#sorry i took so long to respond! really wanted to flesh my thoughts out for this

[diyasgarden]

hi diya!!! please feel free to ignore this if it’s too much but i’m curious to know how you think art and/or patrick would go about handling life and especially intimate moments with someone with body insecurity/food issues? especially since art also doesn’t seem to have the best relationship with food in the movie either

oo this is really interesting to think about. naturally, discussion of bodily image and eating disorders under the cut!

It would take time for Patrick to even understand you were struggling with food and bodily insecurity. Not out of a place of insensitivity, but from one of confusion. His vast confidence and self-assured nature leads to this unawareness of conceptualizing insecurities coherently, both in himself and others (more of a deep-seated feeling he can sense but tries not to verbalize). He'd pick up on little details but not really be able to understand what was the driving factor. Honestly you'd probably have to sit down and talk about it with him after a certain point for him to fully understand, and even then he'd find it hard to understand why. You're perfect to him, he can't understand you feeling any other way.

Art on the other hand would notice and connect the dots very quickly, but take time to really say anything. His own struggles with food, would make him hyperaware of any of the signs on you, and because he struggles he understands the place that it is coming from. It takes him time to really address it with you, mostly because he is a bit apprehensive about opening a can of worms he doesn't know if can close, but he does eventually. Just really trying to show that he is there for you.

Regardless of how it takes them to fully realize you're struggling, they'd both instantly want to support you through it. Although I think they'd go about it in different ways.

Patrick would want you to see you the way he sees you, and will constantly try to reassure you that you're perfect. Through little whispers, the way he holds onto you, even through the looks he gives you. It radiates love and admiration. Now if you struggle with eating, he does his best to give you some stability with it. While he may not fully understand, what he knows is that he wants you to have a healthy relationship with food. If you struggle with eating in the first place, he does what he can to make sure you're eating consistently. Being with you for meals when he can, calling/texting to make sure you ate on tour, and bringing you food if he thinks you haven't ate. Every once in a while this probably leads to a fight, but really he just wants to be there for you, even if he doesn't know how. If you struggle with binge eating, he tries to be there with you after to make sure you don't do anything too rash.

Art is more gentle with it. I think it'd be hard for him to help you the best he can when he is actively struggling, but he tries to make sure you're eating. He is never too direct with it, but you can tell what his motivations are. Similar to Patrick, if you binge eat he tries to make sure he's there with you after. I even think that trying to make sure you engage in healthy habits would help him get better too. His pattern of restriction falls under orthorexia, so forcefully trying to make you engage in healthy habits helps him out too. Of course there are moments where the competitive nature of these issues win out and he needs space, but you know he's struggling too so it's never personal.

As for intimate moments, both of them really do what they can to show how desired you are. Again through touch, looks, and words, really just emphasizing how much they love you. . While Art may not be as direct during day to day life, he is in bed. Really plays it by ear to give you exactly what you need in that moment to feel comfortable. Whatever Patrick does in daily life with you is ten fold during sex, just very tender and gentle

[neoraso]

love on your lips| nct dream

sweet affirming words dreamies say to you, idk why all of them are sad except haech, which is kinda suggestive for .5 seconds but it's sweet i promise <3 00z+mark

mark : "you don't always have to be strong around me"

it had been a long day for you, stressors from the week building up leaving you dazed and exhausted. it had been a long day for mark too- it always was - but that didn't mean he didn't notice how your smile didn't meet your eyes and then twist into a grimace as soon as you thought he wasn't looking. he knew you well enough to know what you looked like when you were trying to hold yourself together from the inside out. it broke his heart to see you suffer and try to keep it to yourself. that's why he approached your sitting figure, tentatively putting his hand on your shoulder and lightly squeezed the flesh of your upper arm.

"what's goin’ on baby? you still here with me?"

his familiar line he often used to snap you out of your thoughts brought the corners of your mouth up.

"sorry. long day." you trailed off but still stood to wrap your arms around his neck, feeling like some life was flooding back into you. he responded immediately, rubbing your back and pressing you further into him, petting your head when you hooked your chin on his shoulder. mark stood there patiently in his arms, soaking you up too until he broke the silence.

"you don't always have to be strong around me baby."

your breath caught at his words and how genuinely he said them. all the things you wanted to say were stuck in your throat and all you could do was nod against him. he didn't say anything more even when he felt your tears drop on his shoulder. it was ok if you didn't say everything on your mind today, he would be there today, tomorrow and every tomorrow after that.

renjun: "you can lean on me too"

you stood under some cover with clothes and hair drenched by the rain that started unexpectedly as you walked back from the corner store, thinking the fresh air would do you good. on any other day you might've gasped when the first rain drop hit your cheek, a surprise that made you hurry your steps home to get cozy- today was not that day.

if you didn't know any better, you'd think someone had cursed you. maybe because you were already stressed, every little thing that went wrong seemed to chip away at your resolve.

you hated calling renjun for things like this, he was busy enough as it is and really you could just walk home and cry in a hot shower later. but he was your boyfriend and you knew he would scold you for walking home in the cold when he could just come get you. so you shakily wiped your phone screen while your numb fingertips fumbled to find his contact and hit call. the lump was already in your throat and your eyes burned but you would not cry on this call.

that's what you told yourself and believed until you heard his voice.

"yn? are you ok?"

that's all it took.

you choked on sobs as you described your current predicament until he cut you off, telling you he happened to be in the area and could pick you up in less than ten. the tears had stopped and turned into small gasps on the way home. renjun hadn't said much on the car ride home but held your hand the whole way while you hung your head, tears falling on his fingers.

when he pulled up in front of your place he parked the car and turned to you, not letting go of your hands.

"talk to me" he said it in a kind tone but it made you feel like a child again, unable to articulate why you’d had such an outburst.

you still tried , stuttering around the objectively insignificant events that had built up to now, and circling around the fact that you hadn’t shared any of it with him because you didn’t want to be a burden.

he squeezed your twiddling, now clammy fingers softly in his own with a sigh.

“y/n.. you are always … always there for me. truthfully i don’t know how you put up with all my complaints. but i know you listen because you love me and you care about my problems.” he was looking so severely at you you couldn’t look away as he continued,

“i’m saying this because the point of being together in this life is to share the good and the bad. you can lean on me too.”

you squeezed his fingers back, nodding so he knew you heard him and that you would try.

jeno "your problems will never be too much for me"

he slipped your phone out of your hand, turning it off and face down on the counter, sitting next to you. only then did you look up at him quizzically.

“you’ve been staring at the same post for two minutes, so what’s really going on up there?” he tapped your forehead with his index, patiently waiting for your answer.

you knew there was no getting out of it once he confronted you so you sigh, looking at the counter in front of you.

“i really don’t know jen, it’s like nothing’s happening but it’s all still too much. i’m sorry for worrying you, i’m ok i swear.” you trail off not wanting to say too much.

he knew very well that work had been taking a toll on you , and the fact he was so busy and not around as much didn’t help. but he really couldn’t stand you keeping it to yourself and suffering silently just to spare him. days of coming home to you asleep at the table with food untouched in the fridge, or on top of the bed covers with a grimace, now all connected and his heart felt heavier with each breath.

seeing as he hadn’t said anything in response, you squeezed his bicep and smiled at him like you always did, tenderly and silently saying you’ll always put him first.

“i’m ok jen, you don’t have to worry about me when you have so much going on. i can take care of myself, promise.”

as you stood to find somewhere else to space out he grabbed your wrist to stop you. moving to hold your waist as he stood up, his bangs falling in front of his eyes as he looked down at you.

“i’m always gonna worry about you, my job is to take care of you. your problems will never be too much for me, ok? i’m sorry i haven’t been home when you need me, i’ll do better. anything you need baby please let me handle it.”

he caught you off guard with his desperation and the pressure of his fingertips on your hips. so you reached up to his face pulling him down for a chaste kiss. he responded immediately, but pulled away to kiss your forehead as he stood up, hugging you properly and resting his chin against the top of your head.

"let's put on a movie and order in. we don't even have to watch it, just let me hold you."

your heart blossomed and you could already feel your stresses liquefying. the tight grip you had kept on yourself was loosening as you let him hold you together too.

all you could reply with was, “sounds perfect."

and that was more than enough for him.

haechan "every day with you excites me"

it was a typical day off with donghyuck. after he had convinced you (with not much resistance) to stay in bed for an extra hour trapped tightly between his limbs, you both got up to make breakfast.

as the two of you milled around the kitchen, there was no shock to how many kisses and pokes and squeezes he dared every time he passed by you.

once you finished and sat down to eat, he set a glass of water in front of you before sitting beside you, hooking his ankle around yours.

"drink that before your coffee please."

you looked from his face , framed by unruly curls he hadn't bothered to fix and all the beauty marks you loved to kiss back to the glass in front of you before letting out a delayed laugh.

he looked over at you curiously but still with a fond smile as he pretended to act offended.

"what's wrong with you? you're supposed to drink water before anything else in the morning... for health! i want you to be healthy for- stop laughing!"

this only made the giggles more uncontrollable even as you leaned over and kissed his cheek that was now a bit warmer than usual.

"what's wrong with you huh?"

after collecting yourself you sighed, reaching over to smooth his hair down.

"nothing is the matter my love. i just realized you tell me this same thing every time we make breakfast. and then i thought, 'is he going to tell me this every breakfast for the next 60 years? won't he get bored?' and it made me laugh. you're so cute and sweet you know?"

though the tips of his ears were pink, he still shook his head with a sigh and grumbled,

"well thank god that's why you're laughing i thought you had become delirious with like, i don't know, love. for me obviously because i'm so caring. i thought like 'wow she's so stricken by my actions she finally reached her breaking point.' or someth-"

you cut him off with a cut strawberry pressed against his open mouth. and he simply smiled before tugging you up from your chair into his lap. his mouth still full of fruit kissing your cheek countless times as he reached over and picked up your water glass again, handing it to you.

"you didn't even drink it." he whines, eyes following as you sip looking right back at him with amusement. "and for the record, yes. i will be doing this every day for forever with you because i like doing it. i like taking care of you, i like doing "mundane" things with and for you. every day with you excites me. i like waking up and pulling the covers over you, i like going to the store and buying toothpaste and bowls and- i dunno tape for us, i like folding your clothes and towels and i like telling you to drink water."

by now the glass was half empty and your heart was all the way full as he continued,

"i've never had a love like this. reciprocated, electric, comforting love. you make me feel so safe and treasured and i want to give back to you tenfold. i'd go to school for 46 years or however long they go to school to become your dentist if that's what you wanted from me. i used to think i was lazy or not meant for much in this life and now you give me so much purpose as a person and a man and your partner. i love it and i love you and there's nothing you can do about it , okay?"

the glass was empty when you set it down and pulled him in for a sweet kiss.

"you're lovely hyuck. especially in the morning, and very late at night for some reason."

"hey, what about the middle of the day? i'm so lovely all the time, all times of day." he pouted against your shoulder

"hm... yeah no the middle of the day you start to get a little rowdy, a little fired up and ... maybe even crazy some might say. oh yeah look it's nearing noon, i better take shelter before my boyfriend grabs me and doesn't let go and showers me in love and kisses for the rest of the day" you made a feeble attempt to get up when he suddenly grabbed your waist and dug his fingers in

"oh baby, it's too late. i wasn't planning on letting you go since we woke up." he pinched your hip making you yelp before adding "and i can do a lot more than kiss you."

no, his love would never get old.

jaemin "i'll show you how special you are"

jaemin suspected something was wrong but then he really knew when you said you were ready for bed at 10pm.

so naturally, he spent the 30 minutes you showered and did your night routine trying to figure out what had happened. it seemed like everything was fine at your mutual friend’s birthday dinner but as the ride home went on, you got progressively quieter. letting go of his hand as he drove to fiddle with your dress sent alarms blaring in his mind so much so he forgot to say anything. you walked in the door taking off your bag and shoes by yourself, practically teleporting into the bathroom leaving him stunned in the entry way.

he thought of springing this discussion after your shower but figured you needed some more time, so he forced himself to take a longer time getting ready for bed too.

he walked into the bedroom, to you laying with your back turned he sighed, tentatively slipping under the covers and scooping you to him before he could think to stop himself.

“jaemin…” you whined with no real bite as he inhaled deeply into your neck, kissing the slope of your shoulder up to your ear.

“tell me what’s wrong baby. cmon, i’m here. don’t leave me out.”

you paused for a while before accepting defeat. you knew it would come up eventually so it might as well be now,

“it’s dumb…” you grumbled, but relaxed in his hold either way.

“not dumb if it upsets you this much, i hate to see you so sad.” you could feel his pout against your skin. thankful you didn’t have to look at his face as you continued, far too embarrassed.

“i just… i overheard your friends talking about your ex. they didn’t even say anything really just that they hadn’t seen you out and actually happy since you guys broke up. so really, it was a good thing and i couldn't tell you why it upset me but it just made me wonder if you were actually happy with me or could be as in love. i don’t know…”

his hands moved softer over the curve of your waist as his expression hardened.

"who exactly was saying all of this?"

"i think you went to school with them, i don't know their names." your voice got smaller the hotter your face became until you prayed to vanish into the bed sheets.

he took a pause and did his best to not sound dismissive as he continued,

"angel, the only people whose opinion you should worry about are the ones who know that you're my everything. i don't know who… i don’t know why anyone is still worried about the past.”

he paused thoughtfully, sitting up on his elbow to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“you know and i know what my last relationship did to me. and you and i also know i am 1000% over what she did and i know she was no good to begin with for me.”

you finally turned your head to look at him, knowing he never liked to talk about his ex. the guilt crept up on you as you backpedaled on your tantrum

“i'm sorry jaems we don't have to talk about this.”

he gave you a sweet smile, his hair still slightly wet from his shower made you want to run your fingers through it. you wondered if he did his hair care by himself or neglected it because you didn't help him like you do every night.

“i don't mind talking about it. because not only am i truly madly deeply in love with you," he couldn't help but smile when you did too at this, "you made me realize i've never had a real love like this. you changed my life for the better. i'm sorry you had to hear anyone saying those things, but no one’s opinion matters to me when i have you and get to be loved by you. okay?” i’ll show you how special you are and let everyone know too so no one can doubt your or me again.”

your heart soared as his confession went on. you reached up to pull his face to yours for a quick kiss which he turned into three.

“ok, i love you. sorry i'm such a baby lets sleep now.”

“you are my baby yes. and i will always here to remind you how much i love you. now go to sleep and when you wake up i'll love you even more than i did today."

[impishjesters]

Little Thoughts

warning(s): suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideations, child neglect, child abuse, suicidal thoughts of a child, abuse, financial abuse, hurt/comfort(?), mentioned manipulation, casual talk about death/dying, pre-relationship, uncertain reactions (basically Jax nor you really know how to go about the situation), implied crush (both ways) A/N: This was written for myself, read it or don't, I don't care. I just wanted validation and acceptance from somewhere, even if it's fictional...

“Do you ever just wish you were dead?”

Jax slowed his oncoming approach towards you, blinking in confusion. “What happened to, hi? Hello? How are you?” He heard you scoff and crossed his arms loosely in thought. Sure, he was used to hearing some pretty questionable things from you, but you’d never flat out ask him—or anyone else for that matter—if they wanted to be dead.

“Well?”

“Uh, can’t say I do. Sure, this place sucks but think of all the entertainment I’d miss out on if I was, ya know—” he swiped his thumb across his neck and made a noise, “—dead.”

“You’ve been here longer. Aren’t you tired?”

What was this? Morbid fifty questions?

“You doin’ alright there sugar?” Jax circled around you, allowing you to see him long before he approached you taking a seat beside you. “I know you usually say some pretty…intense shit, but this is a little too intense even for you.”

You shot him a blank stare. Huh, you did say some pretty out-of-pocket stuff when it came to the dark subject—but to ask him flat out if he ever wanted to just be dead? That was new, but it was a valid question in your mind.

How could they choose to suffer instead of just dying?

“This isn’t anything new… I’m not like you guys. I haven’t been here for years on end gradually going mad.”

“Hey, rude. I’m not nearly as bonkers as Rags or King-face.”

He got a playful eye roll from you and that was more than enough of a win for his little joke. Sure it was a serious topic but he didn’t do so well during talks like this.

“I’ve always been like this… for as long as I can remember, as a child I thought it’d just be better if I was dead. That way my family could stop fighting, and I could stop being the rag doll in their arguments.”

As you spoke the grin that was glued to his face started to fall, slipping bit by bit until his lips ran flat. What child wants to kill themselves? He remembers his childhood not being the greatest but he never thought about death, that’s for sure.

“We didn’t have a lot of money growing up, they’d spend it on unnecessary stuff and worry about food and bills later until years of it caught up and put them in a bind.” Your gaze fell to your hands, fingers picking and peeling at the flesh. “Most would say I was a very spoiled kid, I always got toys and the holidays were jam-packed with even more unnecessary toys for a growing child to outgrow.”

He had a feeling he knew where this was going…

“But I didn’t want that, I didn’t want all those toys. Expensive or cheap, I never asked for any of them. If my eyes made contact with something and lingered just a second too long they’d buy it for me.” You sighed, looking up at Jax. “All I wanted was my family to give me the time of day, to play with me. To love me.”

“Fuck, I’m..” he hesitated, saying sorry felt pointless, that was ages ago and he wasn’t there. He wasn’t at fault but he couldn’t even imagine that—his own parents argued but they kept him out of it.

“It’s fine you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

He shuffled in place awkwardly, how are you supposed to respond to that? Luckily he doesn’t need to because you are already looking away and took a deep breath before continuing.

“It never got better, toys became electronics and games. Because of my family, I didn’t get to socialize growing up and I’d be quiet and withdrawn at school. The older I got the more vocal they started to get about me, even though they didn’t want me they kept me chained down and limited my ability to fight them.”

“What they lock ya up or somethin’?”

