#um i think there was some kind of compression issue along the way when i uploaded this but we're gonna pretend we dont see that

[jenivi]

wanted to draw them in their concept art outfits 💗

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Time Apart

CW: Trauma survivor, referenced noncon and assault, heavy internalized victim-blaming and self-loathing/anti-asexuality (Chris has serious issues from his conditioning around this)

(references events from this small series)

I think you should spend time apart, not with me.

When Chris picks up his phone, it's not at all the message from Laken he expected to see. Not the kind of thing they've ever sent before.

He has to read it two times, then three. The letters swim and shake along with a dull pounding inside his head, but no matter how he tries to make them into other words - tell himself he must have misunderstood, must be missing something - they come back together the same in the end.

I think you should spend time apart, not with me.

Each letter is as crisp and clean as a sterilized blade between each rib, one by one by one by one.

The words are a body blow. They're a hundred blows, beating him into a barely recognizable shattered shell of himself. It wasn't supposed to happen this way - it's been a bad few days, yeah, a bad week really, but until yesterday's fight it had never occurred to him that Laken might give up on him.

The fight was his fault, anyway.

He meant to apologize last night, but then Nova had come into his room, and he'd lost the rest of the night to lying next to Jake, trying to remember how to stop living inside his head again, how to stop being still.

He'd woke up this morning with his stomach doing butterfly flips inside him, nervous, but he'd really wanted to say he was sorry, for the fight, for all the weirdness lately. He'd wanted to apologize for being difficult.

Instead... he'd woken up to find a missed text from the night before, sent after he'd shoved Nova away but before he could stand to look at anything again.

I think you should spend time apart, not with me.

There it sits.

He hasn't unlocked his phone yet. Instead, he keeps tapping the button to light up the screen, looking at the message preview that has all he needs to see. Lets it go dark again. As if one of these times he'll click and it'll say something else.

But it doesn't,

It just says the same damn thing.

I think you should spend time apart.

Not with me.

He's still staring at it when another one comes in. He feels the soft pulse of his phone in his hand, and the screen lights on its own.

LAKEN - NOW Did you see my message? 

He thinks maybe Kauri had it easier when he was the age Chris is now. Back when Kauri carried on entire conversations in emoji form, letting the nuance and ambiguity take over, the recipient working through the meaning on their own. With this, each letter is merciless, each word is unmistakable. He can’t misunderstand it. 

Can he?

He opens the phone with shaking fingers, types back yes, presses send, and turns his phone off.

Then he throws it at the wall.

He’s grateful for the heavy plastic case that makes it bounce off and drop to the floor without breaking. There's a strip on the back, textured and a soft purple, gray, white, and black. He rubs his fingers over it sometimes in class to keep himself from rocking and being distracting.

Now he just... stares at it.

Laken bought that for him. They bought the shirt he's wearing right now-

He yanks it off his head before he can think, balls up the soft fabric and throws it as well. It just sort of drifts pointlessly to the floor, a single eyeball from the print of a band he likes staring back at him.

Laken has ranted before about people who break up by text message, and Chris has to breathe through a physical ache in his chest that tightens every muscle at how awful he must be that they're not doing this face to face. How awful, how used-up, how shredded apart, how fucking pretty he is.

After all, he and Laken have been together for more than a year, and he still held perfectly still for Nova to touch him before he remembered how to move. After all, he’s a grown man who still cried and fell apart when Jake was hurt. After all, after all, after all...

He scrambles across the floor for his phone again, turns it back on. Part of him hopes he’ll see a new text saying they take it back, they didn’t mean it. Or just asking him to apologize for what he’d said that night before, for how he’d thrown their confusion over his reaction to something back at them, echoing out the way Kauri fights sometimes, talking about himself the way he thinks everyone else might be thinking about him, so he says the insult first and no one else gets to surprise him with it.

But there’s nothing new.

He manages to open the texts again, barely, and breathes in gasps, nearly pants, as he types out, you don’t want me at your place?

Not right now.

Is it because of what I can’t do?

It takes them a minute to answer. Every single second ticks by with a slowness Chris hasn’t felt since his days in the cold white room, tied down to stillness, forced to endure every minute that passed in perfect silence or to the soundtrack of his own tears and pleading for it to stop.

When they do respond, it’s just, it’s because of what you won’t do.

His breath catches in his throat. The ache in his head starts to pound harder, and he has to close his eyes against a sharp stab behind them. 

What he won’t do.

They’ve never cared before. How-... how could they suddenly care now? The fight had only a little bit been about that, it’d really been about something else. About his nightmares, how he’s not sleeping, not seeing his friends, skipping therapy. It hadn’t even been about... that. About what Chris can do and what he can’t, in bed. 

But that was the thing - the fight had started when Chris had flinched back from Laken’s touch to his back, and snapped at them, and accused them of wanting too much, and...

And now this.

It’s like they knew about Nova. Knew that he could be good just fine - better than fine, Handler Petrus said he was one of the best he’d ever worked with once - he just... wouldn’t. Won’t. Doesn’t want to. Never wanted to. 

Can’t do it without tearing himself to pieces all over again. 

It was always a scream inside his mind, but should he have pushed it down and tried harder to be more like everyone else? Is he losing Laken because of it? Did Nova pick up on something Chris himself doesn’t know?

Should he have... tried?

Even if it hurt?

He drops the phone again, then kicks it viciously under his bed, listening to the scrape of it sliding across the floor, the thump as it hits the wall. He hears it vibrate again, but this time he doesn’t care what Laken has to say.

They’ve said enough.

He understands.

