janus, alive, breathing, real-- apart one centimeter at a time, then proceeded to win a very cramped fight in the room. Virgil would even say that Patton had started taking the restraints off of Janus when he had gained enough consciousness to realize that he needed to defend himself.

(The fact that they found something capable of drugging a human, a Deathworlder, was concerning, so concerning, terrifying--)

“Virgil….You are not real,” Janus said, slowly, blood dripping down his neck. “You cannot be real. None of this is real.”

“I’m the one thats not real?” Virgil muttered. “You’re the one that was declared dead.”

He laughed. Virgil’s stomach swooped.

For a second, a brief fleeting second, he could have sworn that this was all a dream. A fever dream in which Virgil would blink himself awake from and find himself on the floor of Janus’s stupid, giant ass room surrounded by a dozen cans of off-brand energy drinks, a half eaten bucket of popcorn, and the credits for a horror movie scrolling on the screen. For a second it felt like he would roll over and bump elbows with Janus who had woken up an hour previously to study for that stupid Spanish test that wasn’t until Monday. For a second it was like he was seventeen again and his biggest worry was figuring out if it was too weird to ask to run his hands through Janus’s silky hair.

“Of course, I was declared fucking dead!” Janus said, like it was the obvious thing that would happen, “I am dead. I have to be, because there’s no other way that the kid who's afraid of going outside made it this far into space.”

“Janus, put down the knife.” Virgil took a step forward, a half a step, but Janus just squeezed the knife tighter.

“Why don’t you come and make me?” Janus smiled at him, smiled, smiled, smiled.

Smiled like he knew that this was a dream and nothing he did was going to matter. Smiled like they were back on that balcony of his room with their feet swinging between the bars and two Seagrams gone each and they were going to get in a shit ton of trouble for it. Smiled like he had never been dead and Virgil hadn’t had to bury the thought of him.

Patton made a noise, a small whimper, and Virgil felt it in his chest. The near silence of the room, the soft muted buzzing in his head, the fuzzy dream like quality of reality-- it all shattered at the sound. Shattered like glass, like a mirror, like the concept of “forever”. It shattered and Virgil was suddenly hyperaware of how small the room was, how cold he felt, how metallic the air smelt.

“Hm, just as I thought,” Janus said softly, smile dropping into something wistful and disappointed, “I really am just seeing thin--”

Virgil didn’t give him the satisfaction of finishing; he surged forward, throwing his blaster to the side, and using his left hand to catch Janus’s wrist millimeters from putting that knife in Patton. He twisted his hand, pining his fingers into the soft flesh of Janus’s nerves until his hand jerked open on reflex and the knife fell into the open air.

Janus froze, inhaling so sharply Virgil was certain that he took all the oxygen in the room away.

He was warm, Virgil realized absently. He was warm and had a pulse and for some reason both those things made Virgil’s chest hurt. His skin was soft and his breath was sweet and Virgil had gotten punch-drunk stupid on less.

Which probably explained why, how, when, Virgil’s lips ended up on his, pressing firmly, and tasting like something from a past Virgil had thought he had given up on. Virgil had always been stupid, but this was another level of stupid. This was incredibly dumb, unbelievable, ridiculous.

Janus’s mouth was on his, and Virgil’s hand was tipping his head back ever so slightly, and Patton had managed to scramble out of Janus’s absolutely shocked slacked hold.

“You’ve always been so annoying,” Virgil gasped between breaths, “Always thinking you know everything. Have you ever considered you might be wrong before?”

“You’re--” Janus whispered, “Real? For real?” Then, “Don’t you know what the fuck consent is?”

“Fuck you,” Virgil told him.

Janus grabbed him by his collar and yanked him forward again. “Since you asked so nicely.”

“Don’t be cute.”

“Don’t be coy.” Janus shot back because he was still the same asshole who needed to have the last word. He bit at Virgil’s lip, and then pulled back to show off a wolfish grin.

Virgil was stuck somewhere between wanting to smash his stupid smug face in and wanting to kiss him until he lost all sense of direction. Janus was like that, Virgil remembered suddenly, even when they were kids, when Janus was trapped on that pedestal everyone had put him on, when Virgil couldn’t have cared less about him and somehow had ended up unsure how to live without him.

“Not that this isn’t the fucking cutest shit I’ve ever seen--“ A voice behind them called and Virgil stiffened.

“Language!” Patton interrupted, as Roman grunted through the pain of still having a surgical knife in his shoulder.

“--But can the two of you save your weird-ass….human…. greeting custom…. for some other time?” The Erefren snarled with one hand clutching the hilt and then yanking it out with a wheeze that Virgil felt physically. His purple blood spouted out from the wound but Roman didn’t seem to care, beyond tossing the knife to the floor.

“That’s an Erefren,” Janus said because he’s just as good at stating the obvious as he is at kissing. “That is not Remus.”

Roman snapped out something in his native tongue, which by the stress on the syllables was probably not nice and definitely not Patton approved. The Reytin even puffed up, shaking his head in a way that normally prefaced an hour long lecture on manners and the reintroduction of a swear jar.

However, Janus just laughed that pretty stupid little laugh of his but when he opened his mouth the words were all forgein. It took Virgil a moment to catch up, a moment to realize that he hadn’t even fumbled, that Janus had actually spoken Erefrenian and it had been grammatically correct enough that stunned Roman for a whole half second.

“You speak Erefrenian?” Virgil asked.

Janus blinked up at him a smug looking expression on his face. “You don’t?”

Virgil had a good response, he did. It was a response that had been some-three years in the making and Virgil had been ready to wipe that prideful expression of his face. But before they could do anything the entire ship lurched to the side, taking gravity with it. Virgil let out a yelp and grabbed for Janus and clung for stability.

(Space had done wonders for Janus’s abs, Virgil thought distantly.)

Roman slammed into the door frame and stumbled out into the hall, with all the grace a drunken ballerina, and cursed again when Patton landed on top of him.

“That’s our cue to leave!” Roman growled.

“Ya think?” Virgil shot back. He lunged for the end of the table where Janus’s bare foot was still strapped to the table. He didn’t look at the rusted color on the buckle, at the stiffness of the leather strap, at the rawness of Janus’s skin where it was biting into his ankle. He didn’t, didn’t, didn’t--

His hands shook. Janus reached over and clasped his forearms, the fabric of his tunic, him.

“Virgil--” Janus said, softly, unsuredly, with no trace of that previous pompous expression on him. “I--”

There was blood on his face, trailing all the way down his neck in scarlet silvers from the cuts. His hair was sweat matted, pressed and tousled in a way that made Virgil feel a certain rage in his chest, like someone had been running fingers through his curls while they sliced him apart. His eyes were still slightly glassy from whatever they put in him. There was an unspoken question on his lips, in his eyes, through his fingers as he clung to Virgil.

“I’ve got you,” Virgil told him, practically scooping him up. Janus heaved a breath as his feet touched the ground again. “Us humans have to stick together, right?”

Janus Ekans was alive.

It sounded surreal even in the moment, because Virgil had been mourning him since they were seventeen and stupid. Everyone else had moved on, had buried his memory, had forgotten about him. But he was not dead, and Virgil had not killed him. Somehow he had ended up in space, ended up with Remus, ended up here on this ship in the several billions of lightyears from anything they had known previously.

There would be no more late-nights-turned-early-mornings study sessions, no more sneaking over the gated walls of the Ekans mansion, and no more scaling the lattice underneath Janus’s balcony. They were never going to go stargazing on the hills outside of town again, never going to ruthlessly text each other under the desk during History class, never going to skip prom together to go trespassing in the woods somewhere to find Mothman. He was never going to butcher Spanish past participles in the cozy corner of the school library after hours and he was never going to get to listen to Janus brag about obtaining his Seal of Biliteracy finally despite his proficiency in about three languages.

Janus had disappeared right before senior year. And Virgil, who had been the biggest thorn in his side, the biggest instigator of all their fights, the wild and unruly punk kid that lived in detention-- Virgil had stopped looking for him. Because everyone said he had died. Because everyone said that Virgil had killed him.

But Virgil could feel Janus’s pulse, could hear his heartbeat, could see the way his chest moved as they stumbled out of the room.

Part of him was afraid that if he let go now, later, ever, Janus would disappear again. Shimmer and fade like a mirage in the desert.

“Careful Virgil,” Janus said breathily. “I almost think you missed me.”

“I hate you so much,” Virgil said back, as Roman and Patton led the way toward the engine rooms by blade and alien jujutsu and well-placed pun.

“Somehow, I don’t think you mean that, at all.” Janus said, grinning.

And then he closed that last little bit of space between them again.

[Next installment: Stars Die (But We Don’t)]

#Sanders sides #Virgil Sanders #Janus Sanders #Patton Sanders #Roman Sanders #Remus Sanders #Logan Sanders #Alien Au #Sympathetic Deceit #Sympathetic Remus #23 pages of Virgil in space #humans are space orcs #blood #Anxceit #background intrulogical #Probably will end up as part of series if you guys want more

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mypassionfortrash · 4 years ago

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Biology Lessons (part two)

After your science cupboard rendezvous with Roger was cut short, you agree to see him again. But you can’t ignore the worry over what this might do to your career. After all, you are his son’s biology teacher.

Warnings: Shameless flirting, you have been warned. This series is strictly 18+. Notes: Thanks for the amazing response to part one – that was immensely reassuring! Once again, I’m going to beg you to reblog this and to leave feedback. I’m only going to continue this if I feel motivated to do so and engagement is a huge part of that. Do let me know if you’d like to be tagged, too.