“They didn’t need to, I had no reason to leave the house. I didn’t have friends, we didn’t have stores or anything fun to do that wasn’t an hour’s drive away.” He hates the way you laugh so casually about it. “No, they’d limit any money I’d receive making sure I’d spend it instead of save it. I used to think it was their way of trying to make sure I wouldn’t run away, but even if I didn’t have savings that wouldn’t have stopped me from leaving with nothing but the clothes on my back.”

“Why didn’t ya?”

“I was a coward.”

Jax snorted and caught your attention. “You were a child, not a coward.”

“Whatever, pointless to think about it now. Did me fat lotta good in the end anyways, here I am trapped in this hell hole where the closest thing to death is abstracting.” A dry laugh left you at the irony. “I can’t even fucking off myself properly.”

The two of you simply sat in silence for a few minutes, neither of you seemingly aware of how to continue the conversation. There was no reason to give Jax the whole sob story that didn’t matter anyway, and he couldn’t think of a response.

Sure he wasn’t the greatest at times but he didn’t want you to just…die… but he wasn’t going to try and guilt trip you into living for him. Even if that outcome sounded far better than you dying, he could live with a guilty conscience—probably…

“You don’t have to worry about responding, I sort of just… dropped that all on you. It’s fine, it’s the past.”

“Still doesn’t change that ya still feel like ya should’ve died because your family sucks.” You shot him an unimpressed look and he shrugged. “I’m just sayin’, you were just a kid stuck with a shit family and should’ve been given help a lot sooner.”

“Gee, thanks—”

“I’m not done,” he used your name, no silly or insulting nicknames, “someone should’ve done something, I know people are stupid and think if they just look away it’ll be fine. But someone should’ve stepped in, it’s still abuse, it’s neglect.”

It went unspoken about how you clearly didn’t seek any form of therapy or help as you got older, he already felt like he was pushing it saying what he did.

“Look nothing I say is gonna make ya not wanna pop yourself, but it’s different now. Yeah, ya stuck here but you aren’t alone, and the others like ya.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” he blinked, you weren’t asking him if he…

“Do you like me?”

Jax coughed into his hand, casually turning himself to face the same direction as you. He refused to budge even when you turned yourself to face him, he was not gonna lose his cool.

“Ya alright, better than King-face and Rags that’s for sure.”

His answer pleased you enough to pull back but still face towards him. Occasionally, you’d see him peeking over to see if you were still looking at him until he finally kept his gaze forward.

“Thank you Jax.”

It felt wrong to accept your thanks, he didn’t do anything. But again you responded for him, as if knowing his plight.

“Thank you for sitting here with me, and listening… nobody’s ever listened to me before and not tried to justify what they did like I was the one at fault. You don’t need to feel like you have to have done something to be thanked.”

His shoulders shrugged before relaxing, his gaze that had glued itself to nothing finally turning to you. “Look just, promise me if you get those icky thoughts again you’ll come to me instead of stewing in them okay?” He saw you hesitate and cautiously reached out for your hand. “Promise me.”

You sighed. “Fine, I promise…” Ironically, you didn’t think you could trust anyone but Jax with this sort of information. Personal feelings aside.

“Good, now shut ya face and enjoy my presence and this beautiful moonlight night.” He threw his arm around you and pulled you closer, hand lingering at your side. He was going to make sure not to take advantage of this information, he wanted things to be genuine and not manipulated—as easy as it would be for him.

If the two of you were stuck here he wanted your feelings towards him, and vice versa to be genuine before taking the next step.

[drewsbuzzcut]

Dallas and nick eloping because they cant wait

As The Flowers Begin To Bloom

nick moldenhauer x dallas blankenburg

a so it goes blurb

warnings: alludes to sex and marriage

sorry this took me so long to post! (Also this take place April 2024)

“Are you ready?” Nick asks, clutching tightly onto Dallas’ hand. She can feel him shaking, but she knows it’s out of excitement.

The whole day the girl has been on the verge of tears, tears of happiness and tears of the thoughts that she’s growing up before her own eyes. It feels like just yesterday her mom was dressing her in a puffy, white dress ahead of her baptism. Now, she’s dressed in white, ready to give her heart to Nick for forever.

Dallas turns to face him, watching his blue eyes as they shine in a way that makes sense of everything they’re about to accomplish.

“Yes! I have the marriage license now all we have to do is get married,” she cheers, her smile breathtaking and Nick can feel every nerve ending in his body spark with an unconditional love that was always meant for the pair.

“Perfect. You’re perfect, June bug. I can’t believe I get to love you forever,” he whispers and Dallas thinks her heart may explode.

“There’s no other person who can love me the way you do and vice versa,” she says, closing the remaining space between them to press her lips to his.

“Do you think everyone will be mad when they find out we eloped?” Nick asks just before they enter the courthouse.

“Probably, but I don’t care. This is our day and only ours. Do you care?” Dallas really hopes he doesn’t.

“Of course not. You’re my only thought,” he states, pulling her into the courthouse.

Dallas and Nick’s hands and eyes stay connected throughout the entire ceremony. Their hearts beat in tandem as they entwine into one. They both give short versions of their vows, choosing to recite the complete ones in private, but it doesn’t stop them from crying their eyes out.

The moment they’re announced as an official married couple, they pull each other in for a kiss. It’s bruising and full of tongue, but they don’t care. Only when Nick lets out a low moan, they pull away from each other. He lifts her ring-clad hand and kisses the back of it. She repeats his action and Nick feels a flurry of butterflies in his stomach.

As they walk towards the door, they come face to face with their two witnesses, Luca and Sienna.

“Congratulations, oh my goodness you’re so beautiful,” Sienna squeals as she pulls the girl into a bone crushing hug.

“Thank you,” she sighs, happiness being the only thing she feels.

“Congrats guys,” Luca says, pulling Dallas and Nick into a group hug.

“Thank you, Lu.”

“Yes, thank you guys for being here and being our witnesses. It means a lot,” Nick says.

Walking outside, the sun casts on the couple, magnifying their glow. Dallas excitedly drags Nick to the car, pushing him against the hood so she can finally make out with him.

Nick’s hands roam her back, fidgeting with the thin straps of her silky, white dress. He wants to pull them off her delicate shoulders and press kiss after kiss on the bare skin. Dallas fists the collar of his button up, not allowing an ounce of space between their bodies. Her tongue curls around his as they fight for dominance.

“I want you, now,” Dallas says against his mouth as she feels the lust surface to the tips of her fingers as she tries to push at the material of his button up to expose some of his flesh. Her lips need to be all over him.

“Let me take you home,” he responds and Dallas lets out a sigh. He noses at the veins of her neck, inhaling her soft, heavenly perfume he gifted her. The newlyweds find it hard to pull away from each other. Nick can’t help but kiss her lips again.

“I can’t have anyone seeing you the way only I’m meant to see you. Let me take you home and devour you on our bed,” he pulls away to whisper in her ear. If he weren’t holding onto her, she’d crumble into the ground. His raspy voice always makes her weak in the knees.

“Whatever you say, husband,” she cheeses, feeling blissed out on love.

“I love you, wife,” he kisses her but her smile interrupts.

“I love you, husband.” Dallas grins, contagious laughs falling from her lips and she pulls him into a hug.

a/n: I may write a full version of this but i hope y’all enjoy this little blurb!!!

[owmylasagna-blog]

Hey Garfield Lasagna! I was looking at some old posts and I remembered you mentioning a "school teachers AU" at some point! But I can't remember if you ever expanded on it... were there any particular ideas you had in mind for the characters? If you don't mind my curiosity hehe, just thought I'd ask for fun 👀

Aw hey MB what’s up?? It’s been a minute, hasn’t it. Thanks for the ask and sorry it’s taken so long to reply to it. As you’ll see it took a while to respond because I wrote a lot. Lol.

For context, this extremely hypothetical school teacher AU was inspired by @doubledyke ‘s post about Edd being a school choir director and @mar-saturn ‘s fabulous drawing. The AU exists as a few comments there and some deep part of my memory. But I’ll try to remember what I can and it will be fun to fill in the rest! https://www.tumblr.com/mar-saturn/730274033161125888/i-had-to-take-this-out-of-my-system-thanks

Generally the premise of the AU is to take the cast of Ed Edd n Eddy, age them up, and turn them all into employees at Peach Creek Jr. High. I’d only fleshed out the Eds and Kevin so everyone beyond that I’m spitballing.

Edd - Music teacher and choir director

In any AU I have to make Edd a grad school burnout, so let’s assume that. Our little Renaissance Man maintained an affinity for music even as his dreams of curing mosquito bites were dashed by his declining mental health. As a teacher he’s a real stickler and can be a pompous pain in the ass, so most of the kids don’t like him. Despite that he loves to teach and revels in breakthrough connections with the band geeks and aspiring Broadway singers who see his vision.

Eddy - PE, Health, Sub

@gettingfrilly had suggested a coach McGuirk type gym teacher and that’s. Yes. And also a smattering of Coach Fredricks from Freaks and Geeks and Jack Black in School of Rock (again, fans like @hermes-running have made these parallels). Also only a little inspired by his cute little coaching outfit in One Size Fits Ed. The kids genuinely like him because he lets them do whatever during PE. Eddy is both super down to earth and honest with the kids and they respect that. When he subs they know it’s movie time.

Kevin - PE, Football Coach

Kevin on the other hand is a bit more of a hardass with the kids and will blow the whistle to shake the lead out of their sneakers when running laps. He and Eddy have a bit of a rivalry and often butt heads. Their beef runs deep: in this AU I imagine both Kevin and Eddy grew up in PC and went to school together where they were friends until they weren’t. Kevin got popular and stopped hanging out with Eddy. Eddy became the class clown and pranked Kevin and his in-crowd friends every change he got. The cycle continues to comical effect.

Ed - Janitor

Originally I thought art teacher would be a good fit (as did gettingfrilly) but I changed my mind. Instead, Ed gets the janitor job through his sister Sarah who already works for the school. Ed is sort of a mythical creature in the school, and the kids make up lots of lore and rumors about him. Mysterious, whimsical, pretty rubbish at his job, but genuinely friendly and sweet when you do run into him. He makes sculptures in the woods behind the school from the trash he collects which gets him some attention from other teachers…

Nazz - Guidance counselor

Nazz always knew she wanted to help kids. She has multiple degrees and certifications in children's psychology, social work, and counseling. She’s way too qualified for her position at PC but wouldn't change it for the world because damn do these kids really need her! She is genuinely liked by pretty much all the staff and kids, the cool and hip guidance counselor with great style and a laid back, approachable attitude. But don’t be fooled - she is also a fierce advocate for better teacher wages which can make her a thorn in the administration’s side. You can find her every Thursday night at the local watering hole organizing workers for labor unions.

Rolf - Science teacher

Before immigrating to the US, Rolf was a renowned surgeon in his home country. But as soon as he set foot into the Land of Opportunity all his credentials went out the window and that, along with his remedial English, left him with few options. For a few years he works as a butcher - it's what he did on his family farm growing up, afterall, and he knew his way around cutting flesh. But then an opportunity to teach science at PC gave him more time to care for his aging great Nano so he takes it. Despite improving his English, the students have no clue what he is saying because of his thick accent and foreign analogies. For the Rolf the job is just… fine. The football coach hits it off with him as does the nice blonde regardless of their cultural differences which makes it a bit more tolerable.

Jonny - Wood shop

Need I say more? Just imagine your classic stoner type, Bob Ross energy guy. His favorite song to play at the start of every year is “Everything That’s Made of Wood Once Was a Tree”. Plank is his teaching assistant and will come and give the most scathing critiques of the students’ birdhouses. Not Jonny. Plank. “What’s that, Plank? Not even a rabid ferret would crawl up and die in there… Gee, buddy. Go easy on poor Nelson, would ya?”

Jimmy - Art teacher

Freshly graduated with a shiny MFA in hand, the Chelsea galleries weren’t clamoring to represent Jimmy. This job is just a way for him to start paying off the debt until he makes it big, and he means BIG - he’s the next Warhol as far as he’s concerned. The rest of the art world just needs to catch up. His daring art projects and student shows scandalize the school admin and the parents. They don’t know that good art is evocative. One lunch on his smoke break he stumbles upon the most evocative artwork he’s ever seen in the woods behind the football field. And he just must - MUST - find the artist behind them.

Sarah - Assistant principal

Sarah is the right-hand-man to Principal Antonucci, keeping the chaos of PC in check. Without her, the whole school would have fallen apart at this stage. Young and ambitious Sarah isn’t afraid to run a tight ship to improve the reputation of the school. She quickly latches onto the new art teacher who also loves a good gossip session at lunch time - and boy does Sarah have plenty of opinions, and Jimmy is the best fly on the wall she could ask for. The worst trouble isn't even the students - it’s the drama between the PE teachers.

The Kankers

Lee and May Kanker are both single moms whose kids go to the school. Lee has a monopoly on the PC real estate and May is training to be a dental hygienist. Marie is the local mechanic who is often called in to repair the boiler at the school when a pipe inevitably bursts every January, and will also pick up her little nieces when either of her sisters are working overtime or studying for a big exam. The anklebiters love it when she rolls up in her hotrod, top down. And so does a certain guidance counselor.

That covers everyone!

In this AU the Eds aren’t childhood friends, but become friends from working at the school. The general sort of plotline I imagined was that the school musical sort of brings these three loner staff members together. Edd is directing the production and realizes that Eddy is actually a gifted dancer (lol I’m so cringe - indulge with me) and quite musically inclined, and that Ed has a real talent for making stage props and backdrops. And while this is happening, Edd and Eddy probably strike up a secret little romance because, if you know me, you know I can’t help myself. And the rest is history!

Wow okay that was a long winded answer but it was really fun to come up with! Thanks again for asking (:

[scarabsinthestardust]

Tender // Ch. 6

MASTERLIST

word count: 2900+

Oof, sorry guys.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: descriptions of child abuse; mentions of ghosts; scary images; physical violence; domestic abuse; alcoholism; manipulation; depression; anxiety; undiagnosed unspecified mental illness; hallucinations; lying; arguing; lying; toxic behavior; cheating; brutal assumptions of infidelity with no evidence; slight mention of sexual themes/implications of sex; talks of rehab - let me know if I missed anything!

The cellar was musty, dark, and cold as cellars often are. There was no light except for the thin line of sunlight creeping through the rotten wood of the door. The stone walls and dirt floor offered no warmth in the January West Virginia air. There was no one to offer comfort to the little redheaded boy locked up in the darkness.

His leg was chained, the heavy metal leaving bruises on his bony ankle. He couldn’t keep track of the time very well, but he’d been down there long enough that the rumbling hunger in his stomach turned into pain. He’d been left with nothing but a bucket of dirty water that smelled of rotten eggs; it was just enough to keep him alive.

It took time, but he learned not to be afraid of the bugs and the rats. He had no food for them, and therefore was uninteresting. What he did fear, however, were the ghosts.

If they were actually there, or if they were just figments of his imagination, created in his own mind to make up for being alone, he didn’t know. They seemed real enough to him, though. Most of the time, he only heard whispers from shadows he couldn’t see. Sometimes a man’s voice would stick out from the rest, as clear as if it was sitting right next to him. It mostly asked him weird questions – “Is the rain coming? Did you bring in the firewood? Is the heifer put out to pasture?” The worst of them all was the burnt lady. The boy could smell it on her, the unmistakable stench of skin and flesh burning. She would get really close, where he could feel her hot breath on his face, and she would scream. Her banshee-like wails never ceased to frighten him; the boy would curl up on the cold dirt floor and cover his ears, sobbing until either the ghost disappeared, or he lost consciousness.

~

JOSHUA

“I thought you didn’t want to go to that thing. You said it was too ‘bougie’ for you or something.”

“I never said that,” argued Josh. “I just changed my mind is all.”

Jake snorted. Even over the phone, he could tell his twin was hiding something. “Did you and Finn fight again?”

Sighing in annoyance, Josh responded, “No, Jacob. He’s in Utah for the weekend anyways. I just talked myself into going, and Ron still had the extra ticket.”

Jake didn’t push any further, but he knew there was more to it than that. And he was right. Josh was still a little shaken up and didn’t quite know how to tell anyone. Truthfully, he was afraid. He was scared to be home in case Finn returned early, and he knew if he was in close proximity to Jake, the secret would inevitably get out. And he knew he needed to keep it under wraps, because he wasn’t ready to walk away from the man that he loved, despite every bone and bruise on his body screaming for him to do just that.

So, he called Ron, his vocal coach and long-time friend, to see if the invitation still stood for some classy music event in New York. There was still an open availability, and Josh jumped at the opportunity to be gone for a few days. He hoped Finn wouldn’t mind.

~

I replay it in my head nonstop on the drive to Salt Lake City. Currently sober, I pick at the memory to see if I can figure out where I went wrong, when things escalated to that point. I’m not having any luck. In fact, I can’t even remember why I was mad in the first place. It had to have been something he did, right? And it didn’t help that he argued back, talked to me like it was my fault, like I’m the crazy one. He was pissed at me for coming home drunk – hell, I was pissed at myself. But I can’t recall what else was said for the life of me, not until I put my hands on him again.

I grabbed him, tight enough to leave marks, I’m sure, and I slammed him into the edge of the dining room table. Hard. I’m surprised I didn’t break anything. I apologized immediately, of course. That has to mean something. I remember backing up against the wall and sinking to the floor. I cried and begged him to forgive me. I told him there was no excuse, but that it wouldn’t have happened if he just didn’t push my buttons when I’m in that state. The tears get under his skin and make him feel guilty, until he feels obligated to apologize to me. I promised him it won’t happen again. The black and purple bruises on his back and side were already starting to show by the time we finally went to bed.

It's eating me from the inside out, this guilt. I want to be someone else, anyone that isn’t me. I wish I wasn’t so unpredictable, like a feral dog when it’s cornered, snapping at the people trying to help it. I’m unstable like nitroglycerin, explosive and set off by the smallest jolt. But Josh is the one who keeps getting burnt. I’ll tell myself I’ll do better, that I can change, but I’m lying. I can fake it, sure, I’m great at faking it. I can pretend that everything is okay. I can even make Josh believe that I’m getting better, healthier, happier – that I’m healing. But it will only last for a short time until I stumble again, and I’ll grab him as I fall, taking him down with me.