Part of him expected this eventually.

He leaves the room, doesn’t bother to pull on his compression shirt, even. He lets his skin prickle bare and exposed to the air. He accepts the discomfort, the uneasy feeling of being too seen, too felt. 

The house is quiet, this early. 

He makes himself toast with butter, wincing at the scrape of the knife against the crisp bread, the sound boring into his ears. But eventually it’s done, and he slumps into a chair at the kitchen table, willing himself to cry. Somehow, the tears just... don’t happen.

He can hear Jake snoring softly from the living room. He’d been up with Chris until nearly 4 am, then Chris was awake again at 6:30, looking at that text, looking over and over and over again. Two hours of sleep leave him weirdly euphoric alongside his despair. Like he’s floating in some nightmare place that isn’t awake and isn’t sleeping, either.

He’s probably slept nine hours in three days at this point. He keeps seeing Jake with a knife sticking out of him every time he closes his eyes. Jake, screaming as Antoni pushed cloth into his wound to stop up the bleeding. Jake with a bullet wound, sitting up against the wall, staring at him with wide eyes whispering, It’s okay, Tristan, I love you, it’s okay as he dies. 

He can’t sleep. He can’t leave for long. He can’t breathe. He can’t think.

Him being what he is, it’s the reason Jake is hurt. If he hadn’t been his brother, he wouldn’t have decided to run a house for Romantics, and he wouldn’t have ended up dealing with all the dangerous bits about them.

Jake said it himself, didn’t he? It’s a mistake, running a house for Romantics. Not his best idea. A mistake.

Chris is a mistake.

Him being weak, and cowardly... it’s hurting Jake, making his life harder.

He makes everyone’s life harder.

There’s a soft sound of footsteps behind him, and he turns to find Nova in the doorway, staring back. She’s in a sleeveless gray dress and has her long dark hair pulled back from her temples, spilling in a waterfall down her back. Her eyes are dark and fathomless, and she gives him a faint, slight smile.

She had smiled like that with one hand down his pants.

Chris turns around, too fast, his head spinning a little, and hunches over his toast. “Good... good, um, good morning,” He mumbles. 

She clears her throat. “Morning. Chris, about-... about last night...”

“Don’t, um, don’t-... don’t don’t don’t worry about it.” He takes a breath. He doesn’t want his toast any longer. 

“I’m sorry,” She says, simply. “I spoke to Sarita about it, and... and she said this happens with us, and I should apologize, but, um. So I am. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-... I thought I was helping.”

“I... know you did.” His words are slowing down. Chris can’t hold on to his thoughts, they want to drift away somewhere else, somewhere safer. Somewhere darker. 

“When I was with-... with my Miss, she would always say, if you are sad the best way to fix it is to make your body forget that feeling, replace it with something else. And that was what we replaced my sadness with. So, you were sad and upset, and I thought I could fix it that way.” She pauses, flushing a little, looking down and to the side as she moves with effortless grace to get a glass and fill it with water, take a small sip. 

“Kauri used to... to do that,” Chris says after a pause, thinking about it. Kauri, who would show up in the small hours of the morning reeking of liquor and someone else’s cologne, or just didn’t show up at all. Kauri, who would laugh instead of crying, and laugh with someone’s arms around him, a guy whose name he didn’t know. 

Kauri, who ran and ran and ran and can do things and be things that Chris can’t.

Or... won’t.

What if he’s been hurting Laken this whole time and didn’t know it, because he was already hurt himself?

His foot starts to tap tap tap on the floor until he stops it. 

“Did he? Did it-... work for him?” Nova asks it with genuine curiosity, and her eyes are so pretty. He looks up at her, and then down again, pushing the plate of toast away from himself. 

“I don’t know,” Chris whispers. “I, I don’t know. He’s happy now, but...”

“Was he happy then?”

“No. But, but, but... maybe we aren’t supposed to be. At least... not with, with anyone... who isn’t like us.”

“Jake isn’t like us,” Nova points out. Her presence in the room feels heavy, like a weight pushing down on him. But what does it matter? He’s not with Laken anymore, anyway. If he wanted to, he could stand right up and kiss Nova right now, press her back into the counter, and learn what it’s like to be the one doing things and not just having them done to him.

But his body doesn’t stir at the thought. It never has.

“He is,” Chris answers. “A, a little bit. I’m, I’m, I’m sorry, too, Nova. Sorry that I-I can’t.”

“No, I know. You have a partner, and I shouldn’t have-”

“I don’t have... I, I, I I don’t have a partner anymore.” Chris stands up, leaving her there with his plate of untouched toast. The sky outside is bright as the sun rises, as if mocking the way he feels like a stormcloud inside. 

Nova watches him leave, and whispers to herself, “No partner?”

Chris goes outside, pulling a sweatshirt that hangs on the coatrack on over his head to protect his skin, curling up on the porch swing and watching cars pulling out of driveways as the neighborhood starts to head to work in ones and twos. 

He doesn’t cry.

He sits very, very still, and he is silent. 

Upstairs, under the bed, his phone vibrates, again and again, unnoticed.

Just go talk to Nat, Chris. That’s all I said. Just go see Nat and get a night or three away from the house. Being there all the time is overwhelming you. Are you even looking at these? Chris you can’t just ignore me every time I say something you don’t like Chris answer me ... ... Oh shit, Chris, my phone autocorrected earlier and I didn’t notice I meant “some time at Nat’s”, not apart Chris? Are you seeing my messages? Baby? Chris, please check your phone and answer me. Please.