🧪✨Read from the beginning✨🧪

Tags: @jennyggggrrr @wineandwanderings @scorpiogemini @cherries-n-rocknroll @crayforqueen @perriwiinkle

Rounding off your week with an act of generosity, your final class of the day had packed up early. You couldn’t keep your eyes off the clock as they excitedly chatted amongst themselves, and then to you. You wanted out of there just as much as they did. But you didn’t want to focus too much on the night ahead.

“So what’s everyone’s plans for the weekend?” you asked.

The usual answers came thick and fast. Shopping. Football. Gaming. Rufus Taylor was especially keen on getting pizza with his dad tomorrow. He directed your question right back at you with a smirk. “What about you, Miss? Anything exciting?”

Choking on a nervous laugh, once again, you were saved by the bell. You, plus your entire class, swarmed out of the lab and into the stampede for the door. You hurried out into your car, eager not to squander precious time. After all, you had a date – and no idea about what to wear.

Three times you had to stamp out the urge to call Roger and cancel. The half-hour drive between school and home offered a bit too much thinking time. All of those reservations and anxieties simmered away. What would happen if this got out? Would your career be ruined? How could you be sure Rufus didn’t already know? Maybe he steamed the note his dad gave to him to give to you? Your thoughts churned faster and faster until you almost ran a red light. You only managed to soothe yourself afterwards by cranking down the windows to focus on the first golden glimmers of spring. And the road ahead.

Then, you had a meltdown because, for some reason, your makeup just wouldn’t sit right on your face. Your foundation seemed to slide off your skin. Your cat-eyed eyeliner came out crooked. And then, to complete your look, your lipstick decided to take a detour on to your teeth. You got as far as hovering over Roger’s name in your contact list when you remembered how riled up he had you on Wednesday – and ever since – all from a few minutes alone. And how stupid you would be to pass up on an entire evening in his company. You grabbed your makeup wipes and started over.

Finally, all dressed up and twenty minutes to spare, something about your reflection caught your eye as you danced around your bedroom with a glass of wine. You did a double-take in the mirror, turning ever so slightly. Your eye was drawn to your stockings. Running from behind your knee, right down to your ankle, was a perfectly-formed ladder. You cursed, wondering how that could’ve happened. You weren’t even sure you had any other stockings. Would it even matter? Couldn’t you just wear tights? Why were you worrying about that? Roger had asked you to wear them. And then, in your head, you decided that this was all Roger’s fault. And you really wanted to cancel on him. For real, this time. Until you looked at the clock on your bedside table at exactly the same time as your hand grabbed what felt like another pair of stockings in your lingerie drawer. Ten minutes to go. He’d already be on his way.

Life always seemed to have a way to cut you off. No sooner had you shimmied out of your ruined stockings, but three loud knocks were rattling your door. You sighed and ran your hand through your hair. Then, you scrambled down the stairs. You could already see his outline through the glass on the door. He was about to knock again.

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” you said, running the last few feet. You yanked open the door.

“You look nice,” Roger grinned.

Out of breath was what you actually were, but you couldn’t help wheezing out a giddy, “Thanks,” as you stepped aside to usher him in.

He stood awkwardly facing you in the doorway before he realised he had one hand behind his back. “Got these for you,” he said, whipping out an extravagant red and orange bouquet.

“Oh.” You took the flowers from him and marvelled at the myriad of colours. Your nerves dissipated as you drank in the sweet scent with your eyes closed. “It’s been a while since anyone’s bought me flowers,” you sighed, looking up at him. “Thank you.”

Roger gave a bashful shrug. “That’s alright. You ready to go?”

“I’m not even finished getting ready.”

“Better get your skates on, then!”

“You know,” you began, darting through to the kitchen to find a vase, “I would’ve been bang on time if you hadn’t shown up early.”

Roger leaned against the kitchen doorway and folded his arms, watching as you dunked the flowers in the water. “And here I was, thinking I was making a good impression.”

Glancing over at him, you noticed just how exquisite he looked. Even dressed for a date he still managed to look a tad dishevelled with his mussed hair and the top two buttons of his shirt undone. His jeans were even tighter than they were two days ago, too. “Oh you are,” you smirked, looking him up and down. “You stay here,” you instructed, tapping him on the nose as you very deliberately squeezed past him. “I’ll be two minutes.”

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“Rufus tells me you’re one of the only nice teachers at the school,” Roger stated, shovelling a morsel of steak into his mouth. The date had been going well. So well, in fact, that this was the first time Roger had brought up your job. “I know he’s a little shit, though.”

“He’s actually a really bright kid,” you said. “Or at least he could be, if he put in the effort.”

“Everyone used to say that about me,” Roger laughed.

You nodded. “And me.”

Roger raised his eyebrows midway through taking a sip of wine. He was trying to stretch that one glass out for the whole night, point-blank refusing to get a taxi. Swallowing hard, he almost choked: “How so?”

“Believe it or not, I hated school. Sit down, shut up, no you can’t go and pee whenever you like…”

“Don’t draw on the desk… Roger where’s your tie? Why are you late? Did you do your homework? That’s a month’s detention.” You and Roger shared a giggle. “Still quite rebellious though, aren’t you?” he added with a wink.

“Well, I don’t know about that. I like to break the rules and then I’m an absolute shitbag about it afterwards.”

“Everyone is. How come you decided to go into teaching, then?”

“I just wanted to help people,” you shrugged as if that was the most obvious explanation in the world. “I didn’t like school for a lot of reasons and I thought I could at least try to make it a positive experience for kids now. What did you get out of your biology degree?”

An awkward, abashed smile formed on Roger’s lips as he glanced down at his now empty plate. “Well, I actually wanted to be a dentist.” When he realised what he had just said, his gaze snapped back to you. Then, he furiously back-peddled: “Wait, no one actually wanted to be a dentist. Ever. I got the biology A-Level and that was the easiest way to turn it into… gold! I suppose…”

“I have no idea why anyone would want to go poking around in other peoples’ mouths,” you said, shaking your head.

“I looked terrible in a lab coat, so I packed all of that in. Right before I got to stick my fingers in some mouths.”

Briefly distracted by Roger’s elegant but calloused fingers, you were jolted back into the moment by the dull ache of your teeth pressing into your lip. “Being a rockstar suits you much better. You’ve certainly got the looks for it,” you wittered.

Roger leaned back in his seat and chewed at the skin around his fingers. It was his turn to eye you up. When he got to your chest, he paused and furrowed his brow. “Bet you’d look good in nothing but a lab coat.”

Despite Roger’s smooth and sultry delivery, you couldn’t contain the hysterics that burst through you. Not wanting to distract your fellow diners, you hunched over, burying your head in your hands as hilarity overcame you. “I’m sorry,” you choked, looking up at him with tears tickling the edges of your eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

Roger’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry if that was a bit much,” he said. “I just couldn’t help myself after our escapades the other day.”

“Oh, I know,” you smiled, sitting up straight. “I actually haven’t stopped thinking about it since. But I can’t look poor Rufus in the eye.”

“How do you think I feel?” He said, pursing his lips together in a display of pure mischief. “I think he’s seen worse, though. Much, much worse.”

You raised your eyebrows and allowed your eyes to drift towards the window with a comical grimace.

A blanket of comfortable, natural silence tied you and Roger together for a good five minutes as you people-watched through the raindrop-spattered window together. Occasionally catching each other’s eyes lingering for a moment. Your fingertips searched the tabletop void until they finally, perfectly bound together. You noticed Roger’s reflection shifting its focus to the two pairs of hands in front of him.

“I’ve missed being able to do this.”

The wistful, lamenting thread that slipped through that sentence snatched your attention. “Being able to hold hands?” you quipped.

Roger nodded, continuing to circle his thumbs over the backs of your hands. “Sort of.”

“Are you just doing this because you’re lonely?”

“No,” he said, looking up at you. “Enough time’s passed that I’m not so cut up about Debbie leaving.” He trailed off and gazed out the window again. “Top ten things you shouldn’t talk about on a first date.”

“Exes.”

“Exes,” Roger repeated. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you reassured, giving his calloused hands a squeeze. “Between you and me, I’m slightly out of practice, too.”

“You?” Roger asked, his tone laced with indignation. “How?”

You shrugged. “Just not that into dating. I’m always too busy, too picky or too impatient.”

“Those aren’t bad things to be,” he said. “I’m a bit set in my ways now, though.”

“You and me both. Plus it’s harder to meet people when your friends are all paired off. I’m kind of jealous of you. Must be a walk in the park being handsome and famous. Mums and models alike must fawn over you.”

“Oh god no,” Roger chuckled. “I don’t have any patience for morons. I mean,” he hesitated, his cheeks glowing. “I did go to one of those PTA things a while ago. And the mums did some fawning.”

“Any of them catch your eye?”

“Like I said. Morons.”

“Bit like their kids, really,” you added. “You’re a big hit with the teachers, too. They were practically swooning over you after parents’ evening.”

“I think I know which ones you’re on about, actually,” he grinned. “But shagging Rufus’ English teacher just didn’t appeal to me.”

“Right,” you joked, lifting your drink to your lips. “So you’re going to try it on with your son’s biology teacher instead?”

“Only if she’s up for it. And besides,” Roger leaned forward, like he was imparting a profound secret, and whipped off his glasses. “I still have a thing for lab coats.”

The drive home, much like your date, was rather tame. Roger had chosen a restaurant no less than an hour away from where you lived, and he insisted on driving you home. The pair of you sat in yet another comfortable silence until the odd song popped up on your playlist that Roger either loved or hated; then the conversation flared up. He rather liked Tom Petty and Springsteen. He’d tolerate The Police, too. He pretended not to like ABBA, but he protested a bit too much. But for the most part, he kept his eyes trained on the road ahead.

And you? You had to fight to keep your eyes open.