I get through my work just fine. I spend all day Friday, Saturday, and some of early Sunday meeting with colleagues, organizing events, and gathering information and petitions for wildlife conservation efforts that will eventually be submitted to local and state government officials. It keeps me busy, so I can keep my mind off of other things, and in turn, it keeps me sober. Come Sunday evening, though, the fuse starts burning again.

I haven’t talked to Josh much. I’ve been preoccupied with work and figured we both needed space. I want to check on him, though, to make sure he’s okay. But when I call him, it rings and rings until it goes to voicemail. That’s reason enough for me to check his location, and it shows him in Manhattan. What the hell is he doing in New York? He definitely didn’t say anything about going out of town. At least, not to me. And why would he hide that from me other than to keep secrets? I just can’t decide why he ended up there; is he running to let himself be held in someone else’s arms, or is he running away from me? Is this some messed up way to tell me it’s over? Does he realize he’ll take a part of me with him if he leaves?

I try to call him again but I get the same result. What could he possibly be doing there?

I end up at a nearby bar, because it seems like a better idea than going home when I know Josh isn’t there, and a much better idea than chasing him to Manhattan. The bar seems to be a pretty popular joint. There is a live band, mostly playing older rock music, and they offer a selection of mixed drinks and cocktails, but I prefer straight tequila or whiskey.

I don’t know how long I sit at the bar; time passes so strangely when I’m in this state. The outskirts of my vision are blurry and everyone around me seems to move in slow motion. I watch the ice in my drink as it seems to change shape, molding itself into faces I don’t recognize. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was drugs, swirling my thoughts into some that are not my own. But I do know better. It’s just my own fucked up brain chemistry. It’s scarred from my twisted history, irreversibly damaged. I know what I’m seeing isn’t real, and I’ve learned how to sit quietly and pretend that I’m not on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Sometimes I’ll see her in my periphery, sitting next to me, the smell of her burnt flesh making my eyes water. I never look directly at her, though. I can’t bring myself to, out of fear that if I can really see her, she’s real.

I’m definitely drunk, but I haven’t completely hit rock bottom yet. I could probably still walk just fine, maybe even drive. At any rate, the bartender hasn’t cut me off yet, not that that’s ever stopped me before. Someone slides in next to me to order another drink and I have to do a double take.

He’s young, maybe in his early 20s. The first thing I notice are his hands, visibly soft and slender, wrapped around his glass with painted fingernails. His hair is dark and cut short, but I can see a few stray curls that he tried to hide with hair product. He asks the bartender for a whiskey sour and I can’t stop staring at his lips, plush and pink. Despite the obvious differences, he looks so much like Josh and I’m hypnotized.

He must have felt me staring and turns to meet my eyes. He flashes me a bright smile, and I’m compelled to give him one in return.

“Hey, you’re a cutie.” He leans closer to be heard over the music and I can smell liquor on his breath. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out he’s probably drunk, too. I don’t know how to respond but he fills the gap. “You here with anyone?”

“No.” I shake my head. A decent man would tell him at this point that he’s already spoken for, but I’m far from decent. “I’m just in town for work. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Someone as handsome as you, you’ve got to have somebody waiting for you at home?”

He’s a flatterer, and oh so considerate of my boyfriend, who he doesn’t even know exists. He’s given me more than one opportunity to be a good person, to be the person I want to be, if not for myself, then at least for Josh. But I’m undeniably angry at my boyfriend for lying, betrayed by whatever I’ve decided he’s doing up there. So, it’s no great surprise that I choose to lie, to fuck everything up as I’m prone to do. “Nope, it’s just me.”

“Well, good.” He grins and places his hand on my arm, leaning closer so he can speak directly in my ear. “I’d hate for you to spend the night alone.”

I should push him away, put some distance between us, and make it clear that I won’t be leaving with him. But I don’t. His smile is sweet, but I know he isn’t as innocent as he seems. He knows what he’s doing. I’d bet a whole paycheck that he does this often; his body count is probably higher than Josh’s. But who am I to judge, especially at this moment? If he wants to give it up to the first attractive stranger in a bar, I won’t deny him that. It’s likely what Josh is doing right now, anyways. He’s probably choking on some other guy’s cock, being used up like the fucking slut he is. And if he’s going to blatantly disrespect me like that, I might as well do the same.

“I’m Stephen.”

I won’t need to know his name come tomorrow, but I can make sure he’s screaming mine tonight. “Finn.”

He’s got a mischievous glint in his eye as he leads me to a nearby motel. It’s only a few blocks away so we walk. I pay for the room in cash. We waste no time getting what we came here for, the alcohol in our systems lowering our inhibitions and doing away with all remnants of self-control.

I’m gone before the sun even starts to rise, leaving him alone in the room, tangled up in cheap motel bedsheets.

~

What have I fucking done? I’m the biggest hypocrite. After all that fighting with Josh, accusations of infidelity and betrayal, I turned around and did the one thing I swore I would never do to him. And there’s something else, gaps in my memory of the night, that my poisoned brain is filling in with even worse thoughts, things I can’t…

Josh will never forgive me. I can’t tell him; I have to keep this secret with me and hold it within my chest until it’s buried with me. I can’t keep living like this. I need help, real help, the kind that Josh can’t provide on his own. I can’t lose him.

When I pull into the driveway of his house, the sun’s just finding its place in the sky. I spot his suitcase, half unpacked and haphazardly tossed on the ground by the front door. The house is quiet, and I find him asleep in bed. He’s on his stomach, face hidden between the pillows, breathing softly. His shirt has ridden up a bit, and my breath hitches at the bruises on his side. I did that to him. I need to fix this.

I hate waking him and pulling him from the peaceful dreams he’s temporarily living in, but I fear it can’t wait. I gently nudge his shoulder until he groans, “Five more minutes, Jake.”

“Josh, it’s me.” I’m purposely trying to keep things as calm as possible, so my voice is almost a whisper.

He rolls over and opens his eyes, blinking sleepily as he works on waking up enough to register what’s happening. He sits up slowly, but he doesn’t shy away from my touch. That’s a good sign. “You’re back late. I thought you would be home yesterday.”

Home. “I’m sorry. I got caught up in some stuff and had to stay Sunday night. I, uh, I saw… did you go somewhere?”

He rubs his eyes. “Uh, yeah. I went to a music event with Ron in New York City. It was okay, a fancy dinner and mostly mingling with snooty theater people.” I believe him, and while I know anything could have realistically happened with any of those people, I feel the guilt wash over me again for doubting his loyalty. I don’t have any room to talk anyways.

“Josh, I fucked up again.” He sighs in disappointment and averts his gaze downward. “I know… it’s not fair that I keep putting this on you. I can’t explain why… I don’t want to do it anymore. I need… I need to go to rehab, and I need your help.”

When his eyes meet mind again, he looks hopeful. “You’ll actually go to rehab?”

“Yes. For you, I’ll do whatever I need to do. I can’t keep doing this to you.” I feel salty tears run down my cheeks and I hover my hand over his side, where I know the bruises are still there, hidden under his shirt now. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t apologize enough and I can never make up for all the shitty things I’ve done to you.”

He grabs my face and kisses me hard. He’s crying now, too. “I forgive you,” he says.

“How could you? I don’t deserve that, I don’t deserve you.”

“Easy. It’s ‘cause I love you. And your stupid face, remember?” He lets out a small laugh at his own words. “I’ll help you however I can. I’ll start looking for places today, and we can pick one out. Maybe go talk to them before you decide?”

I’m in utter disbelief that he still wants anything to do with me, more so that he’s willing to go out of his way to do this for me. I haven’t earned it. Maybe if he knew what happened in that motel room, he wouldn’t be so willing, but still, I can’t bring myself to tell him. “You’ll be there with me, to go talk to someone first?”

“Of course. I’ll be by your side the whole time.”

I’m terrified at the thought of being stuck in what is ultimately a glorified mental hospital. I dread the idea of being separated from Josh. I’m petrified of the thought of them using me as a test subject, putting me in restraints and stabbing me with needles for the fun of it. But mostly I’m afraid it won’t work. What happens if I complete a whole program, even pass with flying colors, just to be freed and still be broken? I don’t want to go back to that, and I can’t handle the possibility that I’ll only hurt him again.

“We can start looking later. Let’s just… rest for now.” His voice pulls me from my thoughts. “You wanna watch a movie with me until we both pass out?”

I manage a small smile and gently brush my knuckles against his cheek. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

I change clothes while he picks a movie, settling on an old Western comedy with Gene Wilder. Once under the covers, I get as close to him as I can; I just want to be near him and feel the warmth from his skin. He lets me lay my head on his chest. He’s stroking my hair and it’s strangely relaxing.

“We’re gonna be okay,” he whispers. And for a few brief moments, I think he might be right.

///

TAGLIST Let me know if you want to be added!

@hollyco @fleetingjake @musicislove3389 @hailthegodsong @josh-iamyour-mama @katuschka @lilbitx

[inkwell-and-dagger]

Fight to the Death

A young adult Foster drabble, five years prior to the events of How To Kill An Immortal

TW: violence and a lot of blood, and that's pretty much it :3

—————————

Foster never exactly bothered to wash the blood of their hands at this point. They knew it'd be a permanent part of their very identity; whether that be physically or mentally, they didn't know yet. Hours spent scrubbing their hands clean, down to underneath their sharp fingernails, never satisfied them, so why bother anymore? They didn't want to spend more on their water bills than absolutely necessary.

They didn't know why they were complaining, though; after all, they kind of asked for this. It was partially their fault they got into this sketchy business, shedding blood for nothing more than money. And it wasn't like they could back out of it now, having been here since they were eighteen; they were twenty-one now, and despite how young they were, they already felt like they'd wasted their life doing this fuck-all excuse of a profession. They didn't doubt that they looked like they fit the part, too.

It was an average night for Foster; if the concept of an average night consisted of beating the crap out of some willing stranger in a crowded warehouse. Frigid midnight air nipped their blood-splattered skin, limbs stiff and sore, but pure adrenaline drove them onwards.

They had forgotten when their nose had begun to bleed, a metallic taste coating their tongue, but the pain had subsided to a small ache by now. Punch after kick after slice after scratch; they felt like a wild animal.

Their ears were ringing, and maybe that was from how loud the place was, or from being hit on the head one too many times. It didn't deter them.

Their movements faltered when their opponent fell limply to the ground, their own hands drenched in blood from the past few hours spent fighting back-to-back. With heaving breaths, they attempted to drown out the cacophony of cheering, leaving the vicinity with long strides before anyone could congratulate them up close.

They especially hated this part. Being congratulated, praised, for what? Potentially killing some random person for money? For fucking money? It was ridiculous to think that everyone thought that tj u wanted the praise.

They found their way outside the building, not bothering to clean their hands. One way or another, the blood will always remain.

The quiet of the night was welcome for once. The air inside made them feel lightheaded, but out here it was cold. Sure, it bit at their cuts and bruised flesh, but it was calming, in a strange way.

They hadn't noticed that they'd gotten company until the sharp sound of someone clearing their throat ripped them out of their train of thought. "Earth to Mr Canavan?"

"Mx Canavan, please."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Sure you are."

Their company responded with an amused chuckle, walking over to lean against the wall beside them. The man was larger than them, in both size and muscle, but his expression was almost compassionate. Milky white hair styled into an outgrown mullet, framing pale skin and paler eyes. A strong Texan accent pulled at his words. "What's got you so down, huh?"

A frown tugged at Foster's lips. "Bunch o' shit. Don't really know why you're so interested, though."

"Just thought I'd check in," He chuckled, "See how those fists of yours are handling so much action?"

"You're so funny."

"I like to think that I am."

A long stretch of silence followed, in which Foster took a small peak at the man. They'd seen him around in the fights every now and again. He looked like an interesting guy.

"..If you don't mind me being interested in your, uh.."

"My huh—?" He met their gaze, raising a platinum eyebrow. "My— Ah, I see. I don't mind."

Their own eyebrows raised in surprise. "...Albinism, innit?"

"Exactly that, young man.. wom—.. person? Is there a..?"

"Just use man for now, I don't care."

"If you say so," The man smiled, and continued. "Yeah, I've got albinism."

"You look cool."

"Thanks, kiddo."

"Don't call me that." They murmured, a certain light fading from their eyes.

"...Alright."

Another beat of silence.

"..What even is your name? I don't know you other than your surname."

"Uh.. I'm Foster, I guess."

"Interesting name."

Foster raised an eyebrow, but wasn't too bothered. They weren't going to bother analyzing whether that was sarcastic or not. "Thanks."

"Where're you from? I like your accent."

"Uhm, Durham. Not far from 'ere."

"Ah, I see. I've always liked you Brits' accents."

"...Alrighty then, mate."

The man sighed, wrapping a loose arm around Foster. "Come on. Don't want you getting too cold out here."

Foster gave him a look. "Why do you care so much?"

"I know a troubled person when I see one, young man."

They sighed, but didn't respond, instead just begrudgingly following him inside.

"Go clean yourself up, or whatever you need to do. I assume you're done for the night."

"Yeah, yeah, on it, boss." They drawled sarcastically, shoving their bloodied hands into the pockets of their jeans. The man responded with an amused scoff.

"What's your name, then? You know mine, it's only fair."

"I'm Ezra. Ezra Hendrix."

—————————

HTKAI Taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @ash-1s-wr1t1ng @whumpy-wyrms @creppersfunpalooza @toyybox

[booasaur]

Did you finish Night Country? If so what did you think of it? I loved Navarro—Kali Reis absolutely sells that stately sense capability and strength and hotness lol—and think Jodie/Kali really sold their relationship being the core of the show I also mostly loved how things played out (didn’t see the ending coming at all) but I wish the show had been given more episodes to flesh certain plots and characters out because some things felt a little superficial (it’s interesting to me that so many people were lost because I thought the show made a lot really obvious and could’ve actually used some more mystique) and enhancing them would’ve made things that much better and cohesive. But trying to find balanced criticism or commentary about this show is hard because everyone defaults to racist, misogynistic, no nuance takes on how it’ll never compare to s1 and just refuses to even see a little bit of the good. Idk I feel like you can dislike it and want better and still recognize the good aspects of this season and the value of telling indigenous stories. At this point I almost wish the showrunner had been able to make a new series like she wanted to, instead of having to be tied to the true detective name because maybe people would approach this with more honestly and openness

Hey, sorry for the late reply. Well, I know I've replied a LOT later before and mostly decided to stop saying sorry because I'd have to say every time, but at the moment, I'm having more difficulty than I used to in remembering how I felt when I finished the ep, so I wish I'd just responded at the time.

Let me see... First, I did laugh like an idiot when they took turns falling down the ice caves like idiots, especially Danvers.

Other than that, I liked the ending but it felt a bit too neat... I think if they'd changed around some stuff, it might have offered a bit more tension because, well, at that point, it seemed they'd let more killers go than caught them. Honestly that and all the quibbles I had, where I wish we'd seen some stuff seeded better and elaborated on more at the end, like you said, that all could have been helped with just giving them the two extra eps they should have gotten. I was thinking that too, at the time, lol, I remember now, when I read your ask, I went on this whole rant (to myself, in my head) about those two eps could have done so much, how the streaming model had killed TV, how these shortened seasons were basically like individual movies with an occasional sequel. I know this is an anthology miniseries and the story finished, but still! Too much is suffering for the same reason. I haven't really been able to get into a single new Trek, it's just a different form of storytelling. What can you do in 10 eps every once in a long while, with a full ensemble cast.

I literally looked up how many eps Discovery ends at and it's 65. Compare that to my home Trek, Voyager, where it flourished with new life when Seven appears. Guess when that happens. Ep 68! I literally had to chart the two shows:

Look at those huuuuge Discovery breaks.. It's not just that shows used to be given so much screentime, we just got so much so quickly. I absolutely forget what's going on in between seasons of most shows now. In terms of actual amount of time, Discovery actually lasts longer! But I barely know the characters or their stories. I can't say much different for Picard or SNW (barring what I brought in from before). There's only so much character growth and relationship evolution. How am I supposed to love them? Know them?

Maybe that's why I'm gravitating so much to soaps lately...

Anyway, it's more capitalism than just streaming, of course, which also speaks to your other point; I didn't know Issa Lopez just wanted to make a new show and they put it under the True Detective name?? But isn't that just so typical of all these issues! Like, the fact that they're making an NCIS spin-off with Tony and Ziva? They're retreating to the safest, most conservative ideas they can think of. It's happening with everything, companies dropping DEI initiatives, politics returning to big money white guys. Sticking this female-led extremely Indigenous-sympathetic premise with this particular franchise with its defensive white dudebro fanbase.

I wonder how much that's related to the obligatory bigoted backlash to any media perceived as "woke" now. It's all feeding each other, right, bad actors in each space taking advantage and fanning the flames, but it's beyond annoying now to have watched a normal show and go online and see this rabid overreaction to stuff that isn't even on the screen.

The worst part is, as you said, there's no room for the middle ground. I myself don't want to go into detail about the issues I had because there's so much unfair criticism. Like, if I thought it was a little unsubtle in its messaging at times, how can I say that when these fiends are tearing it apart for daring to even have the message. I'm just glad that Foster and Reis were so good and the show so well received that the fanboys can keep crying to each other about s1.

I will say, a huge part of that ending landing was Diane E. Benson as the older Indigenous Alaskan lady being cool as hell. She was so nonchalant and mischievous and angry as hell underneath it all! That's why I wished there was just a bit more tension, a bit more to that scene in terms of its place in the ep, rather than just its place in the story where it provided a reveal.