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @whumpfigure @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears

[shipaholic]

Omens Universe, Chapter 11 Part 1

Oof. Busy day at work today. Resume! The boys have something to talk about...

Discussion this chapter of magical injuries, and we get our first big swear.

Link to next part at the end.

(From the beginning)

(last part)

(chrono)

---

Chapter 11

Aziraphale’s upturned face was full of hope. He opened his mouth to speak.

Crowley held up a finger. Aziraphale’s mouth snapped shut. Crowley had no idea what his own face must look like, but the sight of it caused the light in Aziraphale’s eyes to snuff right out. The angel swallowed and stared at him.

Crowley tried to collect himself while experiencing twenty-two emotions in the span of ten seconds.

In a cracked voice, he said, “What. The Hell. Are you doing here.”

Aziraphale’s hands wrung together. “I’m so sorry to drop in unannounced,” he said.

He sounded sincere. As if a lack of manners was the issue. Crowley made an undignified noise.

“It must have given you quite a shock. If there was some way to contact you beforehand -”

“I didn’t need another of your notes.”

There was a horrible pause.

“Qu-quite.” Aziraphale looked pale. “Um. Perhaps I should explain?”

An explanation. Crowley flashed back to the day he’d returned to the bookshop, shame-faced and heart-bruised, and found it dark and empty, summoning circle cold for hours, and that one sheet of paper on the bureau addressed to him. His stomach dropped away.

“I came back, because… because I had to see you. The thing is…”

Aziraphale’s lip wobbled. Then it burst out of him like a dam exploding.

“I couldn’t do it, Crowley! I couldn’t sit up there and smile while they all counted down to Armageddon like it was New Years’ bloody Eve. I want no part in any of it. They were going to give me a regiment and - Crowley, I can’t do it. Killing for them, seeing you killed. They’re looking forward to getting to melt the Earth down to a slag heap. I can’t even comprehend it. I’ve seen the world they’re so keen to duplicate down here, and it’s awful, Crowley. Seventy-eight years of Singalong Sound of Music, you have no idea. I can’t take an eternity of that. I thought I had no choice, I thought I had to stick it out, but it got to today and it was all too much and I just had to come and find you. I’ve been an idiot. We should have done this from the start, when Zadkiel wanted to. He was right all along, and I was wrong. We have to escape. This world is going to end, no matter what, but it doesn’t have to be the end for us.”

Nothing could have prepared Crowley for Aziraphale bursting up to him and suggesting they go on the lam.

He managed a croaky, “You what?”

Aziraphale took a step towards him. His eyes held a feverish glow.

“We can do it. I’ve thought it all through, and it’s possible. If we act now. Flee into space, live as a fusion. Heaven and Hell won’t be able to track us. Besides, they’re going to be busy with everything down here. We can have our pick of where to settle down. Er, where’s nice… Alpha Centauri, say? I’m sure I’ve heard you talking about it.”

Crowley said, “Nnng.” It was all he had left.

Aziraphale came closer. He took Crowley’s hand. Crowley stared down at it as if it wasn’t attached to him.

“Will you please come with me?” Aziraphale said.

Crowley forgot what breathing felt like.

Aziraphale noticed something. He glanced down at their joined hands.

“Crowley, why are you wearing one glove?”

Crowley remembered what breathing was. He sucked in a lungful of air. Aziraphale’s face dropped at his expression.

Crowley made a strained hissing sound. Tears leaked out of his eyes and streaked down his face, under his sunglasses. Shit. Shit.

He scrubbed his face. Aziraphale made a soft noise and reached for him.

“Get back. Don’t you dare.”

Aziraphale turned white and backed away.

Crowley shook, face hidden in his hand. Everything was upside down. He didn’t know how to even voice everything he’d felt over the past seventy-eight years. What it was like to cram all the love he had into a box and bury it and go back to work, and keep going back to work, every single day.

“How fucking dare you pull this. I never thought I’d see you again. You abandoned me. You got scared, and you fled and you left me alone. Ran right back to that supercilious lot without a word. I’m sorry you haven’t been enjoying their company these last few years, that must have been really hard for you. I’ve been down here with Hastur and Ligur and half of Hell. I’ll tell you something, I’d rather see them right now than you.”

“Oh, goodness. Crowley.” Aziraphale’s eyes filled with tears. “I thought I was saving your life.”

“Saving my -?” Crowley barked a laugh. More tears came. “What kind of -”

He had to pull his sunglasses off and wipe his face. What was the point in dignity when Aziraphale looked at him like that?

“What happened to your arm, Crowley?”

It hurt. Crowley didn’t know why, but his arm was in more pain than it had ever been since it first happened. He clutched it, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Can I see? Please?”

Why not. The glove felt as though it were compressing the wound, making it swell with pain. Crowley fumbled with it, forgetting he could just miracle it away. Maybe he didn’t want the dramatic reveal of baring it all at once. He peeled the glove down, ignoring the way Aziraphale’s eyes widened.

It looked appalling, he knew. His arm was withered from the elbow down, drained of colour and white as a corpse. Cracks in his skin ran all the way along his forearm; unnatural gaps, as though his arm was pieced together from shards of pottery. Gold shone through them, a strange effect that was not quite liquid and not quite light. It was the colour of angels.

Crowley didn’t understand why the pain had spiked. The injury was old. His jacket covered most of it, luckily. Aziraphale’s face was bad enough as it was.

“My poor Crowley.” Aziraphale reached for his other hand. Crowley let him. He let himself feel the warmth of Aziraphale’s thumb stroking the back of his hand.

“Turns out fusing had some extra perks,” he said, attempting levity.

“What do you mean?”