The sound of the rain, the stuffy heat from the radiator and the wipers batting back and forth made staying awake impossible. You only made it halfway home before you nodded off with your face smearing makeup across the window.

“Darling? You alright there?” Coaxing you back to consciousness, Roger tapped your shoulder. The first thing you saw was a sweet smile on Roger’s lips when you woke. “You’re home,” he whispered. “Are you alright?”

Suddenly realising that the car was no longer moving, you sat bolt upright. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry.”

“She’s awake!” Roger joked. “You know for a second I thought I’d have to carry you inside. Don’t think my back’s really up to that these days.”

“It’s just been a long week. I didn’t mean to pass out on you,” you sighed, tilting your head back against the headrest. Your eyes shifted back to Roger. “I’m pretty sure I can make it back into the house.”

“Good,” Roger chuckled. The light in his eyes shimmered up and then down, before settling on your mouth. “Fancy a goodnight kiss?”

You shifted towards Roger, stopping just inches away from him. So close that you could feel his breath on your skin. “Do you even have to ask?”

With his hands on your waist, Roger pulled you into him, gingerly brushing his lips against yours. Meanwhile, his hand wandered down your hip. Towards your thigh. And under your dress. His hands were freezing, and the shock made you pull away and pause. Eventually, his fingers hesitated at the top of your stocking. Suddenly, you remembered what was happening.

“I should get going,” you said, cocking your head towards your house. “Don’t want to pass out while I’m still attached to you.”

“Oh, right.” Moving back to his side of the car, Roger’s idle hands linked together in his lap, removing the temptation to roam further than they already had. In the dim orange glow from the streetlight above the car, you could tell that he still appeared hopeful, at least. “I hope I’m not being too forward here, but I’d love to see you again.”

When he flitted between recklessly flirting with you and being utterly disarming like this, it was hard to read him. And even harder for you to think on your feet or to decide how exactly you felt. So, with a hint of ambiguity, you leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek and with your lips deliciously close to his ear, you answered. “Let me have a think about that.”

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>>NEXT CHAPTER>>

Yay! You’ve made it to the end of this chapter. 🙌 Thanks for reading. Before you hit that little heart button right there, please consider reblogging this fic, too. Likes are nice, but reblogs are the only way of sharing fics that have had a lot of love and care put into them! It only takes one more click and is much, much more helpful and encouraging to writers – like me – who do this for free, just for you. I’d really appreciate it! Thanks again! 💖

#roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #queen #queen fic #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor fanfic

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welcome-to-the-gay-bar · 4 years ago

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So I we started to watch Attack on Titan again after many years and I’ve just finished season two and before starting season three I wanted to take a trip down memory lane and look at all my old favourite AOT fan fictions from 2014 (and see what’s popular nowadays that I may have missed, since wow, a lot has changed since I was last present in this fandom and compared to what’s happening in the current episodes season one was tame).

I’ve noticed a huge divide between fanon and canon and I kinda wanted to ruminate on this a bit.

Eren’s character in the show isn’t my favourite. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still fond of this brash idiot, but he’ll never be my favourite. He falls into this shonen protagonist trope of being hot headed and ill tempered. He doesn’t take advice, he’s not going to listen to plans or authority, he always thinks he’s right and only follows his moral compass, and to tie it all up he’s not even that strong. He can’t back up the threats that he’s laying down and yet he always rushes into situations with fists flying and never thanks or appreciates the characters (Mikasa) that get him out of those tricky situations. The only way to get through to him is to physically beat him down and even then it may not work if he hadn’t already somewhat respected you (Mikasa again). This character type is seen so often in shonen and I’m really not a fan, I like the cool and calculating protagonist better. Someone who has the power behind their threats and doesn’t rush into situations. Again, I like Eren, but I think it’s the other characters in the show that balance him out and the plot itself that makes me like Attack on Titan.

Compare this to fanon where his default character is happy ray of sunshine who’s a little bit naive. It’s a rather jarring comparison but I also don’t necessarily dislike it either. To me canon and fanon characteristics are almost completely seperate. If I had to always think a d compare fan fiction to canon I probably couldn’t read it. I read about happy fanon Eren and see canon angry Eren and to me they are two completely different characters - two completely different people even. If I had to read fan fiction about canon Eren I can 1000000% say that I just wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I’d be totally bored. As I said before, I like Eren but it’s the people around him and the plot itself that makes him bearable. I can watch a show about him because it takes less time and emotional energy, but I couldn’t invest in reading a book about him (which is why I haven’t read the manga either).

This isn’t even exclusively towards Attack on Titan. Back in my Teen Wolf phase I noticed how different canon and fanon characters were. Small secret - I was knee deep in the Teen Wolf fandom before I realised that I hadn’t actually watched an episode of Teen Wolf. One of my mutual’s reblogged TW artwork that was linked to a story and from that I never looked back. When I actually did get around to watching TW I can honestly say I was more than a wee bit disillusioned. Derek and Stiles are obviously not the main characters and I was prepared for that, but then they barely interacted, and when they did interact it was nothing like what I had read about - nothing like what their fanon characters or interactions were like. I can honestly say that I never made it past the first season - the show just wasn’t for me - but I was still thoroughly invested in the fandom for another year or two.

Something about fanon Sterek dynamics just did it for me, their characters and relationship was just so on point for what I wanted, and this is kind of when I came to accept that canon and fanon can be so different that it almost feels as if it’s two pieces of completely different media. I mean, fanon has its own set of rules, it’s own character tropes and story arcs that even completely different authors with completely different stories somewhat instinctively know to follow. I think that’s amazing, but it’s also a double edged sword. See these first two examples were of shows that I A) never watched/finished before reading fan fiction, B) don’t necessarily love love the characters in canon. That means that fanon is more appealing because it takes something I don’t care too strongly for and changes it to something more appealing. But what about when fanon takes something I love and cherish and remoulds it?

I want to briefly take this time to talk about something I’ve dubbed “the twink affect”. When you take a character that’s originally strong willed, self sufficient, and somewhat masculine and you pair the, up with someone EVEN MORE strong willed, self sufficient, and masculine - the “Alpha male” of characters if you will. I find that fanon is incapable of seeing two strong men together in a relationship and will eventually slowly twinkify one of them. Make them smaller, softer, lonelier, less self sufficient and more reliant on others, they need to be taken care of, they’re now a ball of sunshine that’s radiant and joyful, they’re cotton candy that melts on your tongue. You put them next to the pairing you ship them with and instead of seeing two strong men you see a bear and a twink. That’s definitely what’s happened to the two characters/pairings mentioned before and I honestly didn’t mind because I wasn’t protective of the source material, but when it does happen to a character I love it’s the most frustrating thing in the world, and I can’t even complain because I’ve already reaped the benefits from other fandoms. (I am going to complain though, this is my blog and I can do what I want mum.)

I’m going to talk about Mo Dao Zu Shi. Beautiful story that I love in (almost) all its various adaptations, but I’ve noticed the ever slow changing of fanon’s Wei Wuxian. For anyone reading this that hasn’t read MDZS (or if anyone’s reading this at all, I am expecting to just be shouting into the void at this point) Wei Wuxian dies - not a spoiler, it happens at the very beginning of the story - and comes back to life in the body of Mo Xuanyu. Mo Xuanyu is small malnourished and twinky - he even canonically wears makeup (or at least has it in his possession, I’m getting the various adaptations confused and I can’t remember if in canon Wei Wuxian woke up in Mo Xuanyu’s body already wearing the makeup or if he just finds the tin of makeup in Mo Xuanyu’s possessions). Wei Wuxian’s character is also a bit of a tease, and now he’s alive and unburdened by the past he’s much freer now than he was in the past, couple that with the fact that he’s pretending to be Mo Xuanyu (a character who is rumoured to be gay and also a bit insane) he goes all out in pretending to be a shameless flirt, and it’s honestly hilarious, I love his character. So in a sense he has all the makings of a canon twink and I’m really not here to shame on those who portray him that way while he’s in Mo Xuanyu’s body.

My personal issue is with the same extreme twink portrayal while he’s in his original body. In his original body Wei Wuxian is BUFF. He’s hunky, he’s in the top five most eligible bachelors, he’s *car honks* woof woof bark bark *whistles* puurrrr, he’s one of the most powerful cultivators of his generation, he’s a genius too. He’s hunky. He still has the cheeky shameless character, but when you compare him to the male lead Lan Wangji, they’re about the same size and strength. My favourite type of fan fiction in MDZS is fix it/everybody lives nobody dies/no war/etc etc. Basically stories where Wei Wuxian keeps his original body. The fanon twink portrayal of him being so small and soft and weak while in canon he’s one of the strongest and smartest urks me in ways I can’t explain. It’s not what I want, not what I’m looking for. I love him for who he is in canon and to see his character so distorted by fans of the original work is frustrating. I just want to read about Wei Wuxian as a jock with his equally buff and tall nerd boyfriend.

I want to pause here and say that I have nothing against authors that write him in a twinky way, I respect your work and your characters (and as I said before I’ve reaped the benefits of other fandoms twinky character portrayals numerous times), if I read a fic that I’m not happy with the characterisation I just close the tab and move on so absolutely no hate to anyone who enjoys this character type. I’m just ruminating on the fact that I’ve been seeing it happen more and more often lately to the point where I’ve kind of bounced the fandom and am sticking to other works like Scum Villain that haven’t yet twinkified too much (there will always be one or two stories in every fandom that twinkify and honestly? I respect that. Authors said twink rights ONLY, good for them).