The handling of the killer reveal was what I found a bit pat, just being like, well, that happened, okay, bye, but the reveal itself? Freaking loved it. Those men deserved what they got and more. :<

Some things I'm glad they didn't go into more, the accident in the past, and what exactly happened to Navarro. Let me imagine she and Danvers are off together in some liminal space. :P

Anyway...I guess I did remember a lot, lol. And now we have a season 5 ahead. :)

[stantheskeleman]

The Hobbit - An Unexpected Journey - Fanfiction

Chapter 1 - Beginnings in Bag End

I have lived with Bilbo Baggins for a long time now. He is, by all means, a fairly normal Hobbit. So how he came to know me, someone so very un-Hobbit-like in appearance and personality, none of his neighbors in Hobbiton could ever figure out.

I of course happen to not be a Hobbit at all, which for someone living in the Shire is very unusual in itself. Add to that the fact that your average dweller could not easily discern what race I happen to be, and I make a lot of the Hobbits quite uncomfortable.

My hair was short, brown and slightly curly, not unusual to see here. But I was taller than Bilbo, not overly so, but enough to be noticeable when standing next to him. Most Hobbits who didn’t know me assumed I was a girl, which wasn’t helped by the fact that I, on occasion, wore skirts.

My magic liked to take physical form on my body, tattoos really. And, being of magic, they often moved and writhed about my arm, or other parts of my body, if needed. And Daemon, a piece of my very being made flesh, he was a snake. I can’t very well let him out, or even just be a tattoo around the Hobbits, I can’t imagine what they would think of me.

Bilbo, as he does everyday, smokes his pipe on a small bench, just outside of the door to Bag End. 

He sits there everyday before he gathers the mail, but after, of course, he has eaten breakfast, and before, of course, second breakfast. As is normal for Hobbits. Today of course, as it will be an important day, I join him on his bench, and try my best not to look too excited for what is to come.

He waved as neighbors walked by. I simply looked on, people watching as he made small talk. And he puffed away at his pipe, blowing rings of smoke into the air.

Until of course, as I knew he would, Gandalf popped into our vision.

“Good Morning.” Bilbo said, quite surprised at the very weird, even for his (high for a Hobbits) standards.

“What do you mean? Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not? Or, perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this particular morning. Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on?” Gandalf, who always needed to make things more confusing than need be, responded, question evident in his posture.

Bilbo answers, “All of them at once, I suppose.” He hadn’t thought much of his answer, but by the look he gave Bilbo, Gandalf certainly did.

I rolled my eyes, “Nevermind him, it’ll be a good morning whether any of us wish it or not, this I know.” Although they were both my friends, they were bound to get on each other's nerves. Especially in the day to come. 

‘Perhaps he will be more angered by Thorin than he will be by Olorin, hmm?’ Daemon, my inner consciousness of sorts, said. He is the very essence of my soul, and the proof of lineage. Perhaps symbolically he takes the form of a snake, often he is found plastered into my skin like a tattoo, although with much more freedom than one. He nudged my arm from his place on my side, ‘Although perhaps that might be worse for us.’

Bilbo stared at this apparent stranger, “Can I help you?”

“That remains to be seen. I’m looking for someone to share in an adventure.”

“An adventure? Now, I don’t imagine anyone west of Bree would have much interest in adventures. Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things. Make you late for dinner, mhm.” He moves to check the mailbox, and then, while sorting through the mail, he starts up the small hill leading to the front door of Bag End.

“To think that I should have lived to be good-morning by Belladonna Took’s son, as if I were selling buttons at the door.”

“Beg your pardon?”

You’ve changed, and not entirely for the better, Bilbo Baggins.”

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Bilbo stared at him.

“Well, you know my name, although you don’t remember I belong to it. I’m Gandalf! And Gandalf means…me!”

“Gandalf… not Gandalf, the wandering Wizard, who made such excellent fireworks! Old Took used to have them on Midsummer's Eve. Ha, ha! Well. Hmm, I had no idea you were still in business.” Bilbo, elated to finally understand, practically clapped with excitement.

“And where else should I be?”

“Ha, ha! Hm, hmm…” He puffed on his pipe, looking uneasy again.

“Well, I’m pleased to find you remember something about me, even if it’s only my fireworks. Well that’s decided,”Gandalf glanced at me conspiratorially. “It will be very good for you, and most amusing for me. I shall inform the others.”

“Inform the who?” He looked between me and Gandalf, twin smiles on our faces. “What? No. No! Wait. We do not want any adventures here, thank you. Not today, mhm. I suggest you try over the Hill or across the Water. Good morning.” And with his final words he enters Bag End, closes his door and seals his fate.

‘Well that was amusing, hmm?’

“You’re quite right, Daemon, I didn’t think he’d get quite so passionate about it. Olorin?” He looked at me. “Don’t forget to put up the marking, wouldn’t want our guests to get lost on the way?”

“Oh, yes, right.” And with that Gandalf stoops over and draws a symbol, glowing in the morning sun, onto the door of Bag End, and scurries away.

I'm not the most familiar with anything other than the Hobbit movies so lol

(Olorin is Gandalf's name in Quenya) i'll make a masterpost of some names and etc i promise

Comments and criticism is appreciated

Dividers By:https://www.tumblr.com/cafekitsun

[recalcitrantlycaffeinated]

DND: session 0.1 (the one where we get a ship)

no, really. No drawn-out six months of real life sessions playing around with rum rations and getting our gear back. Summer campaigns move FAST.

We met in a bar. Specifically, Seamus' bar. The idea was for all of our characters to know each other already to speed things along, but the chaotic tweenager refused to have associated with any of us in the past, so we had to leave it at just being acquaintances who have seen each other in the same bar before. Hex was busking outdoors, Seamus was working the bar, and the rest of us were regular patrons when suddenly the most stereotypical pirate ever stumbled through the doors and repeatedly died on the floor. In-between collapsing he would get out a word or two, but by the end we were mostly just annoyed at him for taking so long.

He had a paper in his hand, and I was going to grab a bar rag to pick it up with, but the paladin had no such fears of untimely death by mysterious paper plague, so he grabbed it. "I hope you don't die, dude" was the first thing I said in character, which was confusing for everyone who does not know me in real life and who was not ready for teenage boy nonsense to happen.

The paper was a treasure map. Seamus knew of a ship we could commandeer, because a smuggler he'd worked with previously was currently in prison and his ship was sitting empty. The paladin immediately took charge of everybody and started ordering everyone around. "As the LEADER of this group..." he said, and so of course I responded, "okay, DAD." This is why I do not remember his character name. My character only ever calls him Dad. There was a lot of squabbling about letting him even have nominal control of the party, during which I stood behind him and mocked him, but he did seem very logical, albeit...moral.

We packed supplies, snuck through the night streets, and made a plan to fool the guards into leaving shift early by stealing uniforms from the fantasy laundromat and impersonating the guards from the next shift. Seamus and I were in charge of the theft. I rolled a Nat 1 for stealth, knocking over a whole stack of clothes, but then started crying about how incompetent I felt and how my mom always does my laundry, so our plan was actually progressing very well...

...until we got back with the uniforms and Hex gleefully announced that while we were gone they had MURDERED EVERYONE WHO HAD WALKED BY. On the one hand, this sufficiently distracted the guards, which allowed me to use thieves' tools and get all the gates in our way unlocked and we did make it onto the ship. But on the other hand, now we're fleeing the authorities with a wanted criminal (who has apparently killed in the THOUSANDS? for FUN?) and I'm getting major flashbacks of having to work around the sea shaman from last campaign.

Side note: several times during the campaign so far, I have patiently waited as everyone else around the table thought about what to do, giving them a full minute before hitting them with "I run through the gate". I felt like this was the right thing to do when the real DM is not there, and they are...not ready...for the lack of forward thinking Traps is about to display in the first session. I mean, we were doing the standard "walk around the ship we are now flying and see what we're working with", and I was pocketing things in the captains' quarters, including a bunch of fancy men's jewelry. We got to a point where the paladin was learning the stats of all the weapons he had found and passing things out and I piped up, "While this is going on, I'm going to attempt to pierce my ears." Can I tell you the SILENCE that followed this. I'm sorry you were not expecting the most logical, spreadsheet-based nerd you know to play an entire idiot!!!

As we were approaching a planet we needed to stop at for fuel or something (ya boi is...not magical...and cannot fly the ship at all), we were told that there was a flesh-colored moon orbiting the planet. Every single one of us failed our perception rolls, so we continued blithely thinking it was a weird moon up until the point where the giant space spider had grabbed our ship with its legs and was dragging us into its mouth, and even after then, we all failed our first attack rolls. The tweenager was understandably concerned that we were all going to die, but I thought it would be HILARIOUS if that was how our session 0 ended. Imagine Miles texting the actual DM "yeah, tonight went great, we all really gelled, I got us onto the ship...it's too bad all of us are dead and we have to start over next week."

But (some would say thankfully) that did not happen! We rallied, cannons and laser pistols were fired, and the spider let us go and fled.

I missed this.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

20 Q's for 20 Authors

i wasn't actually tagged by anyone, but i saw it floating around and i was bored

1. How many works do you have?

on ao3 it's 95, but there are a few more on tumblr that i never posted anywhere else

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

360706

3. What fandoms do you write for?

whew, a ton.

4. What are your top 5 fics by notes?

on tumblr:

tomato faced

teamwork

a little fashion show

just for tonight

the palace guards

on ao3:

sunflower

plum

perfect little toy

teamwork

various spencer reid blurbs

5. Do you respond to comments?

i mostly just respond to the comments made in reblogs (mainly because that is the best way to support a writer here on tumblr)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

maybe the murder at evergreen university? that might be as sad of an ending as i've ever gone.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

hmm... i mean, most of them tbh. i'm a fan of wrapping things up in a nice hug, especially if I've brought the drama.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

luckily, not really, it's extremely rare and the few times it has happened i don't recall it really having anything to do with the story itself. just someone having a tough time took it as an excuse to get it out on someone and something not relevant to what they're going through.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

yes, i very much do. many many kinds, i think it might be easier to make a list of the few genres of it i don't roll around in then the many i do.

10. Do you write crossovers?

yes. not often, but i have. the murder at evergreen university and its prequel sour summer for one was a major one that took me a long time to write. if i've written others then i don't remember, but i'd love to do more.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge and it is legit one of my worst nightmares.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

never really been a big shipper, so i don't have a go to answer for this, sorry

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

oh boy, there are multiple....

there is this one i've had going for ages, but i've never found the right fictional hottie to center it around. it's a historical one where it's basically farmer's daughter x farmhand

i also have a firefighter!bucky x paramedic!reader series that is essentially all fleshed out, but i've never gotten to

some smutty one shots and blurbs for each of the dudes in the murder at evergreen university. i even reference them in the story, but i never got to finishing them...

and even more, i mean, the list just goes on, but those were just the tops off my head.

16. What are your writing strengths?

dialogue and knowing when to shut up

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i'm dyslexic lol, that brings enough relevant "weaknesses"

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i like it if it makes sense for the story and if the foreign language is grammatically correct and stuff and not just whatever google translate has spat out.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

criminal minds

20. Favorite fics you’ve written?

the eflorr trilogy

lilac

the murder at evergreen university

buttercup

no pressure tags: @chvoswxtch @inklore @fettuccin-e @ghostlyfleur @oncasette @mypoisonedvine @appocalipse @vhagarlovebot @slvttyfied @venuslore @fushic0re

[taemcains]

I wonder if Lane was an anomaly or she's actually given second chance in life. Her story reminds me so much of ppl who wake up after years in coma. I think it's the latter but I know sm players believe the first one because no one could remember their birth except for Lane in ep. 4.

Also, I like how every characters in HSR has different ways to respond to their traumas. Lane's so desperate to be acknowledged by other ppl. How cold and withdrawn Dmitry is (although he can be nice). Anna can get really anxious sometimes. Kira's being emotional the WHOLE TIME (this girl is annoying as heck ngl). Noah is constantly complaining about his friend's death and eventually going berserk. Greg's trying to keep himself sane even if he knew he's stressed out by the loss of his stepsister and Nick. Cain is showing his guilt and anger everytime someone brings up his past. I like how mature this book is. Alexandra K. is great at fleshing out each character without doing too much. I like the way she's focusing on what part of the story need to be told on each episode. The first episodes she's more focused on the abominations, the zombies, and the book of Apocalyse. In June update, she put more details about the cults, the rituals, and just a bit about the shaman. This is one of those books I could enjoy even if I weren't dating anyone in the game. I think one of Alexandra's strongest suit is she's great at pacing her story and balancing every element in her story. If she kept this up until season 3, I think she's going to be one of the best RC writers.

Sorry for the long ask.

her backstory must've been mentioned for a reason so it's likely she was always meant to be here and be the one to decipher the book, but i agree with you. i'm tired of the chosen one trope too and with the themes of coming back to life/resurrection in hsr and lane thinking about why she's even holding onto life, it would be a great set up for her to be a random person given a second chance to save/doom her soul/humanity based off the path you choose.

omg i never thought of that?? lane's need to be useful came from being raised by parents that didn't want her. she had to try to earn their love by proving she was smart and worthy enough for all the pain her birth caused them ohhh my baby :((

since it's a book set during the apocalypse, it has to be plot driven but she's balancing it well with gradually revealing more about each character. it never overshadows the actual plot but all the subtle details she mentions adds up to give us a cast of characters who we know enough about to care for while still keeping the tension and mystery that's characteristic of this book.

yes!! if she'd immediately jumped into the cult aspect of the story, it would've been confusing. i liked that she took the time to set the stage, slowly increasing the scale of horror. this update was a lot darker than the previous eps and i wouldn't mind if it gets even worse bc she writes it well enough to deliver confusion and dread, without going overboard.

that's what i said too!! hsr can stand alone without the lis bc of how interesting and complex both lane and the plot are (although the routes with each li are compelling too). i really can't wait to see what she's cooking for the next update & season. i already trust her so much so i know that finale is going to decimate us next year 🙏

pls don't apologize omg i love hsr analyses bc everyone comes up with smth new !! i never even thought about the trauma thing wow

[theindescribable1]

Saw that one anon about a creepy dream a little while ago, and wanted to pitch in with a little retelling of my own, prologued by how the morning afterward went. Sorry if any of it sounds a little off—I’m not exactly an author, but I’ll do my best.

3:19 AM I woke up, slick with sweat. And I’m not talking about wet in the pits or wet in the brow. I’m talking scalp wet, sheet wet, and at that hour, an hour already lost in a new year—shivering wet. I’m so cold my temples hurt but before I can really focus on the question of temperature I realize I’ve remembered my first dream.

Only later after I find some candles, stomp around my room, splash water on the old face, micturate, light a sterno can and put the kettle on, only then can I respond to my cold head and my general physical misery, which I do, relishing every bit of it in fact. Anything is better than that unexpected and awful dream, made all the more unsettling because now for some reason I can recall it. Nor do I have an inkling why. I cannot imagine what has changed in my life to bring this thing to the surface.

My guns sure as hell were useless, instantly confiscated at sleep’s border, even if I did manage to pick up the Weatherby before my credit ran out.

An hour passes. I’m blinking in the light, boiling more water for more coffee, ramming my head into another wool hat, sneezing again though all I can see is the fucking dream, torn straight out of the old raphé nuclei care of the very brainstem I thought had been soundly severed.

This is how it starts:

I’m deep in the hull of some enormous vessel, wandering its narrow passages of black steel and rust. Something tells me I’ve been here a long time, endlessly descending into dead ends, turning around to find other ways which in the end lead only to still more ends. This, however, does not bother me. Memories seem to suggest I’ve at one point lingered in the engine room, the container holds, scrambled up a ladder to find myself alone in a deserted kitchen, the only place still shimmering in the mirror magic of stainless steel. But those visits took place many years ago, and even though I could go back there at any time, I choose instead to wander these cramped routes which in spite of their ability to lose me still retain in every turn an almost indiscreet sense of familiarity. It’s as if I know the way perfectly but I walk them to forget.

And then something changes. Suddenly I sense for the first time ever, the presence of another. I quicken my pace, npt quite running but close. I am either glad, startled or terrified, but before I can figure out which I complete two quick turns and there he is, this drunken frat boy wearing a plum-colored Topha Beta sweatshirt, carrying the lid of a garbage can in his right hand and a large fireman’s ax in his left. I’m scared alright but I’m also confused. “Excuse me, mind explaining why you’re coming after me?” which I actually try to say except the words don’t come out right. More like grunts and clouds, big clouds of steam.

That’s when I notice my hands. They look melted, as if they were made of plastic and had been dipped in boiling oil, only they’re not plastic, they’re the thin effects of skin which have in fact been dipped in boiling oil. I know this and I even know tje story. I’m just unable to resurrect it there in my dream. Stiff hair sprouts up all over the fingers and around the long, yellow fingernails. Even worse, this awful scarring doesn’t end at my wrists, but continues down my arms, making the scars I know I have when I’m not dreaming seem childish in comparison. These ones reach over my shoulders, down my back, extend even across my chest, where I know ribs still protrude like violet bows.

When I touch my face, I can instantly tell there’s something wrong there too. I feel plenty of hair covering strange lumps of flesh on m chin, my nose and along the ridge of my cheeks. On my forehead there’s an enormous bulge harder than stone. And even though I have no idea how I got to be so deformed, I do know. And this knowledge comes suddenly. I’m here because I am deformed, because when I speak my words come out in cracks and groans, and what’s more Ive been put here by an old man, a dead man, by one who called me son even though he was not my father.