He might as well tell him. He cleared his throat.

“I was in SoHo. It was… I dunno, nineteen-sixty something. I planned a heist. Got a whole crew together. I knew it was dangerous, but I wanted insurance. Even with you gone, I was afraid Hell might poke around and find the last thousand years’ lunch receipts or something. Figure out I’d got a bit too chummy with an angel. So I hired a team, and we did the job. It was in a church. It went wrong.”

“What were you stealing?”

“Holy water.”

Aziraphale’s thumb stopped moving. His breath trembled out of him. Then he resumed stroking Crowley’s hand.

“Oh, Crowley. If I’d been there. I’m so sorry.”

Crowley had to look away. “Didn’t kill me though,” he said. “I think all the fusing must have made me immune. Slightly. It just… burned.” He winced. It was still burning. His arm and heart hurt in equal measures. “I went home and licked my wounds - figuratively, I don’t want a withered tongue - and I’ve been trying to hide it from the rest of my side ever since. Don’t have a very non-treasonous explanation for it.”

“That must have been so hard. All those years.”

“Well.” Crowley shrugged one shoulder. “What was one more secret?”

He felt exhausted. Whoever said confession was good for the soul hadn’t talked to demons.

“You’re probably immune to hellfire, too, a bit,” he said. “Don’t go testing it, obviously.”

Aziraphale shook his head. Crowley fiddled with his sleeve. He hoped he could cover up soon. Looking at the gold seeping through the cracks in his skin for too long made his eyes go funny.

“I wish I could take all this back,” Aziraphale said.

The pain was subsiding a little. Rather than constant agony, it came and went in waves. Crowley still didn’t know why it had spiked. Looking at Aziraphale made it worse, a fact that hurt almost as much as the physical pain.

“Why did you do it?” he asked, dreading the answer.

Aziraphale’s movements stilled. He sighed.

“I thought I needed to. It was the only way to keep us safe. We couldn’t trust ourselves around each other. Someone had to separate us, and I thought it should be me. I thought I was being noble. It was cruel. I’m sorry.”

Crowley was right. Hearing that didn’t make him feel any better. He didn’t feel worse, either. He’d settled on slightly numb. He wished he could say the same for his arm. It throbbed like poison.

The pain must have shown, because Aziraphale looked concerned. “Is it still bad?”

“Fnn.” Crowley squeezed his eyes shut.

“What’s causing it? It’s not…” Aziraphale sounded suddenly alarmed. “Is it reacting to me? Because I’m an angel? If the wound was inflicted by Heavenly means - oh dear -”

Crowley gritted his teeth. He forced himself to look at Aziraphale. The angel’s wretched expression stung his heart. Some mean, hurt part of him wanted to make Aziraphale feel worse.

“It’s not because you’re an angel, Aziraphale. It’s because I’m angry. At you. I haven’t forgiven you. Seeing you just. Hurts.”

Aziraphale flinched. Crowley felt a wave of vindication. Then he just felt sick.

For a while, no-one spoke.

Aziraphale muttered, “Psychosomatic.”

“Bless you,” Crowley said irritably, ignoring the burst of foul taste in his mouth.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Rolled his eyes -! Crowley was so outraged he temporarily forgot all the other things he was outraged about.

“It’s not just a physical injury. It’s emotional. You associate it with me… abandoning you. Well, I’ll tell you what, you old serpent. I will never abandon you, never. If you’ll let me, I will stay by your side, from now until the end of everything. Which I’m hoping won’t be today. I love you.”

Aziraphale moved closer. There was a determined, blazing look in his eye.

Crowley tried to splutter about demon and feelings and don’t pull faces at me, you bastard, but lost every word in his head the moment Aziraphale pressed closer and kissed him.

They never. Quite got around to doing that before.

A turbulent ocean fell suddenly calm.

Crowley’s arms had fallen to his sides (useless lumps, if they were house-plants, he’d put the fear of him in them). He realised, through the haze that had settled around him, that the pain in the right arm had soothed to a dull sting.

Aziraphale’s hands were on his face, holding him like something precious. Crowley whined. Then he blushed so hotly his head was in danger of melting. He rallied his mutinous arms and wound them around Aziraphale’s plump shoulders.

Time swum, deliciously.

Aziraphale shifted. He broke the kiss, but still leaned his cheek to Crowley’s. Crowley felt as if he lacked any say over his feet or tongue, but did his best to stay upright and form sentences.

“You - ah. Hn.” Going well. “You said you had a plan?”

The unangelic gleam in Aziraphale’s eye was mesmerising this close up. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

Crowley wetted his lips and got distracted utterly by recent memory. “Alpha Centauri… ‘s pretty nice this time of year…”

Aziraphale’s face lit up. Crowley took in the love and joy beaming from it and tried to keep a lid on his emotions for both their sakes. He failed.

“Crowley… are you saying you’ll come with me?”

Crowley didn’t trust himself with words. He nodded.

“Yeah,” he managed. “Why not? I like space.”

His happiness was such that he didn’t even kick himself over that line. He suspected he was grinning like an idiot. Might as well commit to the madness fully. He bent down and kissed Aziraphale first this time.

An unknowable amount of time passed.

From the doorway, someone coughed.

Crowley and Aziraphale froze. Their lips unstuck, with a noise that rather burst the bubble of romantic frenzy from moments ago.

Crowley’s eyes flicked past Aziraphale’s shoulder.

An unimpressed eleven-year-old Antichrist was watching them.

There were probably a few ways this could be a bigger fiasco. Probably. Crowley took a half-step back and tried to straighten his clothes out.