Mo Dao Zu Shi isn’t the only fandom I’ve been in that I’ve negatively reacted to fanon. Another one would be Batman (I love Tim with all my heart and I love him getting treated nicely but damn I sometimes wish people would remember how freaking strong and amazing he is too), 2Ha is another I’ve started to see “twinkified” (although I don’t mind seeing Chu Wanning being soft and taken care of, he is canonically called handsome and masculine and he’s quite tall too), I’ve even seen the canonically “top” character (and that seems so weird to write oml) be twinkified by fandom because they want to see him get bottomed for ~equal rights~ because apparently bottoming is seen as a “woman’s position” to them and they’re trying to be woke by switching the sexual positions up but failing to see how misogynistic and homophobic that take is (imma stop myself here because that a WHOLE ‘nother can or worms to be opened right there).

What I’m trying to say is fanon is a double edged sword and I’ve definitely enjoyed some and hated some. I think it’s important to seperate the two. I do think it’s annoying for fandoms to be flooded with mischaracterisation when you actually do like the original characters and I wish there was some way to seperate fandom into “actual canon fans” and “fans of fanon”, but I don’t have a solution and I’ve definitely contributed to the problem in the past so for that I’m sorry.

I don’t know how to end this long ass rant, I don’t know what the goal was in writing this, but taadaa ~ here’s my exceptionally long take on fanon.

#rant #I don’t know if I should tag the fandoms mentioned in case I wake a sleeping bear #but I’m going to do it anyway in case someone has the tags muted #mdzs #aot fanfiction #AOT #mo dao zu shi #fanon #ao3 #attack on titan #ereri #wei wuxian

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sophiexwrites · 4 years ago

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ok, hear hear me out: a child of aphrodite that is ace/aro/both. ill prob write this myself at some point but i wanna read your take (btw i think i accidentally sent this same question to your main non-writing blog so sorry if it looks familar)

This is such a great idea, I love it: check out @troopy-writes-kinda, the asker's writing blog, if you want to see more ideas like it in the future (shameless friend plug, if that's okay)!

Cari in Camp Half Blood (please suggest a better title)

Setting: CHB, practically canon, no major differences

“And here’s the Hermes cabin, where you’ll be staying until you’re claimed.” I waved towards the cabin, a small smile on my face as I remember my time there. “If you need me, I’ll be in the Aphrodite cabin — just come on over and I’ll sort it all out. But don’t worry!” I saw the expression on the young boy’s face and rushed to reassure him. “They’re all great people, I’m sure you’ll make loads of new friends. And if somehow you don’t,” I shrugged, pale cotton of my dress rubbing against my wide shoulders, “then you still have me. Okay?”

“Okay.” Kyle replied, a small smile on his face, before wandering into the cabin. A roar came from inside and I imagined him being greeted by 10 different people, all smiling and joking to make him feel at home. The thought made me smile with them, as I wandered back to my cabin.

“Cari!” I heard the rush of pebbles on the path; a smiling face threw themselves into my vision. “Cari, you’re back from school!”

“An hour or two?!” Sarah muttered under her breath, cursing the gods for letting her spend so long in the forge. “I need to make a watch that will last through all the heat...”

“What have you been working on instead?”

“Oh, just a gift.”

“A gift?” I was interested now, Sarah didn’t make things for others everyday. “Who for?”

“Sam.” She mumbled, and I nodded quietly. She’d told me of Sam before, a longtime crush who seemed blind to any advances. Honestly? I could see myself reacting the same way - I’d never understood or felt love as more than platonic, especially not for me.

“Ah.” I bit my lip, because this was when our conversations always became awkward.

“Anyhow...” Sarah wasn’t blind or insensitive, she knew to change the subject. “I’ll see you at dinner, okay? And be nice to us when you do cabin checks!” She rushed off with a wink and some finger guns, already putting her goggles back on. It wasn’t uncommon for people to come up to me as I walked around camp, I had a reputation for being a friend and advice giver. Frankly, I enjoyed it and the purpose it gave me... what else was a child of Aphrodite supposed to do except from deal with love, even if all she could do was with the platonic?

I wandered through the pink door and remembered that maybe not everyone liked me. It wasn’t my siblings that disliked me, of course not - they loved my identity, because it was a part of me. I suppose the fact that I was no competition for a crush helps too. Our cabin was neat as ever, apart from the space under our beds, with the same cloying scent of perfume that stuck to us each time we left; same pastel pink walls and lacy curtains; the same blue, pink and green colour scheme. Everything was the same, if you ignored the white marble statue hogging the space beside my bed.

"Where did that come from?" I asked, looking around to Lacy, one of my youngest sisters and the only other one there. She stayed year round, so she probably saw it arrive.

“Not sure, it just turned up one day.” She shrugged, putting her magazine away. I glanced over her shoulder, there were some really cool dresses in there. “It’s definitely a statue of mother, though, and we tried to move it but...” The girl trailed off, pushing against the statue with no result. I wandered after her, shoving my bag under the bed with a sigh. As I knelt down to do so, however, I noticed an inscription on the pedestal.

“Lacy, have you seen this?” I asked, having her kneel beside me. It crumpled her outfit, but she didn’t seem to mind at all.

“No? I don’t think so, it’s not like we checked under your bed or anything.”

“Okay.” I bit my lip, slightly annoyed. Here was some mysterious writing, hidden in shadow that made it illegible. “Will you help me move my bed?”

“I’m not sure we’re allowed...”

I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. She was sweet, but always a little afraid. “We can move it back afterwards, don’t worry.” Lacy nodded, after a glance behind her, and I counted down for the haul.

“On three, okay? One, two...” We braced ourselves, because the bed surely wouldn’t be light. “Three!” We heaved, staggering because the bed was... somehow incredibly light?

“Woah!” Lacy gasped, adjusting her grip as we carried the bed into the middle of the room. “That’s freakishly light.”

“Yeah.” I replied, shocked but not fully listening. With the bed cleared, I only had to ignore my dusty mess to see the inscription. And it was... French?

“‘Tu es ma fille; je t'aime’? What does that mean?” Lacy asked with a terrible accent, looking towards me. I studied French in school; only a weak effort to impress our mother and feel more like her child. She’d claimed me three years ago, sure, but it seemed reluctant. Aphrodite’s sign had been faint, and there was no stunning makeover like all my siblings had. Just plain, boring Cari, tall and heavily built with clumsy hands. Speaking of which, my hand shook on its way to cover my mouth, eyes watering in surprise.

“I-it means...” I swallowed and removed my hand, letting the tears roll down my face. “’You are my daughter; I love you.’” That was a message to me? From my mother? Saying... she loved me? I had to read it again to be sure, wiping away the tears of joy and relief and straight up emotion that ran through me, the acceptance and validation dragging the crushing weight from my chest.

“Oh, Cari! I’m so happy for you!” Lacy squealed, arms wrapped around my waist in a hug, head barely reaching my collarbone. “Are you happy too?”

“Yes.” I breathed, inhaling and exhaling with the most glorious ease. “Yes, I am.”

I had to let someone else do cabin checks that night.

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Please tell me if you liked that! I’m not ace/aro so all I’ve written about it is from research, I hope I didn’t get anything wrong or offend anyone. If I did, please tell me (only if you feel comfortable ofc) via comment/ reblog/ message/ ask (anon is on)/ literally anything, because I’ll do my best to correct it. Same goes for the French: I used two online translators but I don’t know if they’re correct. Last but not least, I had She-Ra’s Scorpia in mind for Cari’s physical build, because I’m on Season 4 and am obsessed and Scorpia’s my favourite character (and I wonder where I got Kyle’s name from, huh?). Thanks for reading!

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theangrypokemaniac · 5 years ago

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I'll state from the beginning that the images below display the sort of sweet synchronicity to which only love can give life:

MaAndPaShipping is the best ship, and here are five reasons why:

1. It Made James

Like the boy do yer? Ever felt the slightest tingle of warmth at the mention of his name?

Well get down on yer knees and give thanks to his mother and father for gifting him to the world!

Where would we be without their remarkable commitment? Could James have grown into the dandified dream boat of your desires if deprived of the safety provided by his parents?

Had they not brought him up, he'd be dead, The Dog of Flanders fantasy made reality. If miraculously he survived, foraging in the wild is not conducive to a foppish personality.

Is that to yer fancy? No? Then let's have a little respect. The luxury Ma and Pa gave enabled his macaroni tendencies to reach such heights.

Their love created him! How can it not be celebrated?

You lot would ship Jessie's parents but you can't, because she has no dad, and I don't suppose you'll ever assent to his obvious identity of Windy Miller, although 'Jessie Miller' has a wonderful ring to it, so what can be done?

Should a Pa Jess be conjured for the purpose, he still buggered off, didn't he? Where's the allure in a faithless git?

I can't comprehend the obsession with Ma Jess. As soon as here she's stiff, and what is there to remember but coercing her daughter into eating snow?

Hey, I named her. What more do you want from me?

I'd rather have the living, visible ancestors, if you don't mind.

Yeah, says the history fanatic.

Why not make the most of the chances offered, and follow a devoted couple whose love made a difference to your existence?

2. Canon!

There are many ships which I find repulsive for involving depravity, or absurd as the subjects haven't met, or don't inhabit the same fictional universe.

Video et taceo: I see and I say nothing.

Neither does anyone. Forcing decent folk in to incest, bestiality etc. is quite alright.

Perverted ideas are left alone, but woe betide a Rocketshipper, because that's offensive.

It may be the only original ship left standing, with proper evidence and sanctioned by Nintendo, but no, it's fair game for undermining. People pick at your arguments, quibble constantly and NEED to register their objections NOW. You MUST be made aware of opposition. You're not to be permitted your views the way those with twisted tastes are indulged.

Why, out of tens of thousands of combinations, does making Jessie and James an item provoke hostility?