Which is when this frat boy, swaying back and forth before me like an idiot, raises his ax even higher above his head. His plan I see is not too complicated: he intends to drive that heavy blade into my skull, across the bridge of my nose, cleave the roof of my mouth, thr core of my brain, split apart the very vertebrae in my neck, and he won’t stop there either. He’ll hack my hands from my wrists, my thighs from my knees, pry out my sternum into tiny fragments. He’ll do the same to my toes and my fingers and he’ll even pop my eyes with the butt of the handle and then with the heal of the blade attempt to crush my teeth, despite the fact that they’re long, serrated and unusually strong. At least in this effort, he will fail; give up finally; collect a few. Where my internal organs are concerned, these too he’ll treat with the same respect, hewing, smashing adn slicing until he’s too tired and covered with blood to finish, even though of course he really finished awhile ago, and then he’ll slouch exhausted, panting like some stupid dog, drunk on his beer, this killing, this victory, while I lie strewn about that bleak place, der absolute Zerrissenheit. I’m awful at German, I don’t know why I bother even putting it here. Anyway back to the dream, me chopped up into tiny pieces, spread and splattered in the bowels of that ship, and all at the hands of a drunken frat boy who upon beholding his heroic deed pukes all over what’s left of me. Except before he achieves any of this, I realize that now, for some reason, for the first time, I have a choice: I don’t have to die, I can kill him instead. Not only are my teeth and nails long, sharp and stromg, I too am strong, remarkably strong and remarkably fast. I can rip that fucking ax out of his hands before he even swings it once, shatter it with one jerk of my wrist, and then I can watch the terror deep into his eyes as I grab him by the throat, carve out his insides and tear him to pieces.

But as I take a step forward, everything changes. The frat boy I realize is not the frat boy anymore but someone else. At first I think it’s my first crush Kyrie, until I realize it’s not Kyrie but Ashley, which is when I realize it’s neither Kyrie or Ashley but Simone, though something tells me that even that’s not exactly right. Either way, her face glows with adoration and warmth and her eyes communicate in a blink an understanding of all the gestures I’ve ever made, all the thoughts I’ve ever had. So extroardinary is this gaze, in fact, that I suddenly realize I’m unable to move. I just stand there, every sinew and nerve easing me into a world of relief, my breath slowing, arms dangling at my sides, my jaw slack, legs melting me into ancient waters, until suddenly my eyes on their own accord, commanded by instincts darker and older than empathy or anything resembling emotional need, dart from her beautiful and strangely familiar face to the ax she still holds, the ax she is now lifting, the smile she is still making even as she starts to shake, suddenly swinging the axe down on me, at my head, though she will miss my head, barely, the ax floating down instead toward my sholder, finally cutting into the bone and lodging there, producing shrieks of blood, so much blood, and pain, so much pain, and instantly I understand Im dying, though I’m not dead yet, even if I am beyond repair, and she has started to cry, even as she dislodges the ax and raises it again, to swing again, again at my head, though she is crying hardwr and she is much weaker than I thought, and she needs more time than I thought, to get ready, to swing again, while I’m bleeding and dying, which now doesn’t compare to the feeling inside, also so familiar, as the atriums of my heart on their own accord suddenly rupture, like my father’s ruptured. So this, I suddenly muse in a peculiarly detatched way, was this how he felt?

I’ve made a terrible mistake, but it’s too late and I’m now full of fury & hate to do anything but look up as the blade slices down with appalling force, this time the right arc, not too far left, not too far right, but right center, descending forever it seems, though it’s not forever, not even close, and I realize with a shade of citric joy, that at least, at last, it will put an end to the far more terrible ache inside me, born decades ago, long before I finally beheld a dream the face and meaning of my horror.

And then, well, I woke up. 3:19 AM, sweaty and cold, yadda yadda yadda. I still think about that night sometimes, housing one of the few dreams I can actually recall with any sense of clarity, though I wish it had been something more pleasant. Though I guess we all wish for that kind of thing, eh?

Ok I'm just gonna say this took so long to read..

I won't spoil this post, its lkke a whole horror movie. No spoilers or a summary, read it yourself guys! HAHA! Pure evil.

[etherealvoidechoes]

Borderlands AU - Welcome Back, Handsome Jack  - Chapter 2: A Step Closer… To Death… To Life

The Trauma Team's arrived to secure and stabilize the VIP. Once secured, they rush Jack to the medical wing for a long, grueling surgery.

Sorry, it took so long. Been really busy and had constant blocks on how I wanted to write this chapter. Introducing some ocs here. Some matter more than others for later.

11.7k

Ao3 Link 

FF.net Link

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“Oxron! Av! Mercury! Spanner! Get to work on the VIP!” 

The head of the med trauma team’s voice boomed, echoing through the room. Gesturing with her head, with several swift jerks toward who they were there for.  “Tick Tok! Tick Tok! Chek? Chek?” It was deep and gruff, like nails scratching a chalkboard.

“Chek! Chek! You got it, Chief!” They responded in unison.

Chief was standing by the desk, a dark gray metallic fist still buried in the smoldering twisted remains of the machine that brought Jack back to the world of the living. Her eyes examined it; half of her face was obscured by a white visor with yellow-tinged hexagon lines. The onboard AI scanned the remains, taking notes and sending them off to the tech teams for answers.

She pulled her fist out, giving it a good rub as the servos whined and whirred as the knuckles popped back into place one by one. Gnarled, scared lips twisted into a grimace as the smell of burning wires, burning flesh, and that strong copper from all the blood mixed together into some rather putrid. She was used to smelling all sorts of foul things on the job, but this just smelled wrong. Another deep whiff made her shudder.

“Eridium taint mixed in with the burn and rot.” She grumbled before spitting off to the side. “Thought my chemical bath on Vexos 12 was worse…”

She looked over her shoulder, looking at the smoldering — still twitching — jigsaw puzzle of a man on the floor her team was attending to. Handsome Jack.

“Fuc—“ She bit her tongue. Tch, tch, tch, language. Just laying eyes on him made that conditioning come back tenfold. She was going to miss being able to freely curse again. Curse his name. “Can’t believe my own freakin’ eyes. Again.” 

When she first saw the message appear on her screen back in the medical wing that Handsome Jack was in need of dire medical assistance, she thought it was a prank. It had been done before, to several divisions, to give every a good scare. It annoyed her and she would give the prankster a backhand when found.

She was about to close the popup until several more appeared. Views of Jack’s office. And then a “death” countdown popped up — a laughing skull — followed by not so veiled threats to her beloved med team and her then her only living family “to get a move on”. 

She could feel her blood running colder than the coolant flowing through her augments. It became more frigid when her team sent her messages of receiving the same messages. And it was on the brink of freezing when she received a call from her sister. The fear in her blubbering voice got her to her feet. This was no joke. This was all too real.

Chief rallied her crew together quickly, while trying to calm her sister, and had them break out their best gear. Once that was all done, they were here now.

“Just when I thought I could finally get my sister and crew out of this mess…” She grumbled under her breath, biting the inside of her cheek. Freer times were going to be gone if Jack survived this. Well… even if he didn’t, the man probably had some contingency plan to punish all of them for failing to save his pompous ass.

“At least he’s stopped convulsing.” She mumbled.

She looked over at Blake when she heard the man telling the security team what was going on. He was at a loss for words and what he told them sounded so farfetched. And sounded like… he was withholding some details.

“Hm.” She would have questions for him later. But now…

She tapped at a device on her wrist and then tapped the side of her helmet a few times before she headed over to her team and Jack. Taking care to step around the sprawling pools of blood.

“Starting report: Securing VIP… Handsome Jack. Somehow… he’s alive after all these da—  all these months.” 

Recording incidents like this was routine for her. A way to catch anything they missed that the doctors would notice and a way to cover their asses if their VIP would complain about treatment. Which probably wouldn’t help that much with this one being Handsome Jack… 

“Av! You’re slipping!” A harsh growl slipped from her lips. Scanning the scene, she noticed a few key items were not deployed.  “Why isn’t the stretcher out?”

“Sorry, Chief! Busy stabilizing the VIP.” Av apologized, somewhat waving her off. She was busy making sure there was nothing in Jack’s mouth. So far, it was just that oddly colored purple froth still coming out. Though she was small in stature, she had a good amount of strength as she turned Jack onto his side.

“I got the stretcher.” Oxron fetched the item, pulling out a large rectangular yellow box. As he placed it on the ground, it bounced up, blue thrusters activating, but keeping a low hover, as it fully opened; it stretched out to fit at least one adult person.

“Mind that back right thruster.” Mercury said, glancing up from his medical bag. “Still on the fritz, engineers can’t seem to ‘find’ the fix.”

“Freakn’ figures.” Oxron rolled his eyes.

“How’s he looking?” Chief asked.

“Honestly? Shouldn’t be bloody alive, Chief.” Spanner said. They were over the information the medical Surveyors were gleaning from scanning Jack. “Look at this!” 

Instinctively, Chief stretched out her hand to catch the tablet being tossed at her and soon took a look at the information. More impossible information.

“What the hel— what the heck is this?” 

Just about every bone in Jack’s body was broken twice, if not thrice, over. If all the readings were correct, countless organs were damaged and ruptured, if not outright falling. Over 60% of his body had second, third, and fourth-degree burns. And then the readings for that lucrative purple gold of a poison coursing through his veins were all over the place — all lethal amounts.

“Alerted the medical team about the Eridium?” She asked.

“Done n’ done.” Spanner swiftly nodded, causing the little bead charms to their helmet to clack and rattle. “Even put in a request for treatment for us… iftheycareenough. Nasty crap…” They more or so grumbled under their breath as a few words rushed through clenched teeth.

“Right… everyone, monitor your exposure levels.”

“Anyone need to switch carts, let me know!” Mercury said as he adjusted his mask. Fingers double-checking every lock, tubing, and o-ring to make sure it was all sealed tight. Never could be too careful. “Got some 0Xy and clnZer carts too if exposure is bad.”

“CLUCKING SKAGRAT!” A sudden curse came from Av, catching everyone’s attention. There was a spray of crimson as she quickly jerked her hand away from Jack, clutching it tightly. He was seizing again. “Clucking fingers. My clucking fingers!” 

“Move back and get that under control.” Chief shook her head, holding back a snort. At least Av had her cursing under control.

Chief quickly tossed the tablet to the side and went over to take over what Av was once doing. As she and Oxron were working to re-stabilize Jack, they both froze. There was a tingle in the air, followed by a jolt of electricity, and a sudden, icy stillness came over them. Something just made the hairs on their skin stand on end.“Hm!?”

“What the—“

“Whoa! WHOA! Back up! Back up! Back up!” Spanner suddenly blurted out as they grabbed Chief by her collar and pulled her back. Two of their bots nailed Oxron and Mercury in the chest, shoving them back.

Just as all three were clear from the body, purple energy surged through Jack's body before several bright purple bolts shot out, causing everyone else to immediately duck for cover. It lasted for a few seconds before all quickly dissipating, leaving behind faint swirling smoke of Eridium and a fouler odor.

“Whoa!” Mercury exclaimed.

“What the hell…” Oxron wondered what they had just witnessed.

“Spanner, get that to the medical and science teams, stat!” Chief ordered. “Oxron, let’s get him strapped and Mercury put a damn shield up when he’s strapped.”

“Roger.” They responded.

Chief and Oxron got Jack fully on the stretcher and re-stabilized, noting the scar on his face was glowing purple and were being cautious of any more energy spikes.

 “I’ll buy you a new hand if we can’t reattach those fingers.” Chief glanced at Av as she had fished out her companion’s fingers from Jack’s mouth. She grimaced at the purple froth and now black-purple sludge that clung to the severed appendages. She dropped them into a sterile bag.

Av wrinkled her nose at the sight. Though they were still gloved, vibrant purple veins glowed through the material and crept across. “I’ll take the offer. Ain’t riskin’ that taint. Wouldn’t mind some chrome like your fancy arm.”

That just made Chief chuckle.

“Shield’s on Chief and monitoring for any more energy spikes.” Mercury said.

“Good. Now you three,” Chief made a series of pointed jabs towards Mercury, Av, and Oxron, “get him out of here and to the med wing yesterday! Move! Move!”

All of them gave their response and quickly picked up the stretcher and made their way out of the room with Jack.

 She then looked at the security. She made pointed jabs at them and then at her crew several times. “AND YOU ALL ESCORT THEM! HE’S A VIP!”

The sudden outburst gave them a scare, but more than half of the security followed them out to clear a path.

She then looked Spanner and then pointed at the desk. “Spanner, get everything you can from the computer. Keep the tech crews in the loop.” They just nodded and went to work.

Chief watched them go until they disappeared through the doors.

“End report: Mercury, Av, and Oxron as moving the VIP to the medical wing as I speak. They have an escort. Will continue to gather samples for the doctors and science teams and make additional notes.” She grumbled as she ended her report.

She then turned her attention to Blake. The man was now shooing away the rest of the security team after the sudden lightning show. He looked beyond frazzled, strands of hair poking free from that neatly swept back hair, as he tugged and adjusted his tie.

“Mr. Blake.” She said, going over to him. “By all means, I hope you’re uninjured, but do tell me everything you witnessed with our… boss’ sudden appearance.”

“Ah! Ms. Char.“ Blake forced a smile. He was fond of her, but his nerves were rather frazzled. There was a slight twitch in his eye hearing her request. “I have a feeling you wouldn’t believe me, like the security team…”

“Blake,” she placed her hands on her hips, “just talk. Can’t be any more unbelievable than what we just witnessed. And then half the crap Jack has schemed up.”

Blake closed his eyes tightly, neck muscles strained as he tugged on that wistful noose of a tie one last time before letting go. Not now. Not now. Not ever… for a few decades. Taking in a deep breath, he folded his hands together, bringing them to his face. “I warn you, it makes little sense. It starts here.” He gestured over to the desk, specifically the smoldering device, and walked over to it.

He told her what he told the security, but gave a smidge more detail. Gesturing to the still-lit holo-panels, which were still littered with those error warnings that were giving Spanner a run for their money to take down. Of course, he repeated several times he had no clue Jack had such a device or contingency plan, partially(and cautiously) muttering under his breath he would have had it dismantled as soon as he learned of it.

Chief listened intently. If she still had eyes, they would be rolling out of her skull with how unbelievable it all sounded. But with half the crap she’s dealt with in her life, with most coming with her current “employment” Hyperion for the last few years, it wasn’t so farfetched. Jack was always scheming something up.

“Immortality? Seriously?” She raised a hand to her visor, shaking her head. “If Nakayama was still alive, I would snap that scrawny bastard’s neck.” A growl slipped out.

 The next moment her cybernetic fist slammed down onto the device, caving in a sizable portion; knuckle servos clicked and groaned as the metal twisted and crumpled underneath her grip. Blake tensed.

She pulled her hand from the mess and gave it a good shake. Joints clicked and popped until they fully reset. “How’s the Board going to react to this?”

Blake closed his eyes and shook her his. “Poorly, of course. I know they’ll want to oust Jack from the company as soon as possible since we have Hyperion back on track. Mostly. But…” 

“Knowing Jack, he’s got something cooked up.”

He nodded. Opening his eyes, he glanced over to the holo-panels. He faintly remembered some things he saw there. Troubling things. “I have a feeling Jack has several contingency plans to keep that from happening. Blackmail and threats. The usual for him.”

“His bloody favorite pastime.” A growl slipped out. She struck the device once more.

Blake nodded. “I take it your team was contacted with such messages to ‘save’ him?”

“Yep.” Another growl. Another sickening crunch of metal. “We’re the freakn’ best in the business.” She tossed in an imitation of Jack’s voice.

“Hm…” Blake bit the inside of his lip. He had a question he had to ask, but was hesitant. “Same… with your sister and her team?”

Chief slammed her fist back down onto the device with immense force. This time, each finger dug into the metal. The sounds of crunching metal grew until a sharp twang and several pings rang out. Chief let out an angry bellow as she pulled her fist back, tearing the device free from the desk, sending wood splinters everywhere, and threw it. It soared across the room before crashing into the wall and onto the ground in a heap. “Yes. Da— damnit, yes.”

“I am so sorry, Char.” There was a slight drop in his shoulders. “My legal team is still searching for a loophole in those blasted contracts. Same with the rest of the Eridium specialized scientists. How Jack managed to ‘headhunt’ so many of—”

A few metallic finger snaps, a harsh ‘can it’, and a raised hand quickly made Blake go silent.

Chief pulled on her chin a few times, shaking her head back and forth. “Headhunted.” That was a light way to put forced extortion and kidnapping. And her sister was a “lucky” one to be chosen for her research into elemental technology and a new budding interest in how Eridium amplified them.

Better if I died that night when they ambushed my exploration team. I can still see the faces of our escort… What was left of them. Why? They did their best to protect us, get us out of there… They were like family, sis. Words her sister told her one night when she had another mental breakdown. Her sister could put on a brave face most days with her current extraneous work, but that day deeply haunted her.

“Uuuugh, dammit.” A long drawn-out sigh of a curse came from her as shook her head again before looking back at him. “Sorry about that. But thank you for what you’re doing. We’ll figure out some way to break those damn contracts. Just hope nothing changes with him back.”

“No offense taken. I understand the stress you’re under. More than you would think.” He said. “I’ll see if I can draft up a few subtle changes to the contracts for a rather dazed Jack to sign.”A small smirk crossed his face. He had to hold in a chuckle, imagining Jack high off of painkillers that would probably be coursing through his system for who knows how long if he survived. “I believe I’ll also give a fair, friendly notice to your co-owner, Sir Papier, if he wishes to submit any suggestions.” That smirk grew even more. He was looking forward to that conversation. “A small amount of reprieve for you all.”

“Tch, I see he’s rubbed off on you, and you know he prefers Monsieur Papier.” She shook her head, but couldn’t help but chuckle. It was a rare treat to see his more devious side. “Truthfully, hope he crashes hard, but who knows the consequences of that.”

“I’ve already sent a memo to the legal teams and others about the possibilities of that.”

A few curses came from Spanner. “Going to have to get the tech boys down here. Lotta data is corrupted and some security crap way too high for me to break.”

“How lovely.” Chief wasn’t surprised to hear that.

Blake shook his head. “I’ll send a message to them.” Looks like his night just got longer.

An alert appeared on Chief’s visor. She raised two fingers to the side of her helmet.

“Yeah? I hear you, Oxron.”

A call from one of her crew. A few status updates. They had arrived at the medical wing and were shifting the VIP into the care of the doctors there. There were several “hms”, “mhms”, “whats”, “repeat thats”, and “how lovely”.  