“You’re not dead,” Adam said, flatly.

Aziraphale turned and tried to smile. “Erm -”

“And you -”

Adam looked Crowley up and down. Crowley felt that he was being seen right through to his very demonic core. He resisted a panicked urge to fling himself out of the window.

“You’re normally a snake,” Adam declared.

Crowley cringed.

“And imaginary,” Adam added, accusatory.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Crowley said, pointlessly, because he wasn’t entirely sure what it did look like.

Adam gave them both a shrewd look. “It looks like you’re my imaginary friend and you’re a magician I murdered, and you’re planning on running away together into space.”

It was hard to dispute any of that. Crowley opened his mouth to try.

“Can I come?” Adam said.

“What? No.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered.

“Are you aliens?”

Crowley glared at Adam, trying to calculate a response. “Why…?”

“Space.” Adam gave him a look, as if it were self-evident. “Plus, you can shape-shift.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, insistently.

Crowley turned to him, hoping he had a brilliant suggestion.

“Is that the Antichrist?” Aziraphale stage-whispered.

Crowley rolled his eyes so hard they sprained. “Yes, that is the Antichrist,” he hissed back.

Adam scowled. “You sound like my mum.”

“Look, er.” Aziraphale tried another smile. “I’m terribly sorry about earlier, but this really isn’t… anything. We were just joking around, you know, and…”

“I know everything’s messed up,” said Adam.

There was a pause.

“What do you mean?” Crowley asked.

Adam shrugged. “Everything. I know… I know stuff isn’t normal. The stuff that goes on in this house isn’t… how things are supposed to be. I’ve had enough of it. I want to go with you. I’d rather live in space.”

Aziraphale shared an uncomfortable look with Crowley. Crowley decided this had gone on long enough.

“Go to your room,” he said, and snapped his fingers.

Adam stayed where he was. He folded his arms, implacable. He was a five-foot barricade, as impassable as a steel door.

“That won’t work, he’s immune to occult persuasion,” Aziraphale murmured to him.

“Oh, now you’re the expert?”

Adam took a step towards them. They leaned back.

“I want to see space.”

Crowley wanted to see space, too, and he could feel it slip from his grasp the more time they wasted arguing with an eleven-year-old.

“Fine, you can come,” he snapped.

A grin split Adam’s face in two. “Really?”

Aziraphale’s head snapped around. “Really?”

“We’ve got between here and Alpha Centauri to ditch him,” Crowley muttered to him.

“I am not kidnapping a child, Crowley!”

“How are you kidnapping him? He’s kidnapping us! Besides,” Crowley lowered his voice further. “Armageddon can’t happen without him. If the Antichrist isn’t on Earth…”

Aziraphale caught on. “Maybe it never happens.”

Crowley still had it. Temptation accomplished.

Aziraphale bustled up to Adam. “Welcome aboard, young man.” He shook Adam’s hand.

“Thanks,” Adam said. He’d forgotten about the whole manslaughter debacle already, by the look of things.

“Now, stay close.”

Aziraphale peered along the corridor. He beckoned Adam and Crowley to follow him. Crowley brought up the rear, wondering how all this had happened to him.

On the way out, they ran into the American cultural attaché. He waved vaguely to Adam as he passed.

“Merry Christmas, son,” he said, sounding a bit uncertain.

“Bye, dad,” Adam said, distractedly.

They left him behind and went out the front door, all three acting as though they were in very different spy films.

As they snuck across the lawn, with maximum drama and minimum stealth, Crowley remembered something.

“Hey,” he said to Adam. “Did a giant dog ever show up?”

Adam looked at him as if he was talking nonsense. “No. I haven’t wanted a dog in years.”

“Cool, cool. Just wondering.”

~*~

In the shrubbery, the enormous and poorly concealed Hellhound put its tail between its legs.

It didn’t understand. It was made for one purpose. If its master didn’t want it, why was it here?

It crept from the shrubbery, far less conspicuous than the three beings it was following, and stalked across the lawn towards the street. It would stay in its master’s shadow, out of sight, until he decided he wanted a dog after all.

---

Musical interlude x2! This chapter has a soundtrack. For Aziraphale’s perspective of the last seventy eight years, go here!

Then, the boys duet about their feelings here!

---

(Link to next part)

[bitchardhendricks]

Well I’ve Never Been to Heaven (But I’ve Been to Oklahoma) pt 11

As you can imagine, I’ve been having a lot of feelings about my hometown this week in particular. But while on a national stage it’s painted as being full of fanatical zealots hellbent on worshipping at the altar of a fascist demagogue, the reality that I’ve seen from the majority of its citizens this week is compassion, empathy, care, and concern. That mix is the brutal reality of the place that made me - a place not unlike a lot of your own hometowns, if I had to guess. I think overall, that’s the feeling I want to capture in all the parts of Tulsa fic. I wrote this part weeks and weeks ago, before any mention of the rally, but it feels fitting to post this week. I hope you’re all doing well out there, staying strong, staying safe, and taking care of each other.

***

They spend a few hours exploring the myriad shelves at Gardner’s; every time they walk into another room, Jared expects them to finally reach the end of the labyrinth, and every time there’s yet another room beyond. Richard shows Jared the spot tucked into a corner by the sci-fi section where he would spend long summer afternoons discovering new worlds with Bradbury and Asimov, Heinlein and Herbert. 

Jared finds a used Pioneer Woman cookbook to buy for Diane - “Do you think she’d like this? I noticed she didn’t have this one when I was perusing her cookbooks this morning.” 