The strength of negativity actually serves as validation, for why be so concerned if it's an impossible relationship?

However sick they are, I'm not anti any ship. I can't muster sufficient interest to do it, and if I scroll on, I forget. I certainly don't attack those responsible.

Anti-Shipping is inherently nihilistic for promoting loneliness. They aren't against Rocketshipping through wanting Jessie and James to be with someone else, as an alternative is not readily available, so the outcome of it is neither finding a companion.

MaAndPaShipping attracts no sourpuss silliness, for 'tis canon beyond question. There's nothing about being 'just friends' when married with a son.

How's the state of your O.T.P.? Not looking too clever I expect, and what's your contribution: wishing, and hoping, and thinking, and praying?

Cast it off! None of that longing is necessary in these quarters, as MaAndPaShipping is a fait accompli.

Hallelujah! Wallow in that Love!

Don't you yearn for at least one ship that all of us accept by default, to the extent these aristocrats are spoken of as a single unit?

Across the internet, Ma and Pa are bracketed as 'James's parents', never 'he' and 'she', always 'they', barely counting as distinct characters. That's how undeniable the love is between them. Sheer indifference has awarded it a blessing from everyone.

MWAH-HA-HA-HA-HA!!!

Of course, now I've drawn attention to it the moaning will start, but we all know a spoilsport when we see one.

If they had any legitimate complaints they ought to have mentioned 'em before this piece highlighted the marriage!

Except it won't have occurred to 'em previously, proving the eternal, indissoluble quality of MaAndPaShipping.

You get good value with this one.

Find a post referring to Ma and Pa as individuals and I'll have written it, for that's what you call ironic.

3. It's a Fine Rocketshipping Proxy

I was at primary school when Pokémon hit the West like the bright, bearded meteor it is, atomizing all competition for a child's attention.

I have shipped Jessie and James before I knew anyone else did it, unaware shipping was even a thing.

There are other pairs where I think: 'That seems to fit', but it's incomparable to what I feel for them.

It is part of me. I bleed it.

I have shipped it longer than most Tumblerries have dwelt upon the earth.

I used to believe, what with the hints and manga finale, that this resolution was inevitable, and all I had to do was wait.

Well I've been patient for two decades now, thus when I look at the modern incarnation, and realise it's no nearer to that goal, and instead is further away, waiting starts to wear a bit thin.

I resent the lack of appreciation shown to the fans by the cretins in charge, how any meagre shippy inclusion is done not with an interest in deepening bonds, but with the blatant cynicism of moulding us into performing monkeys dancing to their manipulative tune.

I dislike being treated like a sea lion, expected to clap me flippers at the wave of a fish, or as a panting dog begging at top table, where, because they're desperate to maintain the status quo, every scrap flung down from above now comes with an Anti-Ship kick in the teeth, just to be sure nothing progresses. Not whilst the franchise can still be milked for all it's worth.

I have lost faith Rocketshipping will happen. What passes for Pokémon today carries not the remotest indication of any intention on the so-called writers' part to finish it that way.

Even if it did, it's not my Team Rocket, it's those skeletal, gargoyle bastardisations. My Jessie and James never got the reward they deserved.

I'm somewhat in the market for a replacement. Beneath this loathsome carapace of acid and ice beats the tender heart of a true romantic, and it must have an outlet!

Shipping Ma and Pa provides a certain spurious relief, because it's as close as you can get to Jessie and James without it being them, both biologically as his parents, but they're so similar to the duo it counts as proof in itself.

Holy Matrimony! is prime Rocketshipping territory, not merely the balloon lift, but many slight additions are as important, like the haircuts matching.

Ma and Pa are therefore Jessie and James in the past, present and future:

The past for representing Jess 'n' Jamie gone Victorian, and we've all wondered how that'd turn out.

The present as it's there right now, absent of suffering the shameless whims of morons to get what you want. 'Tis yours to savour.

The future as a glimpse of Jessie and James once married with children, and they agree:

That's how they play it given the opportunity!

What, James in blue, for his and Pa's hair, and Jessie wearing purple, like Ma's, with a red shawl for her own, and Ma Jess's orange earrings to copy the beads?

• Money!

• Bun!

• 'Tache!

• Classy pad!

• Fancy gear!

• Pampered pet!

• Identical cups of Earl Grey!

4. Original Blend

Ma and Pa have only got two fans! We care more than the entire fandom has in twenty years!

Rocketshipping art is ten a penny, so why not display a pioneering spirit, sharpen up those pencils and be inspired?

Let your mind expand and marvel at the possibilities of these unchartered territories, and I'll reblog it if it's nice.

Pay attention to the condition of it being nice. I'm not putting up with any old toss.

Real Ma and Pa is what I want too, not those Sinnoh coffin-dodgers.

It's never been done! Every drawing breaks new ground!

I don't like fan fiction, but I wouldn't say 'no' to that either. Recall the 'nice' stipulation again.

Come on, be the first amongst your friends and get ship shape!

5. It Gives Us All Hope

Suppose your favourite amour one day became canon: you imagine that's the end of the matter?

Well it ain't.

Between Ash, Misty, Brock, Jessie, James, Gary and Tracey, there are three-and-a-half out of fourteen parents (Flint doesn't count as a complete man) and one out of twenty-eight grandparents, and that's not enough!

If the series drew to a close with your beloved couple apparently walking into the happily-ever-after, there's no guarantee it'll endure. In fact, the odds are they'll split up within a few years and leave another generation to fend for themselves or starve.

That's right, so don't presume the final episode is all you need to worry about. Can you rest easy knowing it'll go pear-shaped once the camera stops rolling?

It's futile soothing one's worries with:

Oh, but they know what it's like to be alone. They'd never inflict such stress on their children.

Oh really?

Look at that poor showing of grandparents. Either Pokémon has a system reminiscent of the sci-fi film Logan's Run, where everyone over thirty is vapourized, or these disappearing maters and paters were themselves victims of abandonment.

I bet when they settled down, they thought it'd be different for their kids, they'd make sure of it, but no, off they went down that same route of feckless self-indulgence, and that's being kind assuming they intended not to repeat history.

Depressing eh? What's the good in any of us surrendering to romance, real or otherwise, if love is but a mayfly of emotion, and all dreams are doomed to die?

Then Ma and Pa arrive, and suddenly the storm clouds part for a ray of heavenly light.

It's not only that they made the effort in what was probably an arranged marriage and have stayed together from youth, it's that they've stayed together when no one else has, which augments its value.

When separation is commonplace, sticking it out becomes rarer and rarer as any belief in the sanctity of wedlock erodes with every failure.

If they didn't bother, why should I? What's the use when it won't work?

Once that idea enters your head, it's over, and your gloom-laden attitude fulfils itself.

Society is collapsing about Ma and Pa's ears, but they persevere nevertheless, refusing to buckle under the turgid malaise engulfing the arrogant and weak.

It's bloody beautiful, man!

You may suggest an environment of supreme wealth erases normality, and to their class and time period divorce is still taboo, so they don't really have much of choice but to remain wedded.

Ah, but it's not as if they simply tolerate one another for appearances, or carried on for the sake of their son (which is more than anyone else did besides), not when he walked out on them.

They've been married longer than James has lived, so at least eighteen years (don't all squeal at once), and they're still blissfully contented!

They hold hands!

They use terms of endearment like 'dear' and 'my precious'!

They were made for one another!

They work as a team!

They want the same thing for James!

It could bring a stone angel to tears it's so beautiful!

See what success can be achieved when you try? When you endeavour to love the one you're with and make yourself worth loving in return?

Better that than chucking 'em at the first sign of trouble.

Ma and Pa is such an irrevocable union even the despair of losing their only child failed to tear 'em asunder, and that'd defeat many, but not this husband and wife.

Be grateful, for it means all is not in vain.

It doesn't have to be misery and pain: love can last despite the pressure of a wretched, hollow culture bent on self-destruction. Your ship might just succeed too.

God bless 'em for keeping the magic alive!

...

Why do I have the presentiment that I'm going to regret encouraging support?

#maandpashipping #team rocket #ma james #pa james #ma and pa james #james #jessie #james's mom #james's dad #james's parents #rocketshipping #kanto #holy matrimony!

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bearxclaws-archive-blog · 7 years ago

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tagged by: stolen from @vinterin Feel free to steal!

REPOST, DON’T REBLOG!

ZODIAC SIGN: TAURUS

Sign Characteristics: Security, Subtle strength, Appreciation, Instruction, Patience. Tends to be possessive. Finds it difficult to let go of 'the way things are' and consequently resistant to change. Requires a home-base, this is especially true with the family unit. Finds identity within the home. Appreciates hard work and the value that comes from it.

MYERS-BRIGGS: ESTP

ESTPs always have an impact on their immediate surroundings – the best way to spot them at a party is to look for the whirling eddy of people flitting about them as they move from group to group. Laughing and entertaining with a blunt and earthy humor, ESTP personalities love to be the center of attention. If an audience member is asked to come on stage, ESTPs volunteer – or volunteer a shy friend.

Theory, abstract concepts and plodding discussions about global issues and their implications don’t keep ESTPs interested for long. ESTPs keep their conversation energetic, with a good dose of intelligence, but they like to talk about what is – or better yet, to just go out and do it. ESTPs leap before they look, fixing their mistakes as they go, rather than sitting idle, preparing contingencies and escape clauses.

ESTPs are the likeliest personality type to make a lifestyle of risky behavior. They live in the moment and dive into the action – they are the eye of the storm. People with the ESTP personality type enjoy drama, passion, and pleasure, not for emotional thrills, but because it’s so stimulating to their logical minds. They are forced to make critical decisions based on factual, immediate reality in a process of rapid-fire rational stimulus response.