“Alright, you three hand off what you have to the staff there and finish the decontamination process. Spanner and I will be heading over once we finish. And I’ll get Av a shiny new hand or arm. Her choice. And contact the rest of the crew down on Pandora. Got a bad feeling we’ll need everyone back on the station.” Chief finished the call. An annoyed sigh slipped out. “Things are going be freakin’ interesting.” 

She then looked at Spanner. “Have your bots gather more scans and samples. The docs are going to need a lot.”

“No problem, boss.” Spanner nodded and ordered their bots to do so.

She then looked over at Blake. “You’ll be getting copies of the status reports from my crew and be prepared for the reports from the doctors. Oxron informed me there were more energy spikes and Jack’s internal temp levels being off.”

“How… joyous.” Blake was not looking forward to that.

Chief and Spanner gathered more data and samples before departing. They bid Blake farewell and good luck. Blake did the same.

The head of security came around and Blake reluctantly filled out some reports as he was waiting for one of the senior-level tech teams to come around.

He eyed that heaping metal mess Chief turned that machine into. How long had Jack had that thing hidden, and this plan schemed up? He wished he had stopped her from damaging it further, but there were thousands of things swirling through his mind. Hopefully, there was still enough remaining for the scientist and tech teams to look at.

There was just a sinking put in his stomach, a gnawing dread, that Jack would somehow survive this ordeal and Hyperion was heading for murky waters once more.

Just how would they work around this? How would they keep this from getting out? That was going to be an impossible task.

His guts were twisting into knots just thinking of the reaction the Crimson Raiders and Vault Hunters would have. A small, naïve part of him hoped they would treat it like a crazed rumor and wouldn’t investigate. But there was Lilith. 

“I wonder if I still have some of that Cayenbell berry wine Papier sent. And maybe some of that cognac they sent me. Just need a sip.” Just something to soothe his nerves… or enough to make him pass out. “A sip…” No, he needed to get a mountain of work done before he could dream of sleeping. “Wonder if I can get some more or both. Just have to make some conversations and deals… The Golden Age, tch.”

He brought out his phone and drafted up a message. He needed to get back in touch with his secret contact first. Details needed to be shared. Plans needed to be changed. A storm was brewing.

-------------------

Word of Handsome Jack’s return spread quickly across the station. Most thought it to be some kind of joke. It had to be one of those lookalikes or someone in costume. Happened fairly frequently. But some were curious and went to investigate this news; some kept an eye out and others went to his old office. And those curious ones were all that was needed to spark a fire of bonafide proof. A half-dead man strapped to a stretcher. Handsome Jack was back. 

How quickly Chief’s crew had to deal with crowds of people appearing around every corner as they rushed Jack to the medical bay. They were so happy for the security escort. Especially for those more overzealous fans that their “god” was back. Which wasn’t helped, as Jack was slowly coming back to consciousness and was registering pain. A lot of pain. A small bonus, this caused several people to back off. An immediate downside is the yelling drew more attention.

The crew was rather happy their helmets allowed them to isolate and tune down Jack’s screams as they moved. 

Additional security was called in. They arrived just in time to keep their path clear, as the shielding put up to protect them from energy spikes was slowly failing. The eridium spikes were inconsistent. Sometimes the ‘voltage’ was low and other times crackles of energy would pierce through the shields like they were nothing. Even additional shielding from Surveyor drones that were called in barely helped. The bots instead got zapped and downed, systems fried to a crisp.

Everyone felt like they were way past their nine lives with each warning alert blurted out, followed by Jack yelling and convulsing before the eridium energy went wild every couple of minutes. So far they weren’t injured, but a few overzealous fans that managed to break through were zapped for their troubles. Eridium energy tainted their bodies, with sickly purple veins and skin discolorations. Just subjects for the appropriate scientists to study.

So far, Lady Luck continued to be on the crew’s side, and they prayed she would stay.

A new alert caught the attention of the trio. Monitoring systems were picking up a new anomaly brewing within Jack. His core body temperature levels were starting to shift. Dropping and jumping several degrees in an erratic manner just like everything else going on with him.

Something else to send to the medical wing before they arrive.

They arrived at the medical wing with no more trouble and concerning developments with Jack. Greeting them were several medical members in heavy-duty PPE suits who quickly directed them to a secured operating room prepared for Jack. With Jack situated and handed over, they also passed on all the data — especially the deadly energy spikes — and samples taken from Jack’s office and wished them good luck.

With that done, Oxron called Chief to update her on the situation and once that was done, the trio headed over to decontamination. Av had a rather thorough examination done with booster shots mixed in due to the injury she sustained and wasn’t too surprised they would probably have to amputate her hand with it showing signs of eridium poisoning. At least Chief was paying for the replacement. 

-------------------

The operating room. Careful murmurs permeated the air as the doctors, nurses, and technicians prepared for the impossible task that lay before them. They all still couldn’t believe it. It had to be some sort of sick, cruel joke. But there he was. Their old boss. Lying barely conscious, twitching, and bleeding profusely on the table.

With an air of calm authority, the head surgeon spoke. “Nurses, technicians… Get the scanners going to keep track of his vitals. Double check the oxygen“ Fingers curled and tensed as they re-tightened their gloves. Eyes drifted over to one monitor tracking Jack’s heartbeat. A heartbeat that was somehow still going, steadily thumping along with erratic blood pressure readings. Then their eyes hesitantly drifted to a few holo-panels floating around them all.

A timer ticking down second by second and the warning accompanied them.

THE CLOCK’S TICKING. CHOP. CHOP. OR YOUR HEAD’S ON THE BLOCK.

Feeling their heart in their throat, the head surgeon knocked their knuckles against their chest as they swallowed hard. They needed to refocus. 

“No one approaches the patient until we have these shields recalibrated to deal with the eridium energy and redirect it elsewhere. Our gear can handle only so much.” A hand drifted down to their left side, fingers soon tapped on their Hyperion-issued shield. A button press here, a dial turned ever so slightly there — a faint shimmering blue honeycomb-patterned bubble tightened around them. “And everyone, double-check your suits before approaching the patient. No holes. No gaps. Make sure those breathing apparatuses are sealed tight. Eridium poisoning is… unpleasant.”   

The precautions were taken with the utmost care. Nurses and technicians quickly went to work to make sure the scanners were going and properly syncing with the monitors. It didn’t take long for engineers from R&D to show up with the eridium siphoning device — a rather clunky, if not hastily put together rectangular device with an excessive amount of heat vents — to protect them during the operation. They placed the rectangular device towards a corner of the room and began to quickly rig up various redirection and director shields to the ceiling that would lead to it. And just in the nick of time, as Jack’s vials began to spike and sirens went off, the air began to crackle. Everyone froze. Except for the engineers — they just worked faster.

As soon as the last few shields were in place and the device was turned, several bolts of that swirling energy sprung forth from Jack’s body. Twisting and crashing together, it all arced up towards the shields, cracking with thunderous booms as they jumped from one to another as they were swirling towards the device. The flaps to the heat vents burst open as billowing clouds of steam shot out. It sputtered as metal slats clinking and shuttered open, revealing the hidden cells within gathering the energy. Empty blue cells glowed with energy, slowly becoming purple. As quickly as it all started, the energy excursion ended.

The tension in the room quickly dropped as heavy sighs of relief escaped just about everyone. At least one thing was under control and now they just had to worry about keeping their boss alive.

“Well… heck.” 

A mild curse from an engineer by the device, followed by them barking out some technical orders and some engineers running out of the room, made all that tension come back.

The head surgeon spoke through gritted teeth. “Dare I ask… what is wrong?” 

“Weeeell, our slapdash job works, but boy, there be a ton of juice being pumped out. Already at 80% capacity.” The engineer explained in an odd southern drawl as they pulled a panel back. “Glad we thought of makin’ these cells swappable or we’d be up a creek without a paddle… Well, more or so fried to a crisp and chokin’ on our lungs. This ain’t surviving another blast ’til we get these cells replaced.”

The surgeon’s brow twitched. More sweat poured down their face than ever before. “That’s… good to know.” Terrifying, really. “Keep doing your job so we can do ours.” It was better than nothing. 

The surgeon turned their attention back to the others and began giving orders. “Let’s get to work, start cutting his clothes. Make sure all the lines are going and get that anesthesia going on the triple. Ease some of his pain and keep him knocked out. And get the tubes ready if we have to intubate him… somehow he’s still breathing on his own.”

The delicate operation began that soon trudged on for five days as they all worked in shifts — with several people having mental breaks — to save Jack’s life. Somehow, the bastard was still clinging to life as he went through more blood than one could find pouring out of a bandit camp — especially those highly cannibalistic ones and those with bloodletting altars. Besides that, replacing his less-than-repairable organs was another headache, as his body would spontaneously reject the replacements — be it fully synthetic or organic. They switched over to various external machines to act in place of the organs until they could solve the rejection issue, but at some point, Jack’s body finally stopped the weird rejection dance. There were questions, but they didn’t exactly care to investigate what equilibrium they reached to achieve that. They just prayed it wouldn’t happen again.

The device the engineers rigged up was still going strong, though it gave them a scare from time to time when a harsh metal-on-metal grinding sound crashed against their ears, followed by black smoke and sparks billowed out of the vents. Then another scare came, this time from a careless engineer who improperly handled one of the filled cells. One thought the burnt flesh and sulfuric stench clinging to Jack’s flesh peppered with eridium was bad enough as their suit filters could eliminate only so much— the freshly eridium charred engineer made everything so much worse.

The operation continued to be an unpleasant ride with several roadblocks. The constant blood( and other fluids) replacement was still a constant. Speaking of blood, there was a need for constant decontamination and siphoning away all fluids due to it being heavily tainted by eridium. The fumes wafting off of the fluids were overwhelming their breathing apparatuses, leading to clouded thoughts, dizziness, and a few passing out. The engineers quickly reconfigured the room’s fans to recycle the airflow more quickly and went about bringing in some air filters.

  Another surprise roadblock of a headache came around the 32nd hour. Jack’s internal body temperature began to fluctuate again, dropping him to near-frigid levels before skyrocketing to scorching ones. This went on for a while before it decided to stick to one side of the spectrum. The hot side. 

Ice packs and ice quickly became a commodity on the station as they worked to lower his temperature until they were able to rig up the room to near-freezing levels to aid in the process. Some quick shield augmentations to turn the inner layers into a heater allowed them to continue their work in the frigid cold. As shifts were swapped again, they all had new gear more insulated to deal with the temperatures just in case those shield augmentations broke.

Then another issue arose. 

Jack woke up.

-------------------

With a rattled gasp, Jack’s eyes flew open, and he shot up straight like a stick, causing the oxygen mask to slip off. Racked, heavy breathing, pupils as small as pinpricks darted across the room. Everyone froze where they were. Surgeons in the middle of making incisions. Others in the middle of suturing. They were too afraid to make any movements. But someone was whispering — almost panicked, scattered yelling — for the anesthesia to be adjusted.

Though everything felt numb and distant, Jack seemed to be processing where he was. What was going on? Eyes took notice of a rack nearby that held a mass of something pinkish-purple that was squirming. And looked like one long tube led back to him. 

Don’t look down. Don’t look down.  

But he did.

He saw it. His beautiful chest slice opened from collar bone all the way down his stomach, not quite sure where it stopped as multiple arms were in the way. But he could see what little remained of his organic insides at the moment. Two milky white sacs decorated with a honeycomb pattern and that big black “H” shuttered and trembled, encompassing his still-beating heart with every breath. Breath.

What…

His breathing paused. They paused. His breathing quickened. They quickened. Lungs. Those were his lungs. New ones… Neat.

What the hell…

No, no, not neat. There was nothing neat about this. Where were his old ones? What were these idiotic surgeons doing? Carving him up like some animal? He wasn’t that badly injured… was he? 

He barely heard the surgeons trying to speak calmly to him and tell him to lie down. That brain of his was examining every bit of work done so far. What was still there? Why is it so hot? What had been replaced? Why is it so hot? More synthetic and mechanical bits replaced their organic counterparts. Faint plans to reinforce the muscles running along his spine as he noticed several cracked vertebrae. Were they going to replace that, too?

A cybernetic spine would be freakn’ neat. Wait no, no, no!

He closed his eyes tightly as he took in a deep breath. Opening again, they were filled with fury.

“Are… you…” A wheezed sound escaped his lips. “Are you trying to turn me into FUCKING WHILHELM!?”

Those whose hands weren’t in the man’s body backed away.

“What the hell do you think you all are—HURK!” His mouth hung open as his whole body suddenly tensed. Pupils shrunk again as his whole being shuddered. His stomach — the organ, new and synthetic — trembled and churned as a deep purple glow grew within. The man hacked and gagged as purple veins crept up his neck and a bulge grew in the middle of it. Seconds later, a vile substance spewed forth, splashing onto everything and everyone, covering them in a dark, noxious substance. Once that happened, he fell back down with a heavy thud.

A few surgeons shrieked, dropping their instruments as they attempted to escape the mess. Others cursed as they stayed calm and attempted to finish their work. But kept a close eye on their toxin levels.

“Just get the cleaning bots going.” One surgeon spoke up as they wiped the vomit off their visor. “We can’t exactly stop rig—”

Seconds later, the eridium sensors roared to life, filling the room with deafening warnings that toxin levels were rising. 

The latest head surgeon glanced at their monitors. Eyes narrowed as a frustrated sigh slipped out. “Everyone stop. We need to decontaminate. Levels are rising too fast. Nurse Juniper, send in the other tea—” 

The monitors on Jack sounded off. Eridium saturation levels were on the rise like his heartbeat. His body jerked about. Hacking, gagging, and gurgling came from the man followed by a white and purple froth emerging from his mouth.

The head surgeon just wanted to curse. “SUCTION HIS MOUTH NOW!” Instead, barking out orders would alleviate their stress. They turned to the nurses. “SEND IN THE OTHER TEAM NOW AND GET DECONTAMINATION GOING NOW!”

The shift change was disorderly as people bumped, tripped, and slipped around the room trying to get to decontamination or to their places. 

Just as they thought the situation was under “control” again, Jack rose again with another racked gasp, followed by him spewing out the froth. Eyes opened wide, he tried to speak, but his jaw hung loose as he froze. Pupils shrank to mere pinpricks as he felt a spark, then several crackles of searing pain rip through his body. He screamed. Back arched, head thrown back and jaw seemingly unhinging itself like a snake’s, he just screamed. That nasty energy crackled and whipped off him.

But there was something new. Something different. All too concerning. It was barely noticeable at first. The “steam” leaving his mouth mixed in with the steam wafting off of his skin and ice packs. But the color shifted to a dark purple and grew in denseness as this now thick noxious fumes poured forth like a waterfall and more erupted from his nose. 

The sensors went off again. 

There was always something leading to a new frantic dance to get control of the all-around horrendous situation under control once more. The engineers were double timing it replacing the cells to the machines, tweaking everyone’s personal shields, and recalibrating the ventilation system for the new source of iridium vapors filling the room at an alarming rate. The semi-fresh medical team had their hands full attempting to calm down Jack. It took a special concoction of anesthetic drugs, enough to put down four Alpha Skags, to knock the man out cold. Nurses were quick to bring in more ice.

Both had to work in conjunction to create a mask to siphon the fumes still during out of his mouth and nose, but still feed the man fresh oxygen.

It took several more hours before everything came down to a more stable state. Come the end of day 4, the  96th hour, the major portion of the surgery was completed. Jack was stable. More or less. There was still work to do on the man.

More sensors to monitor his health. More augments to continue stability. 

The installation of rudimentary infusions and drainage ports was a necessity to continue the blood and nutrient transfusions. Eridium poisoning was still rampant in his system, evident by purple veins that pulsed and crept across his skin. It looked like the constant blood transfusions (organic or synthetic) kept the worst of it at bay, though his body still trembled. They still needed to get to the root of the problem. Find a way to neutralize the eridium. Find a way to cure it, if that was even possible.

Mr. Blake gave full access to all the experimentation records from that insidious Wildlife Exploitation Preserve and other eridium testing facilities for all teams to go over. Collaboration was going to be their best way of solving this mess and making sure everyone survived.

He also sent out requests for their still-alive top eridium specialists stationed across the six galaxies to come to Helios Station immediately. They needed those specialists yesterday. Those onboard the station had done good work, but they were out of their depth for long-term care. 

-------------------

A few days had passed since the incident. Anxiousness permeated the station. A majority of those closely involved in the incident were borderline nervous wrecks. The less informed, and well, fanatical fans of Handsome Jack were all too excited for his return.  

 The only rare positive was that dreaded “retaliation counter” had stopped once it registered Jack was still alive and now “stable.” Though all involved knew that could change at any second, as Jack’s condition was still in flux. 

Mr. Blake was keeping an active eye on everything and gave orders when necessary. He was using Jack’s office as the main hub for communication despite it being treated like an active crime scene. Best computers on the Station and the tech teams had cleared out most of the errors and lockouts, allowing it to be 83.5% usable again.

He had a lot on his plate. First and foremost, he was using every resource available to run damage control across the Station of news of Handsome Jack’s return. He had the security divisions cracking down on any mention of Jack and deleting any footage taken. He was taking precautions just in case Jack survived against all odds. The man would not like any evidence of his vulnerable state and proof of his failures in conquering Pandora. Then their competition didn’t need to know about this. The Vault Hunters didn’t need to know about this; any lick of this news and he knew Lilith would be champing at the bit to attack the Station sooner rather than later. For any news that escaped to the ECHOnet, he had some propaganda campaigns whipped up to claim it was all fake positives.

The Board reluctantly approved of his work, but with no suggestions, as they were preoccupied with Jack's colorful threats from his contingency plans.  They had to play everything by ear and were putting their lives in Blake’s hands. Another stress he didn’t need.

Besides all of that, Blake was also coordinating all their eridium specialized scientists they could pull to the Station. He didn’t ask for her help, but Chief intruded on his research once she caught wind of it. Her reasoning was her team would most likely have to work intimately with these scientists and wanted to make sure they played nice. He just knew she preferred not to be left out of the loop and let it slide. 