Richard has no idea, but tries to be enthusiastic. “Um. I mean, yeah, probably, she’ll love it.”

Richard wonders what it must be like to be a person who notices things like that, makes notes of gifts to buy for people. Someone who’s thoughtful and kind and just fucking nice. He wonders, not for the first time, why Jared isn’t somewhere better, with better people, people who are like him. He wonders, also not for the first time, if his vision - Pied Piper, the company, changing the world one compressed byte at a time - is worth enough for Jared to stick around when the reality (when Richard himself) is so vastly disappointing. 

He stops paging through back issues of Fantastic Four and looks up to watch Jared flipping through records in the section across the aisle from him. Sometimes Jared’s very existence throws Richard off-balance. His posture, his competence - everything about Jared is so put together and accomplished, like he’s been practicing for hours every day to make being a grown-up look so simple. His long, nimble fingers move over the records with ease and surety. Like a pianist, Richard thinks. Good with his hands. Jared must feel the weight of his gaze, and he looks up with a bemused expression that Richard knows means, Goodness, I’m so sorry, was I being too distracting? Richard’s face grows inexplicably warm. He shakes his head sheepishly - no, you’re ok - and Jared goes back to browsing. 

He only watches for a minute or so before another guy squeezes past him trying to get to the Daredevil comics, and he jumps guiltily out of the way. “Hey Jared, we should ah, get going. Lots more to see.”

As they pay for their purchases, the sunny blonde cashier’s hand lingers against Jared’s long pianist fingers when she hands him his change. 

Richard snatches his bag of books out of her hands and stalks off before she can finish saying, “Have a nice day!” 

***

They drive for 15 minutes or so, the air conditioner cranked up, until Richard slows down in front of a huge pavilion with a banner advertising GUN SHOW flapping disconsolately in the muggy June air. Jared pales, hit by a vivid memory of a Saturday afternoon spent with Uncle Jerry and his friends at a civic center filled with the smell of testosterone and gun oil and the sounds of boisterous laughter and Lynyrd Skynyrd bouncing off the concrete walls. “Richard, I don’t--” he begins, but the car pulls into a neighborhood directly across from the huge building.

Richard puts it in park and turns to see the look on Jared’s face. “Oh - fuck, Jared, did you think I was taking you to an actual gun show? Jesus, c’mon man. No, it’s ah,” he opens his door and stands up, wedged in the vee of the car door and turning to point. “Better angle from here. See the statue? It’s the Golden Driller.”

Jared also gets out of the car to look and follows Richard’s indication. Towering above the pavilion is what looks to be a giant man made of stone the color of sand standing next to an oil derrick. The figure he cuts is imposing - Jared estimates he must be at least 7 stories tall, with his workman’s boots the size of school buses splayed shoulder-width apart, one hand on his hip and one hand resting possessively on top of the massive derrick like a hunter posing with a prized kill. His face is cut in austere lines, a square jaw, a long slash of a nose, a heavy brow hidden under a hard hat of some kind with a wide brim. He’s shirtless, and his broad shoulders narrow to a waist with a belt around it that says TULSA.

“He’s very tall,” Jared says, which makes Richard laugh. With a darted glance to confirm Richard isn’t laughing at him, Jared also laughs, surprised and a little dizzy. 

“This is like - he’s THE symbol of Tulsa, you know. The baseball team is named after him, the stadium. When I was a kid, I was obsessed with this statue, we’d pass it and I’d just start like,” Richard mimes shaking his fists back and forth in the air in wild jubilation, “‘It’s the Tulsa Driller!’ I don’t even know why, heh. Kid stuff. I think probably everyone who lives here has a picture of themselves with that statue. It’s like a Tulsa rite of passage.”

He reaches over the roof of the Camry palm up and looks at Jared, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Wanting, expectant. Jared can hardly stand it, rooted to the spot and captured by that look as neatly as a rabbit in a snare. With a sly grin, Richard finally speaks. “C’mon, gimme your phone. You wanted to document the trip, right?”

A Tulsa rite of passage, he thinks, and fumbles in his pocket for his phone. Richard unlocks it with his fingerprint - thank goodness for the day Jared had insisted they spend setting up their emergency contacts and preparedness protocols - and gestures for Jared to come around the car and pose in frame with the colossal statue. “A little to the right - ah, my right, sorry - and uh, put your hands y’know - “ Richard half-attempts the Driller’s pose and ends up more akin to a little teapot before he aborts the gesture, embarrassed. “OK, look stern. You’re an oil man now, you gotta - yeah, that’s, that’s great,” he says, giggling as Jared puts on an exaggerated scowl. The shutter clicks in rapid succession as Richard crouches down, getting a better angle. “Yes, perfect, you’re a natural, Jared,” he teases lightly and Jared’s scowl disappears, replaced with a grin so wide he hears his jaw creak. 

Richard lets the phone fall from in front of his face for a second, faltering, and just looks at Jared with a matching grin that’s febrile, electric, before taking a few more photos. When he hands the phone back to Jared, he avoids any further eye contact, looking down at the ground and hurrying back to hop in the car. 

Jared follows, hoping the spell hasn’t been entirely broken on this inexplicable wonder of a day. As they drive to their next destination, Richard is quiet, contemplative. Just as Jared is about to ask if there’s something bothering him, Richard breaks the silence. “There’s a plaque by the Driller - we went to Expo Square there, that building, on a field trip in middle school for some like, multicultural fair, I don’t know. But my teacher, she made a huge deal about this plaque, right, and I still remember it, it, it said something like um, ‘Golden Driller, dedicated to the men of the petroleum industry, who um..with their uh vision and bravery uh, benefitted all mankind.’” 