This makes school and other highly organized environments a challenge for ESTPs . It certainly isn’t because they aren’t smart, and they can do well, but the regimented, lecturing approach of formal education is just so far from the hands-on learning that ESTPs enjoy. It takes a great deal of maturity to see this process as a necessary means to an end, something that creates more exciting opportunities.

Also challenging is that to ESTP, it makes more sense to use their own moral compass than someone else’s. Rules were made to be broken. This is a sentiment few high school instructors or corporate supervisors are likely to share, and can earn ESTP personalities a certain reputation. But if they minimize the trouble-making, harness their energy, and focus through the boring stuff, ESTPs are a force to be reckoned with.

With perhaps the most perceptive, unfiltered view of any type, ESTPs have a unique skill in noticing small changes. Whether a shift in facial expression, a new clothing style, or a broken habit, people with this personality type pick up on hidden thoughts and motives where most types would be lucky to pick up anything specific at all. ESTPs use these observations immediately, calling out the change and asking questions, often with little regard for sensitivity. ESTPs should remember that not everyone wants their secrets and decisions broadcast.

Sometimes ESTPs’ instantaneous observation and action is just what’s required, as in some corporate environments, and especially in emergencies. If ESTPs aren’t careful though, they may get too caught in the moment, take things too far, and run roughshod over more sensitive people, or forget to take care of their own health and safety. Making up only four percent of the population, there are just enough ESTPs out there to keep things spicy and competitive, and not so many as to cause a systemic risk.

ESTPs are full of passion and energy, complemented by a rational, if sometimes distracted, mind. Inspiring, convincing and colorful, they are natural group leaders, pulling everyone along the path less traveled, bringing life and excitement everywhere they go. Putting these qualities to a constructive and rewarding end is ESTPs’ true challenge.

FOUR TEMPERAMENTS: SANGUINE

Your temperament is SANGUINE. The sanguine temperament is fundamentally spontaneous and pleasure-seeking; sanguine people are sociable and charismatic. They tend to enjoy social gatherings, making new friends and tend to be boisterous. They are usually quite creative and often daydream. However, some alone time is crucial for those of this temperament. Sanguine can also mean sensitive, compassionate and thoughtful. Sanguine personalities generally struggle with following tasks all the way through, are chronically late, and tend to be forgetful and sometimes a little sarcastic. Often, when they pursue a new hobby, they lose interest as soon as it ceases to be engaging or fun. They are very much people persons. They are talkative and not shy. Sanguines generally have an almost shameless nature, certain that what they are doing is right. They have no lack of confidence.

CELTIC ZODIAC: HAWTHORN - THE ILLUSIONIST

Hawthorn signs in Celtic tree astrology are not at all what they appear to be. Outwardly, they appear to be a certain persona, while on the inside Hawthorn's are quite different. They put the term "never judge a book by its cover" to the test. They live seemingly average lives while on the inside they carry fiery passions and inexhaustible creative flame. They are well adjusted and can adapt to most life situations well - making themselves content and comforting others at the same time. You are naturally curious, and have an interest in a broad range of topics. You are an excellent listener, and people seek you out as an outlet to release their burdens. You have a healthy sense of humor, and have a clear understanding of irony. You tend to see the big picture, and have amazing insight - although you typically won't give yourself enough credit for your observations. Hawthorn signs match up nicely with Ash and Rowan's.

SOUL TYPE: PERFORMER

Performers are outgoing, charming people with a strong sense of fun. Because of their desire to communicate, they tend to be more talkative than many other soul types. If you are a Performer type, you’ll tend to be good with words and perhaps even show a dramatic flair when it comes to expressing yourself. You will generally feel comfortable being the focus of attention and may dress or behave in a way that attracts attention to you.

Your passionate nature and tendency to express strong emotions may make you appear a little volatile to more down-to-earth types. A caricature of this type would be an entertainer like Jim Carrey or Joan Rivers—both of whom share the Performer’s love of hamming it up.

More than any other type, the Performer needs the approval of others. You need to be told when you’ve done a good job. Speaking of jobs, you may find it unbearable to spend eight hours a day in a solitary cubicle—your need to connect with others is too strong. You may go out of the way to make your job fun or to entertain those around you just to keep things amusing.

HOGWARTS HOUSE: GRYFFINDOR

Congratulations! You have been sorted into Gryffindor, the house of bravery and chivalry.

ALIGNMENT: CHAOTIC NEUTRAL

A chaotic neutral character follows his whims. He is an individualist first and last. He values his own liberty but doesn't strive to protect others' freedom. He avoids authority, resents restrictions, and challenges traditions. A chaotic neutral character does not intentionally disrupt organizations as part of a campaign of anarchy. To do so, he would have to be motivated either by good (and a desire to liberate others) or evil (and a desire to make those different from himself suffer). A chaotic neutral character may be unpredictable, but his behavior is not totally random. He is not as likely to jump off a bridge as to cross it. Chaotic neutral is the best alignment you can be because it represents true freedom from both society's restrictions and a do-gooder's zeal. However, chaotic neutral can be a dangerous alignment when it seeks to eliminate all authority, harmony, and order in society.

DARK TRIAD: PSYCHOPATHY

Psychopathy reflects shallow emotional responses. The relative lack of emotions leads results in high stress tolerance, low empathy, little guilt and leads them to seek extremely stimulating activities, resulting in impusivity and a disposition towards interpersonal conflict.

THE ANIMAL IN YOU: BISON

Courageous Stable Reliable

Bison are pragmatic, strong shouldered individuals who excel in the art of compromise. They are resourceful and dedicated to the pursuit of success. As is typical of a herbivorous personality, the bison is a resourceful, determined individual with a strongly conservative bent. Not one to rock the boat, it avoids drawing attention to itself while it quietly goes about it business.

LIFE PATH NUMBER: 4 - THE WORKER

The life of a Life Path 4 is one of work and discipline to feel stable. You do not like taking short-cuts and often feel that the best way to do anything is through dedications and perseverance. You can see through "Get Rich Quick" schemes and consider them to be a waste of time, you see that time as being better spent working towards the solid goal.

You like challenge, and may consider everything a challenge, sometimes to a fault. This can lead to discussions, and even arguments, about what is the best way to do something.

You're very headstrong and will insist on "not taking a shortcut". You may feel that spending hours and days to find the "best way" to do something will pay off greatly in the long run.

You need stability to feel comfortable. The world often finds 4's in a position of manager and business leader because of their desire to lead people to a defined goal. A career that deals with finite items, patterns, and structure (finance, accounting, engineering, etc.) are best suited to the Life Path 4 because the careers require an attention to detail.

ROSENBERG SELF-ESTEEM SCALE: 14

Your score is 14/30. Scores below 15 indicate low self esteem.

BRAIN LATERALIZATION TEST: Right ( 74% ) | Left ( 18% )

Left brain dominant individuals are more orderly, literal, articulate, and to the point. They are good at understanding directions and anything that is explicit and logical. They can have trouble comprehending emotions and abstract concepts, they can feel lost when things are not clear, doubting anything that is not stated and proven.

Right brain dominant individuals are more visual and intuitive. They are better at summarizing multiple points, picking up on what’s not said, visualizing things, and making things up. They can lack attention to detail, directness, organization, and the ability to explain their ideas verbally, leaving them unable to communicate effectively.

Overall you appear to be Right Brain Dominant

#🐻;「 laughs like she’s got something to hide ( musings ) 」#🐻;「 still learning and growing ( headcanon ) 」#( ohman a lot of these were accurate and i'm glad )#( these were fun to do c: )

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princerubins · 7 years ago

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tag game

i was tagged by @hyun-jaes, thank you 💕

1. Nicknames: i’ve had a lot but the ones i had the longest were barbie, angel, ange, & tt

2. Gender: female

3. Star sign: pisces

4. Height: 5′2″

5. Time: 9:55pm

6. Birthday: the same exact day astro’s sunshine mj was born

7. Favourite groups: ??? i have so many though. exo, toppdogg, & f(x) are my top three though

8. Favourite solo artists: kris, luhan, & tao

9. Song stuck in my head: gold medal ribbon by ptv

10. Last movie I watched: i think it was when i finished it follows?

11. Last show I watched: shameless

12. When did I create my blog: january 24, 2016

13. What do I post: music, mostly kpop, sometimes rooster teeth or any anime i see to reblog

14. Last thing I googled: it was one of the girls of mixnine

15. Do I have any other blogs: i have my old blogs i don’t update anymore, my old personal/anime/yt blog mechaseamus and it’s not solely mine but 2017debuts

16. Do I get asks: usually only if i post something bitchy and people want to know what i’m complaining about

17. Why I chose my url: because e’dawn uploaded the original version of organic song to soundcloud with the username weirdawn and i love e’dawn and the original version of organic song

18. Following: 394

19. Followers: 2,237

21. Average hours of sleep: 4? 5? i only really sleep in early morning until 8 or 9

22. Lucky number: 7, 27, + 88

23. Instruments: i used to play guitar + bass but i haven’t been able to play in a while and doubt i remember anything tbh

24. What am I wearing: hoodie & long pants because its cold here

26. Dream job: something to do with music

27. Dream trip: anywhere nice

28. Favourite food: cookies, brownies, ice cream

29. Nationality: american

30. Favourite song right now: 🖤

#angel plays games #angel talks tag

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legendofgrump · 7 years ago

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awkwardarin replied to your post “awkwardarin replied to your post “4, 7, 10 you bet your ass I’m...”