“From Dr. Evon: ‘Can’t stop my research on these Eridian ruins concerning eridium. Perhaps they will hold answers for.. Handsome Jack’s… condition.’ Fair. From Dr. Wesker: ‘Too deep in with Maliwan on Nekrotafeyo to leave. Would be suspicious.’ Understandable. From Dr. Wen: ‘Gythian's curse holds my very being on Xylourgos… I can’t leave and it begs for blood. What?” 

Blake was reading off the latest messages from some of their elite specialists that had to decline the urgent request he sent out. A fair amount of them had accepted the request and were on their way or were already at the Station toiling away on their boss. Some had plausible reasons for declining. While others, he felt like were finding every excuse possible to avoid taking this task. He didn’t blame them.

“A curse? Hmph, that’s a new one.” Blake shook his head as he reread the message again to make sure he wasn’t misreading things.

“Oh, Xylourgos?” Chief said. She was sitting on the edge of the desk. “They’re not joking about a curse.”

He shifted his eyes to her and raised a brow. She chuckled.

“I’ve been. Quick SAR mission turned sour. There’s a Vault on that planet. The beast is dead but still influences and taints the land. Hope they’re at the Lodge with the… creepy owner. One of the few safe spots on that planet. ”

That brow stayed raised. It wasn’t farfetched, and he had seen more “supernatural” things firsthand. “I’ll take your word for it.”

He continued reading the messages and Chief threw in a comment here in there. She knew them, heard of them, or briefly worked with them. Or knew of the location they were stationed at.

One message piqued his interest. “Accepted” was in all caps.

“Who is this?” He opened the message and quietly read it. His brows raised and scrunched together several times. This person was eager to drop their current work and lend their expertise. They even included a list of their previous and current work for Hyperion.

“Hm, this is surprising.” He wasn’t expecting such an enthusiastic email. It made him smile.

“Someone eager to work on this fool’s errand?” Chief asked.

He nodded. “Seems like they’re unbothered by the dire circumstances.” He scrolled through the rest of the message quickly. “Who is this from? Dr. Viktoria Finlay. Viktoria… hm.” That name sounded familiar to him. Both in a positive and negative way. That negative way bothered him. With some typing and taps, he brought up their profile. He grumbled as the profile was taking forever to load.  “Viktoria…” Why, why, why was that so familiar?

“Viktoria?” Chief asked. She got up and went over to him. “As in the Viktoria Finlay? Transhumanist extraordinaire?”

If possible, his brows would be floating high above his head. He mumbled under his breath at her words. “Transhumanist extraordinaire.” Why did that sound familiar? “You know them?”

“Know her? Briefly, in passing. Not sure if that’s when she mostly had most of her ‘ganic body or was dabbling in her body frames she switches around frequently.”

“Body… frames…” He rubbed his chin. 

There was a faint chime. The profile had finally loaded. His eyes snapped to it, quickly looking for a face. He saw faces. Several faces. Eyes squinted for a few moments before they went wide. 

“Oh, her.” 

He didn’t recognize over half the faces. Only a few ticked familiar memory in his brain. The human-looking one jogged an old memory when they first crossed paths on Pandora. A thin, somewhat frail build. Coiled, puffy dark brown hair she kept tied down with a bandana, and she wore questionably thick glasses he wondered if they were fake for novelty’s sake. She was taking over an “excused” researcher’s work on eridium and its effects on humans. Even witnessing the researcher being beaten and arrested, she had a great deal of pep in her step and took to the task with little trouble. 

“She has… changed quite a bit over the years… in appearance.” He mumbled as his eyes drifted to the other portraits. One looked like a robot, partially constructed like a Maliwan mech, but more “light” streamlined. Thankfully, she kept the colors Hyperion related — sticking mostly to black and the old red with touches of yellow. It had a visor that could be removed, revealing a more human-like face that looked like the old her. And then the other portrait that had him deeply puzzled. It looked like some sort of alien animal. Something canid mixed with that simian species, Jabber, with how colorful the fur was. It was his best guess.

A quick scan through her file to jog his memory on why she had these different portraits.

“Ah… right. Had a health condition before joining us and then her Eridian research exacerbated it. Was already interested in splicing her DNA with various creatures and beings to enhance her capabilities and starve off her condition. Began dabbling more with cybernetics and bio-augmentations to treat her failing health.”

“That’s her.” Chief nodded.

“Hm… why the ‘bodies’ again? I faintly recalled she was at a near terminal stage.” He mumbled as he continued to scroll through her profile and spotted internal review notes. “‘Viktoria stumbled across a solution to her ailment, which involved transferring herself into new custom-built bodies. She has not divulged how she came across this solution and has continued to be tight-lipped. The only information we have been able to decode is it deals with Eridian technology, eridium, and other alien elements. Seems to have ‘cured’ herself but walks a dangerous line with the eridium. ’ Huh.”

He continued to read the speculations that she first began her experiments for building a new body on her personal bodyguard, Geise Walker, after an incident left him barely alive and torn to shreds. His eyes drifted to a before and after image of said bodyguard. He faintly recognized the former more than the latter. Then again, he looked like a typical geared-up mercenary that wasn’t crazy. The latter image was a hulking hooded beast of a man; body littered with discolored skin, scars, and dark scales. He wondered if it was the same person. “That… that explains a lot. Is that eridium growing out of his skin?” He rubbed his chin as he digested all of this information. “She must have done good work to get away with keeping whatever she found and kept secret. Exceptional work if this went under Jack’s radar.”

“From my brief meeting with her, she’s eccentric but means well. Not a half-bad medical doctor. Steady hands for scalpels and needles.”

“You’ve worked with her?” He looked at her.

“Again, briefly. My team was called in to pick up some of her injured men. Got into a scrape ourselves just trying to get to them. By the time we got to them, she had tended to their wounds and kept them in stable condition and lent a hand to patch us up.” She traced a few areas around the left side of her collarbone.

“Interesting.” Though Chief was in her work gear, he could only imagine the potential scar it left.

Blake returned his attention back to her profile and then the message she sent. “Maybe she can be of great help as she has cybernetics and bio-augmentation under her belt and I’ve read what has been done to Jack to keep him alive.” He muttered his thoughts. Yet, there was a pit of worry deep in his stomach. He wasn’t sure why. Nothing in Viktoria’s file gave him pause to think she could harm Jack. Those unanswered questions about how she “cured” herself bothered him. 

“As long as she doesn’t get any funny ideas with Jack, I believe we’ll be fine.”

“She does ask, before augmenting.”

Blake glanced at her, half annoyed and half concerned. She chuckled.

“She offered that during our brief meeting. A bit too eagerly.”

“Noted.”

He composed a quick message to her, thanking her for her service and was looking forward to her arrival and to who she would be working with.

“Excuse me.” He made a ’zip it’ motion to Chief as he placed a call to one of the lead doctors overseeing Jack. “Hello Dr. Booth, I’m calling to give you heads up. I’m going to send you the file of one of the eridium experts that will be aiding you in treating Handsome Jack. Her name is Dr. Viktoria Finlay and— what” He paused, brows furrowing as his eyes narrowed.

Chief raised a brow.

“What do you mean she’s already here? What do you mean she’s examining him?” Irritation slipped through gritted teeth. As he listened to them explain, he jumped back to the message she sent. Somehow, he had glanced over that she would be there within two to three days since he sent out the initial requests. “How did she and her team pack up so fast?” 

With swift typing, he brought up a holo-panel showing a live feed of the room Jack was being kept in. Though the view was obscured by thick clouds of steam permeating the room, he spotted her. There she was, in her robotic body, and her team was with her as well as some of the other doctors. All in heavy PPE gear. “Tell her I want to talk to her yesterday, Booth.” With that, he hung up and turned his attention to the camera feed.

“Volume, volume.” Fingers searched around for the button. Once found, he jabbed at it repeatedly.

Once it was on, he heard them discussing of Jack’s current predicament and new findings. Viktoria was picking up one of Jack’s trembling arms and pointing out the faint glowing eridian-like swirling markings that were beginning to appear on his skin. 

“This is fascinating. Like faux siren tattoos. Waves, dots, circles, swirls.” A finger traced the still-forming marking. “None of my eridium experiments caused this to appear in the subjects.” She said. “Perhaps it’s a side effect of his close interaction with Eridian relics over the years? Maybe similar connections were made like that Zarpadon woman, though she never sported such markings. Hm!” She shrugged before placing his arm back down. “Speculations will only take one so far. We will have to do a great deal of research and tests!”

“Already on the task. Like the work ethic.” Chief commented.

“Hm.” Blake rubbed his chin. Nothing too concerning so far. He continued to watch.

“Now,” Viktoria produced a marker out of nowhere and flicked its cap off, “those rudimentary infusions and drainage ports will need to be replaced and moved.” With the marker, she began to draw place markers for where the new ports should be placed. Shoulders, neck, ribs, and both sides of his stomach were a few places she marked. “They will work better in these areas. Also, how is the damage to his spine? Does it need replacing? That will dictate what port can be placed there. And where’s the liquid eridium for the test? It should be here by now.”

As she said continued to draw more place makers, she began to list all the materials and components that would need to be ordered and prepped for future surgery.

“Hm. Already planning a major surgery. And what’s this about Liquid eridium?” Blake muttered. Talk of liquid eridium concerned him. It was barely quelled as the Station’s doctors gave their input here and there and seemed to be in agreement with her plans. He shifted his attention to any new entries into Jack’s treatment. It was more or less the same with the main concerns being his fluctuating body temperatures and the faint traces of eridium flowing through his veins. 

“Oh, hello Mr. Blake.”

Hearing his name uttered in a nonchalant way caused his attention to snap back to that camera feed. Viktoria was waving at the camera.

“Got your message. I apologize. Sometimes my giddiness gets the best of me. We will talk later.”

“Hm.” He shook his head. At least she got the message. Chief laughed. “Our conversation later will be interesting.”

“I see you vetoing her suggestions for any splicing to treat Jack.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Don’t jinx it.”

For another hour, Blake went through the other messages for the specialists, “politely” threatening a few he could tell were lying to pack up their gear and come to the Station immediately. Chief left to go regroup with her crew.

A few hours after that, he headed down to the medical wing to meet with Victoria and her team.

-------------------

  Viktoria and a few of her team were just outside of the room Handsome Jack was being kept in. She noticed him entering and promptly made her way to him.

“A pleasure to work with you again, Mr. Blake!” Victoria was quick to greet Blake. She flipped off her visor so he could see her ’synthetic yet human’ face. Cybernetic hands quickly scooped up a free hand of his and shook it vigorously. “Again, apologies for stepping over any protocols you may have had. I just had to see if it was true.”

Mr. Blake was nearly taken aback by 7ft tall doctor, and how forward she was but kept his composure. He eyed each of her workers and the 10ft tall being lingering nearby with glowing, icy blue eyes peering through holes in his loose cloth-like mask. Intimidating. Must have been her bodyguard. “Dr. Finlay. I—”

“Call me Viktoria, please.” She let go of his hand. “And this is Geise.” She gestured to her bodyguard.

“Hi.” Geise’s voice was as rough as sandpaper. He waved.

“Right… And hello.” He nodded at Geise. “Dr. Viktoria, we thank you for answering the call so swiftly. I believe your expertise will be invaluable for this task.” He put on a smile. “Now, what have you discussed with the doctors?”

She gestured for him to follow her back to the observation window. “We’ve been going over all the notes they made as they pre, during, and post-Jack’s surgery.”

She went about explaining everything in the simplest terms he could follow. No major developments since the surgery. They were keeping a close eye on his body temperature, which was still inching towards hyperthermia. And the eridium in his system still lingered at low levels, like something was producing it. It was being controlled by semi-frequent blood transfusions, but long term, his body wasn’t tolerating it well.

“Now we want to solve this eridium problem and possibly introducing—”

“No unauthorized splicing.” Blake cut her off with a firm glare. “We’re already on thin ice with the mass organ replacement that had to be performed a few days ago.” His shoulders tensed as he recalled rewatching that section of the surgery recording. “When Jack is mostly coherent, you will have to talk to him about the minuscule possibility of tweaking his DNA.”

Viktoria let out a stifled giggle. “I will keep that in mind. I know how he feels about his looks.” She chuckled again. “But I wasn’t going to suggest that.”

“You weren’t?”

“I’m eccentric, but not crazy.”

Once they made it to the window, she gestured to what was happening on the other side. The doctors, guided by her workers, were setting up fresh IV lines and prepping bags of a glowing purple liquid.

“We’re about to perform a test.”

“Test?” He raised a brow. Looking inside, it took some effort for him to make out what was going on due to all the steam in the room and coming off of Jack’s body. “What kind of test?” He noticed the glowing bags. “What is that?”

“Liquid eridium.”

“What!?” He recalled her asking for that when he spied on her earlier. “Are you insane?”

“Eccentric. And it’s diluted don’t worry.”

“Even diluted eridium is highly toxic! What in the world are you testing?”

“To see if Jack’s body has become dependent on the substance. What runs through his veins is the equivalent of slag, and the levels are low. His body may respond positively to a more ‘pure’ form of the substance.”

“Dependent? No, no, no…” He shook his head, not believing that. Nothing in the files alluded to him being dependent on the substance. More like the exact opposite with the element slowly killing him and everyone exposed to it. “Stop this madness! I’m not letting you risk Jack’s life with this asinine test.”

“Too late.”

Blake winced. His eyes saw it. That glowing liquid speedily traveled down the line and into Jack’s body. No, no, no. All he could do was wait. And wait. And wait.

A few minutes passed. Jack’s shaking grew less. The sensors steadily kept their course. Jack’s breathing, though shallow, was steady.

Blake took a few minutes to recompose himself, tightening and loosening his tie, and think of the choice words he would use.

“Dr. Victoria.” He paused, biting his tongue for a moment to keep him from speaking through his teeth. “I warn you now. Do not pull this sort of stunt again without my explicit authorization. Everyone’s lives are at risk.”

The corners of her mouth twitched as if she was trying to hold back a bemused smirk. “I will… keep that in mind. Unless exigent circumstances rise and —”

There was a loud, deep gasp. 

“Dr. Viktoria! He’s waking up!” One doctor said.

They looked over. Jack’s chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace. The next second, he shifted and slowly raised himself up. One hand flew to his face and began to pull at the breathing tubes. His pale skin was looking more vibrant.

“Keep him from making any sudden movements, pulling the tubes and IV out!” She yelled. She looked back at Blake. Electronic eyes twinkled with excitement. “Let’s continue our conversation later.” Victoria smiled before hastily making her way to the entrance of the room. “Geise, stay outside! Don’t want you scaring the boss.” He let out a grunted laugh and parked himself by the entrance of the room after she entered. 

Blake’s mouth hung loose for a moment before he promptly shut it. He pinched the bridge of his nose so tightly he drew blood. He mumbled something about updating his will and other personal matters. Fingers shifting to his earpiece, he tapped into the audio to see what they would be talking about.

-------------------

“Readings on the eridium in his system with the infusion?” Viktoria asked as she entered the room. She kept an eye on the workers, making sure Jack wasn’t moving after they pulled the breathing tubes out before he hurt himself. Look like they didn’t have to do much. The man looked confused out of his mind. Pinprick eyes darted around, mostly looking at himself as one hand rubbed his neck and the other clawed at his chest faintly remembering it was wide open days ago.

“Elevated slightly, but everything is reading stable.” One answered.

“Looks like his body is responding positively so far. There’s some color in his skin again. Tremors are nearly gone. Body temp is still high, no changes there.”Another brought up a before image of Jack. “Additionally, we’ve noticed his incision sites are rapidly healing. Your guess may have been correct.” Another said.

“Perhaps. We have more tests to run.” Viktoria said. “This could just be a false positive.”

They continued to monitor him for 10 minutes. Everything hovered at a stable level.

“Good, good.” She tapped her fingers together. “Let’s see how coherent he is.” She walked over to him, shooing away the workers by him. “Mr. Jack. Handsome Jack.” She crouched down until she was at eye level with him. “Can you hear me, sir?”

The man barely moved a muscle. Eyes drifted over, lazily focusing on this person, if not a robot, crouching next to him. A robot with a human-looking face. Who the hell was this? He closed his eyes tight as his mind tried to think. A sharp pain cut through his skull. He grunted, face contorting from the pain. No, no, no. He shook his head. It still hurt to think. Eyes open once more, he looked at her. Still, nothing clicked. His eyes shifted back down to his chest. Thumb still rubbing the faint incision that ran down his chest.

“Sir, how are you feeling?” She asked another question.

A throbbing pain emerged in the back of his head. He closed his eyes tight. “ShhhHHHHHhhh… robot lady.” His voice was hoarse. “You’re… too loud.”

She let out a snort but kept silent. She gestured for her workers to quiet down and for them to dim the lights.

A few minutes later, he opened his eyes again, and this time shifted his face towards her. He studied it. Nothing about her looked familiar. He had no recollection of any of Hyperion’s robots having a chassis like hers. Their robots were more sharp and angular. Hers was more rounded and smooth.

“Who…” He paused, shaking his head to get rid of some wooziness. “Who the hell are you?” He looked around. “What’s with all the fog?”

She simply smiled. “Dr. Viktoria Finlay. And that’s steam.”

He squinted. His mind worked through old and shattered memories to put a face to that name. That thumping at the base of his skull grew and grew, but he didn’t stop thinking. He wanted to know. “Finlay… Viktoria… no… Viktor… Viktor… Vicky… Vicky. Viktor… Vicky… Yeah, yeah.” Something about those two names felt familiar. A memory from years ago was slowly piecing itself back together. 

“You’ve called me those two before. Constantly mistook me for a Viktor before settling on calling me ‘Dr. Splicer.’” 

“Dr…. Splicer.” A confused mutter slipped out. A faint memory was coming together. He looked around for a few moments before his eyes widened. A memory finally came together. “Dr. Splicer.” There was more confidence in his voice. He looked her up and down. “You loooooook… different. Taller… And more… robotic.” He cocked his head to the side, body nearly following the sudden movement, but he barely caught himself. “Like Wilhelm. Though more… robot. You still human or all AI?” He cocked his head to the other side, noticing a missing key feature of hers. “Where’s the thick specs?”