“Ah. Perhaps not all,” Jared cedes, and Richard nods furiously. 

“Right, like, I mean look how that fucking worked out for everybody. And they’re y’know, displacing Native Americans and like, if you’re not white you’re fucked, and just annihilating the goddamn planet, and they’re building monuments to themselves like they’re so, so fucking magnanimous. Right?” He grips the steering wheel with knuckles going white and Jared nods along with him, attempting to remain afloat on the tempestuous sea of Richard’s emotions. 

“You’re thinking of Gavin,” he says, and Richard’s jaw clenches mutinously in a way that tells Jared he’s right. The wound that Gavin has inflicted upon Richard’s soul is so raw and ragged, even after all this time, and it makes Jared ache to see him lash out like this, a proud lion tortured by the venomous thorn in his paw. 

“He doesn’t have a case, Richard - you know that and I know that. In the annals of history, people will remember Richard Hendricks far longer than they’ll ever remember Gavin Belson, and not because you erect monuments to your greatness in the sky. The most enduring legacies are built by leaders who inspire love, not fear.”

Richard snorts, “Great. I can’t inspire either one for shit.”

The words clamor in his throat like a swarm of bees, and he can’t quite keep them contained. With his hands clutched tight in his lap, Jared says in a rush, like a compulsion, “Oh, Richard, that’s just not true.” 

Richard glances at him, looks away. Glances back. Jared offers up a smile he hopes is reassuring rather than ghoulish, and decides the safest course of action is to redirect Richard’s focus away from Gavin. This is supposed to be a vacation, after all. “Anyway, let’s focus on Tulsa and all her hidden wonders. Where are we going next on the grand Hendricks magical mystery tour?”

The digital clock in the car reads 4:50, and Richard appears to do some mental math in his head. He shifts in his seat, perking up a little, and Jared breathes out a sigh of relief. Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.

“We’ve got time for one more thing and it’s...well,” Richard taps on the steering wheel in a beat Jared is coming to recognize as his tell when he’s eager, excited to show off something. “I think you’re gonna like it.”

[juryokv-blog]

five times kissed / kanata and kaoru

*     five times kissed     /     @crystliz

i.

it’s awkward   &   clumsy like most first kisses tend to be.   the reason being different than that of nerves   &   budding feelings   &   rather the pressure to make this look real.   faking it is easier said than done   &  kaoru’s stressing out here   !   this is all for nothing if it’s not convincing   &   he’s having trouble getting over the way souma stares sharper daggers than usual at him since they’ve announced their   ‘relationship’   like he’s just waiting for a slip up or the way sena basically scoffed at how tense   &   . .   un-couple like they seem to be.

so   . .   he has to step up his game,   hands at kanata’s face drawing him in until they’re close enough for lips to slot together in a less than skillful manner.   (   it’s definitely not his best work   &   the other’s lack of experience doesn’t help either.   )   the train-wreck of a kiss only lasts momentarily before kaoru’s retreating,   face heating over the fact that he just did that with his fake boyfriend in public   &   it wasn’t anything to brag about either.     ❛     i                  ❜     there’s a sense that he should say something regarding his actions,   but the blonde finds himself at a loss for words at the sheer embarrassment of the situation.   he opts for clearing his throat instead,   hand slipping into kanata’s once more   &   coaxing him along to finish this date.     ❛     let’s   . .   go.     ❜

ii.

❛     look,   kanata   . .     ❜     ahh   . .   how is he supposed to bring this up casually   ?   it’s sort of uncomfortable,   but they couldn’t keep up like they have been   &   this isn’t just about kanata’s own inexperience either,   kaoru’s having issues with the whole pretending thing.   he’s no actor   &   it’s hard to be natural when they’re fake in every sense.   they need   . .   practice   !   . .   or something.     ❛     if   -   if we really want this to be convincing then we need to  . .   work on some   . .  stuff.   like,   uh   -   kissing.   why don’t we,   um   . .     ❜     kaoru can literally feel himself dying right now.   he can’t help but think how much simpler this would be is kanata were a girl instead of a boy                         even a stranger over a friend,   but there’s no helping it   &   they’ve got to figure this out.

❛     here   . .     ❜     voice is small to mask lacking confidence in tone,   scooting towards the other boy   &   leaving hesitance behind.     ❛     just relax   &   do what feels right.   okay   ?     ❜     he’s somehow managed to get a lid on his nerves long enough for a hand to come to kanata’s neck.   there’s a loose smile on kaoru’s face as he looks at the other boy for signs of uneasiness or apprehension.   above anything,   it’s kanata’s comfort that matters most,   isn’t it   ?   so he eases into this,   less rushed than their first as lips press soft against the pair before him.   it’s relieving how painless it is this time,   sighing into warmth.   

kaoru would never overstep though,   keeping this simple   &   moving back just far enough to search kanata’s face for an indication of   . .   content   ?   something like that.     ❛     better   ?     ❜

iii.

it’s always endearing watching kanata fawn over the fish inside the marine life club room.   kaoru started attending activities more frequently since he’s announced to the world that he’s dating the oddball,   that being part of the couple image.   but despite that itself,   it’s almost cute the way kanata   ‘bubble bubbles’   between tanks feeding   &   tending to the fish inside,   (   as long as he ignores the way the club captain so mercilessly says they’re going to eat their scaled friends soon.   )   &   kaoru’s having fun.