*chanting* DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT

You ask, I deliver. Here we gooooo~ (Also I’m going to shame you all I want SO)

As per request, I’ll answer all the asks (that I haven’t already) from the fanfic questions post, but it’s under a read more so I don’t literally kill everyone’s dashes. I’m so sorry in advance

1. What was the first fandom you got involved in? I mean, before I even knew what “fandom” meant, I was writing Twilight fanfiction, so I guess that counts. The first one I actively participated in was the Grump one haha

2. What is your latest fandom? Ouran High School Host Club, but again, if you want active participation, then I guess uhhh Night in the Woods?

3. What is the best fandom you’ve ever been involved in? Definitely the Grump fandom!! I’ve met all the best people and 99% of my friends through this blog right here!

4. Answered

5. Which fandoms have your written fanfiction for? Uhh Twilight, Big Time Rush, Total Drama, Game Grumps, technically AntiPoppy but it’s not even close to done and not published

6. Answered

7. Answered

8. Answered

9. What are the best things about your current fandom? I mean, for this fandom, like I said, it’s got all my friends in it. Everyone’s super supportive and there’s tons of opportunities to get involved and create stuff and support other creators! It’s probably one of the nicest communities I’ve been a part of.

10. Answered

11. Who is your current OTP? Currently I’m still heavily thinking about Hikaru and Haruhi from Ouran Host Club so that I guess haha

12. Who is your current OT3? The all time babes are Rubbercommanderbang. Also Raven, Cyborg, and Beast Boy is a ship that @cantolopejeevas made me think about and I love

13. Any NoTPs? Refer to this massive post

14. Go on, who are your BroTPs? Hikaru and Kaoru from Ouran, The entirety of the Teen Titans, the monks in Xiaolin Showdown, etc

15. Is there an obscure ship which you love? A n t i P o p p y

16. Are their any popular ships in your fandom which you dislike? I’m more or less indifferent toward Egobang if we’re gonna be real here. I just don’t feel like there’s anything I can add to it at this point.

17. Who was your first OTP and are they still your favourite? I mean, before I knew what that meant, probably RaiKim from Xiaolin Showdown. And they’re still great, but now I’m a little gayer.

18. What ship have you written the most about? Ironically? Probably Egobang. I wasn’t so cynical about it when I first started haha

19. Is there a ship which you wished you could get behind, but you just don’t feel them? Refer to number 16

20. Any ships which you surprised yourself by liking? Hmm probably like Septibang? Or CommanderSeptiBang?? Those were two ships I just kinda stumbled upon and was like? Okay I guess we’re doing this now??

Also Mae and Selmers from Night in the Woods. Surprisingly wholesome.

21. What was the first fanfic you ever wrote? I think I mentioned this before, but it was self-insert Twilight fanfic. Honestly I wish I was just as shameless as I was in middle school. Writing Mary Sue self-insert fic where you ship yourself with a main character is fun and satisfying as hell.

22. Is there anything you regret writing? Aforementioned Twilight fanfiction. Though part of me doesn’t because it was my origin story and also, like I said, shameless and for fun.

23. Name a fic you’ve written that you’re especially fond of & explain why you like it. Ahh probably either “You Monster,” which is like my best stuff that I’ve put up so far??? or the massive Big Time Rush fanfic I talk so much about just for the sheer size of it :P

24. What fic do you desperately need to rewrite or edit? You Monster!!!! I’m gonna write a redux soon I promise.

25. What’s your most popular fanfic? ???? According to Archive, it’s You Monster! How nice~

26. Answered

27. Answered

28. If someone were to draw a piece of fanart for your story, which story would it be and what would the picture be of? Literally anything??? I love all fanart of anything I make??? But I guess You Monster haha

29. Do you have a beta reader? Why/Why not? Hahaha no I don’t write enough to warrant having one. And also I literally almost never edit anything I write rip

30. Answered

31. Answered

32. Do you listen to music when you write or does music inspire you? If so, which band or genre of music does it for you? Depends!! Sometimes music really confuses my brain and makes me unable to think of words, especially if it’s really word-heavy music (which is most of what I listen to). If I’m really struggling, it usually helps to do it in silence so I can focus. But otherwise, I used to make little playlists of instrumental music to listen to, or play premade playlists of like study music or something.

33. Do you write oneshots, multi-chapter fics or huuuuuge epics? I really like writing huuuuge epics/multi-chapters but I’m really bad at finishing things ;--; so most of what gets published are requested one-shots/ficlets (one of which was requested the other day and I’M STILL T R Y I N G I SWEAR)

34. What’s the word count on your longest fic? Oh buddy. It’s over 100K.

35. Do you write drabbles? If so, what do you normally write them about? Uh I guess? But I’m not particularly stuck to the “required word count” for the different vocab. I usually only write really short things when people request stuff haha. But it’s kinda fun~

36. What’s your favourite genre to write? Probably just straight angst. Angst that develops character, specifically, but angst nonetheless.

37. First person or third person - what do you write in and why? Third person. I used to write in first person and for some reason it always seems less?? effective/neat to me? Plus I write very colloquially and I find it easier to do when I can write in third person.

38. Do you use established canon characters or do you create OCs? Usually canon characters, but if it’s something like Total Drama that depends on constantly changing casts of characters, I’ve definitely made some of my own characters.

39. What is you greatest strength as a writer? Uhhh???? Uhhhh????? Does not compute????

40. What do you struggle the most with in your writing? Effectively capturing characters, at least that fit my own standards. And then also the anxiety that comes along with thinking its good enough to waste people’s time with. :’)

41. List and link to 5 fanfics you are currently reading: I’m not...currently reading any...but I will link to five of my favs.

1. Before and After (Shaddic) --Total Drama (also tw for a lot of HEAVY mental illness/abuse/violence) 2. Wu Xing Shield (DragonNutt) -- Xiaolin Showdown (tw: death) 3. If Lost, Return to Phil (thatsmistertoyou) - Dan and Phil (I don’t remember, I just remember it being really fucking sad) 4. Two Roads Meet (pianodan) - Dan and Phil (tw: suicide) 5. The Vibe and The Vibe 2: 2Fuck2Vibrator (by our very own @cantolopejeevas) (tw: gratuitous smut ;) )

42. List and link to 5 fanfiction authors who are amazing: 1. @cantolopejeevas / @grumpygamersandvibrantcolors for obvious reasons. they’re just!!! so good!!! at all the types of writing. (hey go commission them) The Ultimate Senpai 2. @i-am-avacado oh boy they angst well! current holder of the angst crown (for nooooow~) honestly writing senpai 3. @devilgate-drive provides the Good Quality Rubbercommanderbang Content and also just generally talented 4. @sweetiefiend writes the cute shit!!! like damn!!!! 5. @autumn-feels so??? talented for her age??? and so deep wtf

43. Is there anyone in your fandom who really inspires you? I mean, all of my friends for one. And my lovely darling @cantolopejeevas who continues to push me forward and compliments my work all the time. But yeah, all my friends make me wanna get better because they’re all so good and I wanna do that tooooo!!

44. What ship do you feel needs more attention? AntiPoppy. Please.

45. What is your all time favourite fanfic? Fuckin’!!!! Wu Xing Shield, listed above!!! It’s the first fanfic I cried reading!!! And it’s so beautifully written!!! If you like Xiaolin Showdown, I recommend it. Plus, it also took stuff from Xiaolin Chronicles and made it bearable. Bless.

46. If someone was to read one of your fanfics, which fic would you recommend to them and why? Ahhh You Monster. It’s probably my best one. Even though it needs heavy editing haha.

47. Archive Of Our Own, Fanfiction.net or Tumblr - where do you prefer to post and why? I mean....Fanfiction.net is where it all began, but I never posted anything on it. I think AO3 is the best for posting fics and keeping track of them. But more people usually see it if I post it on my tumblr. So a mixture of those two?

48. Do you leave reviews when you read fanfiction? Why/Why not? For the longest time I didn’t because I had major anxiety!!! I was too nervous to leave a comment, no matter what. Plus, I didn’t really make accounts on either ffn or ao3 so I couldn’t have if I wanted to. But now I like leaving tags and stuff on people’s works on tumblr and (if I read more fic) I would leave comments, just because I want people to know they’re doing good work!!

49. Do you care if people comment/reblog your writing? Why/why not? Yeah, I mean, of course! I love seeing comments on all my work, art, writing, or otherwise! It’s just nice to know that someone liked something I made, especially if it’s something I’m self-conscious about like I am with writing. And reblogs help spread it around so it can get more attention, so that’s always helpful!

50. Answered

51. Answered

I HOPE EVERYONE IS HAPPY ESPECIALLY YOU @awkwardarin

#awkwardarin #ask meme

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unashamed-shipper · 7 years ago

Text

Living With You

read on ff.net and ao3

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve / thirteen / fourteen / fifteen / sixteen / seventeen

rating: t+ for sexual joking, swear words, and violence

pairings in this chapter: nalu, gruvia

characters in this chapter: natsu, lucy, juvia, gray

reblogs are appreciated <3

Waking up early for once, Lucy was excited to find that Natsu was not in her bed. The twerp had finally decided to respect her space after he had both slept next to her and ran into her while she wore a towel.

Not that she minded him sleeping next to her, of course.

She enjoyed having him next to her while she slept, and although it wasn’t a familiar feeling, she liked the idea of having someone sleep next to her while she was in her most vulnerable state. Someone to protect her and be ready to fight whatever came her way. And that definitely described Natsu.

Smiling as she got out of bed, she wandered slightly down the hall to take a shower and ready herself for the day of work. Although she had the day off from actual work, she had a lot of things to get done that day. Washing the dishes from last night and the morning’s breakfast, calling the psychiatrist she was referred to, going grocery shopping, paying the bills that were her responsibility, and going home to write were just a few of the things that she needed to accomplish. Who knew that living with three other people would be so exhausting?