She just chuckled at what he said and the faint memories she had of him. Looked like he was still out of it. “I’m still human. Very much human. It’s been a long while since we’ve met in person. And,” she paused, tapping her lip, “can’t quite remember if I was in one of my new bodies yet when we spoke last.”

“New body?”

“Not important!” She clapped her hands together. He winced. “Too much for your pain-riddled brain to process right now. We have more important matters if you’re coherent enough to process the information.”

Coherent? That was asking a lot out of him. His mind was still in a fog and it was taking forever for it to clear up. But part of him wanted to be up and not unconscious again. Unconsciousness was unpleasant. Felt like he was constantly free-falling with no end. Raising both hands to his temples, he rubbed them before taking a deep breath. “Shoot for it, sweetheart.”

With his permission given, Viktoria took it slowly with her questions for him and mixed in a few physical tests. Jack stayed fairly calm, if not confused, through it all. Questions on how he was currently feeling were given short answers. Hot, foggy, and shitty. Questions on what he could remember were also short, if not causing him some agitation. Everything is a foggy blur. It hurts to think. She didn’t fully believe that as it seemed like he was hiding something as his body trembled with rage for a few seconds, but for now she wouldn’t press further.

The questions and examination went on for a few more minutes before finally ending.

“Now, do you have questions for me?” She asked.

Jack was picking at those glowing markings on his arm. Eyes closely examine the sweeping waves and dots. It looked Eridian. His eyes then shifted down to the IV connected to it and the purple liquid inside it. Heard one of them mention eridium infusion… no way they’re pumping this into me. “What the hell…” He raise his arm and shoved it infant of her face. He pointed at the markings. “What the hell is this? What the hell is happening to me?”

“Ah, that. We don’t know yet.” She said.

His eye twitched. “You don’t know yet? What…” His voice shook, laced with irritation. Fingers curled into fists. “What do you mean you don’t know yet!?”

“Sir,” she gently pushed his arm down, “this is a new development currently being investigated. My best guess at the moment is this is a long overdue reaction to close interactions with Eridian relics and exposure to eridium.” She explained. “Do you have a recollection of interacting with either?”

He looked away for a moment and thought. “The Vault Key.” One Eridian relic he interacted with the most over the years, charging it with countless amounts of mined eridium. “And…” He paused. His mind flashed back to some years ago on Elpis and its Vault. His mercenaries, his team defeated the Guardian and then that device that showed him everything. “And…” His voice shook. He tightened one hand into a fist. Everything. Before it was all interrupted by that bandit, Lilith. The other shakily went to his face and touched that scar, fingers tracing every indent and crack. He flinched. It was healed, but occasionally would be plagued by phantom pains of that searing impact of that punch. “And… nothing.” Not for her to know. Not for anyone to know.

“Hm, that could be part of the source.” She mused. “Whatever the cause, it seems to have caused your body to become dependent on eridium. Or at least positively respond to freshly processed eridium.”

He froze. Dependent on eridium. He had to be hearing things, right? Right? “What...?” He quietly questioned.

“It’s a speculation.” She picked up on his growing distress. “But…” She wasn’t one to lie. With a finger, she tapped at the IV line. “You seem to be responding well to this infusion. Your color has come back and your incisions are healing quicker.”

“What.” He had to be hearing things. There was no way he had become dependent on that liquid death. No way he could be suffering the same fate he inflicted on his daughter. No, she was fine. It was those bandits that killed her. My little Angel was fine.

“And speaking of infusions,” she then tapped at the ports, “need to change those for future treatments.” She then went on to explain what she meant by that and the potential surgeries. The entire process was complicated and would be painful — intertwining the components with muscle fibers, veins, and nerve pathways.

Jack wasn’t listening. His mind was else were. Memories were coming back and pounding against his skull. Back to the Vault Key. Back to his daughter. Eridium was addicting to Sirens. Too much eridium and they became dependent on it and would die if their source was cut off. “Did I… did I kill her?” He whispered to himself, covering his face with his hands. His mind recalled those Vault Hunters destroying the last injector, snuffing out her precious life. “Did I?” No, no, no. It was those bandits who killed my defenseless girl. She was fine. She would be fine after I unleashed the Warrior. We would figure out that “dependency” problem once Pandora was cleansed. She was fine. 

He clawed at his face, drawing blood from quickly healing scratches, as more memories pieced themselves together again. The fight before his death. The minutes before his death. “They killed my Warrior.” He whispers to himself. How did they kill that great Eridian weapon? Then his memory flashed forward to his death at the hands of Lilith. Hand grasping his head, fingers digging deep into his scalp. The iridium-enhanced power of hers coursed through his body, burning every nerve to a crisp until it all went black. Lilith. Lilith. Lilith. That bitch is the cause of everything. Yes, yes, yes, it was her. She was the cause of his pain back then and was the cause of it now. Whatever she did then must have been the cause of his predicament now.

A deep growl came from his throat. He clawed at his face, the scar one last time, before slamming his fists against the table. “I’m going to strangle that bitch!”

The sudden shout startled the workers. 

“Sir?” Viktoria was less disturbed, but there was concern in her voice.

It took a moment for him to register that someone else was there. Right, doctor’s here. He snorted, took in a deep breath, and exhaled. “Vicky, sweety,” he grinned, “you have the green light to do whatever you need to get me in tiptop shape, pronto.”

She pulled her head back and blinked twice. Where did this sudden gusto come from? She was pretty sure he didn’t hear half of what she was proposing. “Are you sure? This surgery will be tremendously painful and you’ll have to be awake for every second of it. Especially the fine-tuning process. It was unpleasant for Geise. It was unpleasant for me.”

“Details, minor details.” He waved her off. It couldn’t be that bad. “I have a company to run and scores to settle.”

“Huh.” She snorted. She then turned to the observation window, face beaming with a wide grin directed at Blake. He raised a hand to his face and shook his head in response. “Well, Mr. Blake, looks like I have authorization for the surgeries.”

“Jimmy’s here?” He followed her gaze and saw his sharply dressed assistant. The man now looked like he had seen a ghost once Jack laid eyes on him. A color quickly drained from his face leaving it as white as a sheet. “Jimmy.” He raised his hand and made a ‘come here’ gesture. “I want to be caught up on everything. What are those pesky Vault Hunters up to?”

[spines-tvo]

Saw that one anon about a creepy dream a little while ago, and wanted to pitch in with a little retelling of my own, prologued by how the morning afterward went. Sorry if any of it sounds a little off—I’m not exactly an author, but I’ll do my best.

3:19 AM I woke up, slick with sweat. And I’m not talking about wet in the pits or wet in the brow. I’m talking scalp wet, sheet wet, and at that hour, an hour already lost in a new year—shivering wet. I’m so cold my temples hurt but before I can really focus on the question of temperature I realize I’ve remembered my first dream.

Only later after I find some candles, stomp around my room, splash water on the old face, micturate, light a sterno can and put the kettle on, only then can I respond to my cold head and my general physical misery, which I do, relishing every bit of it in fact. Anything is better than that unexpected and awful dream, made all the more unsettling because now for some reason I can recall it. Nor do I have an inkling why. I cannot imagine what has changed in my life to bring this thing to the surface.

My guns sure as hell were useless, instantly confiscated at sleep’s border, even if I did manage to pick up the Weatherby before my credit ran out.

An hour passes. I’m blinking in the light, boiling more water for more coffee, ramming my head into another wool hat, sneezing again though all I can see is the fucking dream, torn straight out of the old raphé nuclei care of the very brainstem I thought had been soundly severed.

This is how it starts:

I’m deep in the hull of some enormous vessel, wandering its narrow passages of black steel and rust. Something tells me I’ve been here a long time, endlessly descending into dead ends, turning around to find other ways which in the end lead only to still more ends. This, however, does not bother me. Memories seem to suggest I’ve at one point lingered in the engine room, the container holds, scrambled up a ladder to find myself alone in a deserted kitchen, the only place still shimmering in the mirror magic of stainless steel. But those visits took place many years ago, and even though I could go back there at any time, I choose instead to wander these cramped routes which in spite of their ability to lose me still retain in every turn an almost indiscreet sense of familiarity. It’s as if I know the way perfectly but I walk them to forget.

And then something changes. Suddenly I sense for the first time ever, the presence of another. I quicken my pace, npt quite running but close. I am either glad, startled or terrified, but before I can figure out which I complete two quick turns and there he is, this drunken frat boy wearing a plum-colored Topha Beta sweatshirt, carrying the lid of a garbage can in his right hand and a large fireman’s ax in his left. I’m scared alright but I’m also confused. “Excuse me, mind explaining why you’re coming after me?” which I actually try to say except the words don’t come out right. More like grunts and clouds, big clouds of steam.

That’s when I notice my hands. They look melted, as if they were made of plastic and had been dipped in boiling oil, only they’re not plastic, they’re the thin effects of skin which have in fact been dipped in boiling oil. I know this and I even know tje story. I’m just unable to resurrect it there in my dream. Stiff hair sprouts up all over the fingers and around the long, yellow fingernails. Even worse, this awful scarring doesn’t end at my wrists, but continues down my arms, making the scars I know I have when I’m not dreaming seem childish in comparison. These ones reach over my shoulders, down my back, extend even across my chest, where I know ribs still protrude like violet bows.

When I touch my face, I can instantly tell there’s something wrong there too. I feel plenty of hair covering strange lumps of flesh on m chin, my nose and along the ridge of my cheeks. On my forehead there’s an enormous bulge harder than stone. And even though I have no idea how I got to be so deformed, I do know. And this knowledge comes suddenly. I’m here because I am deformed, because when I speak my words come out in cracks and groans, and what’s more Ive been put here by an old man, a dead man, by one who called me son even though he was not my father.

Which is when this frat boy, swaying back and forth before me like an idiot, raises his ax even higher above his head. His plan I see is not too complicated: he intends to drive that heavy blade into my skull, across the bridge of my nose, cleave the roof of my mouth, thr core of my brain, split apart the very vertebrae in my neck, and he won’t stop there either. He’ll hack my hands from my wrists, my thighs from my knees, pry out my sternum into tiny fragments. He’ll do the same to my toes and my fingers and he’ll even pop my eyes with the butt of the handle and then with the heal of the blade attempt to crush my teeth, despite the fact that they’re long, serrated and unusually strong. At least in this effort, he will fail; give up finally; collect a few. Where my internal organs are concerned, these too he’ll treat with the same respect, hewing, smashing adn slicing until he’s too tired and covered with blood to finish, even though of course he really finished awhile ago, and then he’ll slouch exhausted, panting like some stupid dog, drunk on his beer, this killing, this victory, while I lie strewn about that bleak place, der absolute Zerrissenheit. I’m awful at German, I don’t know why I bother even putting it here. Anyway back to the dream, me chopped up into tiny pieces, spread and splattered in the bowels of that ship, and all at the hands of a drunken frat boy who upon beholding his heroic deed pukes all over what’s left of me. Except before he achieves any of this, I realize that now, for some reason, for the first time, I have a choice: I don’t have to die, I can kill him instead. Not only are my teeth and nails long, sharp and stromg, I too am strong, remarkably strong and remarkably fast. I can rip that fucking ax out of his hands before he even swings it once, shatter it with one jerk of my wrist, and then I can watch the terror deep into his eyes as I grab him by the throat, carve out his insides and tear him to pieces.

But as I take a step forward, everything changes. The frat boy I realize is not the frat boy anymore but someone else. At first I think it’s my first crush Kyrie, until I realize it’s not Kyrie but Ashley, which is when I realize it’s neither Kyrie or Ashley but Simone, though something tells me that even that’s not exactly right. Either way, her face glows with adoration and warmth and her eyes communicate in a blink an understanding of all the gestures I’ve ever made, all the thoughts I’ve ever had. So extroardinary is this gaze, in fact, that I suddenly realize I’m unable to move. I just stand there, every sinew and nerve easing me into a world of relief, my breath slowing, arms dangling at my sides, my jaw slack, legs melting me into ancient waters, until suddenly my eyes on their own accord, commanded by instincts darker and older than empathy or anything resembling emotional need, dart from her beautiful and strangely familiar face to the ax she still holds, the ax she is now lifting, the smile she is still making even as she starts to shake, suddenly swinging the axe down on me, at my head, though she will miss my head, barely, the ax floating down instead toward my sholder, finally cutting into the bone and lodging there, producing shrieks of blood, so much blood, and pain, so much pain, and instantly I understand Im dying, though I’m not dead yet, even if I am beyond repair, and she has started to cry, even as she dislodges the ax and raises it again, to swing again, again at my head, though she is crying hardwr and she is much weaker than I thought, and she needs more time than I thought, to get ready, to swing again, while I’m bleeding and dying, which now doesn’t compare to the feeling inside, also so familiar, as the atriums of my heart on their own accord suddenly rupture, like my father’s ruptured. So this, I suddenly muse in a peculiarly detatched way, was this how he felt?

I’ve made a terrible mistake, but it’s too late and I’m now full of fury & hate to do anything but look up as the blade slices down with appalling force, this time the right arc, not too far left, not too far right, but right center, descending forever it seems, though it’s not forever, not even close, and I realize with a shade of citric joy, that at least, at last, it will put an end to the far more terrible ache inside me, born decades ago, long before I finally beheld a dream the face and meaning of my horror.

And then, well, I woke up. 3:19 AM, sweaty and cold, yadda yadda yadda. I still think about that night sometimes, housing one of the few dreams I can actually recall with any sense of clarity, though I wish it had been something more pleasant. Though I guess we all wish for that kind of thing, eh?

*_* You said you WEREN'T an author? Geez, that makes my worst dreams sound like a slightly annoying breeze... Uh... I'd need, like, a month to unpack all this. Are you alright?

[succuvampirism]

pt 2: the next morning. pt 1 is here

18+: sexual content (mild), vampirism, bruises, also fluff + cuddling

Damien woke first. Sun streamed in the half-curtained windows, filling the room with a warm glow. His eyes started to drift back shut, but his sleepiness was interrupted by a soft sigh. He looked down.

Ryuuto's head was resting on Damien's chest, slowly rising and falling with his breath. Damien felt his heart swell with emotion. This was his partner. He softly stroked the sleeping Ryuuto's hair, enraptured by his beauty. His peaceful, expression, so rare to see.

Lifting the blanket a bit, Damien gasped softly as his eyes trailed down his lover's bare body. Deep purplish-red bruises had blossomed at the side of his hip, complete with small pricks of dried blood from his claws. Damien looked lower, at Ryuuto's legs, and his heart sped up.

Ryuuto's thighs were absolutely covered in marks; deep bruises and sharp pricks from teeth and nails. Some even trailed below his knees. The star of the show was the large, dark spot on the underside of his thigh, where Damien had gripped strongly. Damien felt his face heat up as he remembered.

Mine...

Ryuuto stirred slightly, eyes slowly opening.

"Good morning, my love."

"Your heart..."

Damien paused for a second, then realized Ryuuto may have been awoken by his pounding heart.

'O-oh, did I wake you? I'm sorry."

"Mmh... it's alright." Ryuuto mumbled, turning into Damien's neck.

After a moment of quiet, Damien asked, "Are you hurting anywhere?"

"Not that I know of. Why?"

Damien just gestured down at his lovers body, feeling embarrassed. Ryuuto looked down, and sat up immediately. "God..."

"I-I'm sorry, Ryuuto, I didn't mean-"

"No, don't apologize." Ryuuto leaned down to give Damien a long kiss. "It's... really hot, to be honest."

"Really?"

Ryuuto gently caressed the side of Damien's face as he leaned over him. "It looks amazing. You're amazing."

Damien blushed harder.

Ryuuto laughed a bit, then laid his head back into Damien's neck. "Your heart is going crazy," he murmured.

"It's your fault," he responded, wrapping his arms tighter around Ryuuto and pulling him closer.

"'S driving me crazy," Ryuuto breathed into Damien's neck, nuzzling closer.

"When was the last time you had blood?"

Ryuuto inhaled Damien's scent. "Mmh... can't remember. Probably a week at least."

"That's kinda pushing it. You can have some of mine now, if you want?"

Ryuuto said nothing for a while, just breathed deeply, pressed against Damien's body. Damien was acutely aware of his own heartbeat, pounding strongly, partially nervous.

"Maybe I'll take you up on that." Ryuuto opened his mouth, letting the front of his fangs trail across Damien's skin. Damien shivered.

"Mm, excited?" Ryuuto's murmur brought Damien's attention to his own crotch, where he could feel himself throbbing intensely. Damien said nothing, only turned his head away, face reddening even more.

Ryuuto slowly licked Damien's neck, dragging his tongue with intention. Slow circles pressing into the flesh, making Damien's head spin.

"If you're going to do it, hurry up," Damien whimpered.

Ryuuto laughed, breath hot on Damien's skin. "You're just so fun to tease."

Suddenly, Damien saw stars as a sharp, burning pain pierced his neck, quickly fading to pleasure as Ryuuto's powers took over. Damien was made acutely aware of Ryuuto's body pressed against him; one of his knees against Damien's crotch, one hand holding both of Damien's arms above his head--when did he do that? Damien couldn't think straight, the foggy haze dampening his thoughts. All he could feel was lightning pleasure all throughout his body.

After what felt like simultaneously too long and too short, Ryuuto pulled back. He hovered over Damien for a while, catching his breath.

Damien could never get enough of Ryuuto, especially after a feeding. His hair disheveled, his pupils blown out and eyes unfocused, blood dripping from his chin, and a deep red blush that was only made possible by the newfound blood in his body.

Ryuuto noticed Damien staring and turned his head away. "You're making me self-conscious..."

Damien chuckled. "I can't help it, you're so beautiful." That made Ryuuto somehow turn even redder.

"I'm so lucky to have you. So, so happy."