After washing up and pulling on her clothes and applying makeup, Lucy walked down the hall to see Gray watching TV while eating his usual breakfast of cereal and toast.

“Good morning,” Lucy greeted cheerfully, and Gray mumbled something in response.

“You could at least say hello,” Lucy eyed Gray warily, and Gray turned to say something to his roommate and friend that she would have never thought would ever come out of his mouth.

“I’m gonna ask Juvia out on a date today,” he said, scratching his neck nervously.

Lucy covered her mouth before running over and plopping down on the couch next to him. “Gray, that’s great! Where are you going to ask her to go with you?”

“I thought I’d ask her to go to a movie and dinner. Something simple,” Gray chuckled awkwardly, a soft flush covering his face.

Lucy thought back to the first time she met Gray. There was a used condom on the floor, an obvious sign of his shameless conquests. Then he brought home Olivia and Alicia, who both were not the girl for him. Lucy realized that she wasn’t sure what other girls he could have dated or had sex with at the time that she was moved in, but obviously they didn’t last.

But then he met Juvia. Although odd in her pursuits to woo Gray, she was kind and intelligent and a good friend. Maybe she knew about the other girls that he was dating at the moment, but Juvia stood by her vow to have Gray as her own once and for all.

And slowly, Gray started changing. He became less gruff and kinder, and even though the change was tedious and nothing like they’d thought it would be, Gray finally decided to ask Juvia out.

“How are you going to ask her?” Lucy asked, getting up and heading to the refrigerator to make herself some cereal of her own.

Gray’s pleased expression dropped. “I-I didn’t think about that,” he said sheepishly.

Beginning to eat her cereal, Lucy chewed and swallowed before answering him with her own idea. “Why don’t you go to her work and bring her some flowers? It would make her day to have something to brighten up the shop.”

Gray nodded with a soft smile before finishing his cereal, thanking Lucy on the way to the kitchen to put his bowl in the sink. He completed his routine before heading out, saying goodbye to Lucy on his way to the car. Watching Gray leave, she opened the window and gave him a thumbs-up as a good luck charm. He would need it if he was going to have the strength to ask Juvia on a date.

Closing the window gently, Lucy began to tidy up the house. With four people living in the small apartment, there was a lot of cleaning to get done--and not just because three of them were men. Lucy could make quite a mess of her own when she made dinner or decided to write, and she hated that her messes were almost as big as the guys’.

Lucy began to clean up the coffee table and saw Natsu’s technology magazine laying there. A smile slowly began to make its way from one end of her mouth to the other, and suddenly she was shaking her head and grinning at the way he would drink his decaffeinated coffee and read his magazine every “morning” and then go to sleep. He had a wonky schedule: go to sleep at 2 PM while everyone was at work after drinking his regular coffee and leaving a ring on the glass coffee table no matter how many times he wiped it down, wake up at 10 PM and be at work at 11. Then he would go to work for eight hours, sometimes nine if he had to work on an old lady’s computer and the task became more tedious. Natsu would then take his medication and plop himself down in bed when he got tired of playing video games, and then wake up and do the same thing over again.

Lucy walked to Natsu’s room, smiling when she saw his door thrown open like normal. He didn’t really spend much time in his room other than sleeping and reading comics, but he always left the door open as if he had just sped out of the place like his life depended on it. Stepping in quietly, Lucy sat down on Natsu’s bed, hearing it creak under her weight. Looking to the bedside table, she spotted a bottle of pills that Natsu had been prescribed by his psychiatrist. Interest nipped at her as she picked it up, wondering if maybe the medication he took would be good for her to suggest to her psychiatrist.

Of course, Lucy’s anxiety was worse than Natsu’s, and Natsu’s depression was harder to deal with than Lucy’s. She and her psychiatrist who she had just been set up with over the phone would have to find a good balance for her and her disorders. Shaking the pill bottle and setting it back down, Lucy noticed that it was completely empty. Curious, she grasped the bottle in her hand and read to find how many refills there were left.

Zero, it read. There were zero refills left.

Lucy clapped a hand to her mouth, knowing that Natsu would have to see a psychiatrist or some sort of doctor in order to get his medication refilled. Withdrawals were not pretty, especially with antidepressants. Lucy had never experienced this horror herself, but she knew that Natsu would be in a funk for a while before he got them back.

Picking up her phone, Lucy decided to call Natsu. It would be nice to hear his voice after not seeing him for a while, and she needed to tell him that he needed to get to a doctor immediately.

After a few rings, Natsu picked up. “Hey, Luce!”

“Hi, Natsu. How are you doing?” she asked, pressing a soothing tone into her voice.

Natsu waited for a few beats before answering. “How are you doing? You sound weirder than normal,” he said, concerned.

“I’m fine, but you haven’t answered my question,” Lucy responded.

“Since when do I answer your questions? Especially since you ask such weird ones,” Natsu replied, a grin on his face. He knew it would elicit a reaction from her.

“Don’t change the subject!” Lucy growled, irritation pulsing in her temple. Sighing, she went straight to the point. “Did you know that you’re out of pills?”

Lucy could practically hear his confused look over the phone. “Yeah, why?”

“You also don’t have any refills,” she pointed out, and she heard a sharp inhale.

“Shit. Thanks for reminding me, Luce,” Natsu said, and Lucy shook her head. How could someone not know information that vital?

“No problem. Just go to the doctor as soon as you can, okay?” Lucy said before saying her goodbyes and hanging up. Getting up from Natsu’s bed, she meandered her way into the kitchen to make herself a quick snack before going out to do the rest of her chores for the day. She wanted to be home in enough time to see Natsu before he went to bed.

With a jolt, Lucy remembered that she had to mail the letter to her father soon. She was not looking forward to that. Her father would surely spit back a reply that if she didn’t get her behind over to his estate by next week that there would be a limo waiting for her to come home.

Home. It wasn’t really a calming, soothing word for her. It brought up feelings of abandonment, pain, abuse, and not anything like what her father wanted to paint a picture of it being now. She sure as hell didn’t want to go back.

So why the hell did she want to mail that letter so badly? In its pages it demonstrated a firm need to stay at the apartment, and exactly how Lucy felt. In a firm tone she had written that she had no desire to go to the place she would never call a home, and she had pretty much given her father the written equivalent of the middle finger.

Maybe it was because she finally wanted to tell her father that she had a place to call home.

Looking around her apartment, she realized that it was more home than her father’s estate would ever be. The three men she lived with were more family than her own father could ever hope to become. And that was the saddest awareness that Lucy had come to in quite a while.

Pushing back her feelings of anxiety and tears, she made her snack and coffee to bring along with her and stepped out into the gorgeous autumn scene, hoping that this one would be different than the last.

Swinging the door open after coming home from grocery shopping and grabbing the bills from the mail, Lucy held the grocery bags in her arms like they were precious cargo. To Gajeel maybe they were, but to Lucy they were just regular ingredients to regular meals. Chuckling, she noted that maybe she had been spoiled since she started living here. Whipped cream not coming from a can and fresh basil had made Lucy gain some extra weight in her hips and butt, but she didn’t see anyone complaining.

Natsu definitely wasn’t complaining as he watched Lucy put away the groceries. She wore a pair of green cargo shorts with a bow in the center that looked like the fabric of the bubble skirts she wore often, and she wore a coral lace tank top which highlighted the pink tones in her skin and the blonde in her hair. Her golden locks, though usually tied up in a ponytail, were now tied up in a cute bun style that Natsu particularly liked. Although, he would enjoy it more if her hair was down and he could push it out of her face and kiss he--

“See something you like?” Lucy mused from where she reached to put the bottle of black olives away. Natsu turned away and flushed, pretending to be interested in his comic book that he was reading before Lucy walked in. Lucy stared at him with a knowing smile, watching his green eyes scan the comic a little too intently.

“That food looks good, Luce,” Natsu replied, sipping his decaf like he hadn’t just seen his roommate look like a goddess who fell to earth only to tempt him.

“Yeah. I thought I’d make some chicken and pasta tonight. Sound good?” Lucy said, flopping down on the couch with a sigh. She looked exhausted, Natsu noted, and he smiled at her through his headache that had only seemed to get worse throughout the day.

“As long as you don’t make the crepe and gravy thing again, I’ll eat it,” Natsu said with a cheeky grin, and Lucy swatted him on the arm.

“That was one time! Gray said it was good!” Lucy protested. Natsu took a sip of his coffee, remembering that Gray had only said it was good because both Gajeel and Natsu had glared at him behind Lucy’s head until he lied for all three of them.

There was silence for a few moments before Lucy piped up. “So how are you feeling?”

Natsu chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. Looking up at Lucy, he began to fumble over his words. “I’m doing pretty girl--pretty good! I am doing pretty good, Luce.”

Lucy flushed slightly before letting out a giggle. Did Natsu just call her pretty? “That’s good, Natsu.”

He grinned, liking watching her giggle. The sound was bubbly and cute, and her smile that went along with the noise only added to the adorable effect.

Lucy was one of the best things to happen to him. Yes, he knew it sounded cliche, but she honestly was. She had brightened up his world of darkness with her positive outlook on life and kindness, and he knew that he could never repay her for that. She brought out the best in him. She showed him happiness in life that he didn’t even know himself. Her smile made him smile. Her laugh made him laugh. And he truly wanted to spend every moment with Lucy.

He knew he was falling hard and fast, and that was the reason he had a question to ask.

“Lucy,” Natsu said after a moment of silence, fighting to keep his nerves and voice even. Grasping her hand in his, he looked into her eyes deeply.

“Would you go on a date with me?”

>>Chapter 18>>

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