the most amusing aspect might just be the way souma can get so riled up so quickly just by being in kaoru’s presence.   it’s even easier now that he’s with kanata,   their junior so blatantly disapproving of their relationship   &   maaaaybe kaoru’s made a game of being extra affectionate with his supposed boyfriend to get a rise out of souma.   (   yeah,   it’s a lot of fun.   )

❛     heeeeeey,   kanata.    ❜     arm slips around the boy’s waist,   interrupting whatever task he’s in the middle of   &   bringing him closer.   there’s a smile all too smug resting on face as he kisses kanata’s cheek.     ❛     why don’t you leave the rest to souma-kyun here   &   pay attention to me instead   ?   i’m lonely too,   y’know.     ❜     one day kaoru is actually going to be cut down for his instigating,   but he thinks it might be worth it seeing the way the second year’s face goes red.

iv.

what compelled kaoru to invite kanata over for dinner with his family is beyond him.   it’s not as if his family are the ones they’re trying to convince   &   kaoru knows better than to have any expectation when it comes to the people of his house.   but kanata is dear to him   &   there’s some pathetic part of him still searching for approval of any kind even if he’s aware it’ll never come.   while his siblings could play nice for the sake of company,   his old man is set in his ways   &   a nice evening is too much to ask for.   (   kaoru wishes his mom was here.   she would have loved kanata as much as he                      )   he can’t finish that thought nor acknowledge the way his heart feels like it’s compressing in chest.

soft voice snaps him out of whatever despairing trance he’d been in,   realizing they’ve must have been walking aimlessly in silence now for a while.   ah   . .   how embarrassing.   kaoru feels melancholy prickling inside,   but kanata’s here beside him   &   he doesn’t want to burden him anymore than he already has with this mess of a night.     ❛     haaa   . .   kanata’s worried about me,   huh   ?     ❜     he stops in his tracks,   body shifting to face the other.   kaoru’s got a smile on his face that’s all too forced   &   unconvincing   &   it almost hurts to pretend everything’s fine when he feels like the world is swallowing him whole.   yet he can’t bring himself to bother kanata with feelings he can’t even put into words.

kaoru reaches up,   fingers brushing through blue bangs   &   curling against the side of head.   he takes a moment,   gaze holding with kanata’s own as if he could persuade him with look alone before leaning forth to press a kiss to kanata’s forehead.     ❛     i’m fine,   promise.     ❜

v.

the aquarium is one of the first places he promised to take kanata on a date,   yet it’s taken kaoru this long to actually bring him here.   it’s not as if he’s intentionally been putting it off,   there’s just   . .   a lot of memories held in this place.   he wants this to be special   &   he feels like they’re at a place now that this will actually mean something because   . .   this stopped being fake long ago,   didn’t it   ?   at least that’s what it is to kaoru,   even if it’s only pretend for the other.   somewhere along the line being with kanata became natural   &   he’s not brave enough to admit he’s scared for the time to come when they have to stop.

so he doesn’t focus on that,   only on the former beside him   &   how beautiful he looks with the shades of blue reflecting from the water behind glass surrounding them.   (   he’s breathtaking   &   kaoru feels his heart jump to his throat.   )    ❛     kanata   . .     ❜     he almost feels selfish,   calling out to the latter to take his attention away from the fish he loves so much   &   have him look only at him.   when kanata’s gaze does meet his own there’s a sudden surge of nerves,   reluctance building inside.   mouth opens to say something,   but it’s fruitless.   kaoru still doesn’t have the words to say,   just like that day before.  

he takes action instead,   moving in to steal a kiss in his own greed.   maybe this will be enough to convey emotions he can’t say himself   &   if not,   then   . .   maybe that’s for the better. 

[ask-de-writer]

PARADOX PLANET : World of Sea : Science Fiction : 1 part

Return to the Master Story Index

PARADOX PLANET

by

Glen Ten-Eyck

This is an excerpt from a novel in progress called GONE TO SEA

2579 words in chapter 1

copyright 2012

writing begun 2005

All rights reserved. This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images provided that I receive a copy of each image for my archive. I will further allow the use of printed copies for educational use in school classes. No charge of any kind may be made for this use, whether paper, ink, binding, packaging, distribution or any other charge whatsoever.

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1. Paradox Planet

This was going to be difficult, thought Captain Alain. In the wardroom of his ship, the ESA 14, he faced Mr. Torres, the leader of the colonial expedition. Mr. Torres was not a happy man.

“This is an outrage!” he said ferociously. “I can read clocks and calendars as well as any! We were to be awakened from Crossover Sleep on arrival at the system. It has been over a year, local time, since you got here.” He paused to breathe heavily, angrily and went on, “Now, only I have been awakened! What are you up to?”

Captain Alain Looked over at the gray painted metal bulkhead relieved only by pictures mounted to the wall. The duty crews painted them as a hobby to fill the long empty years of the passage. Even faster than light Crossover Drives had limits. Stars were still an unimaginably great distance apart, many of them were years apart. This expedition, two hundred and eighteen light-years distant from Earth, at just over twenty one years of flight time, was no exception. Unless some further distant worthwhile planet had been found in the passing years, this was the longest colonial run that the ESA had tried.

Captain Alain looked down at the pile of files, data disks and crystals in front of him and back to Mr. Torres. He decided to be blunt.

“You know that due to energy constraints, this had to be a one way trip for you and the other colonists. We were trying to find a way to save your expedition’s lives. We failed.”

That brought Mr. Torres up short. “Trying to save us? You failed?” His eyes went wide, “Did my people die?”

“No, they are all well and asleep. The problem is not on the ship. It is the target world. It is everything that the probe reported. We need to report back and have the probes reprogrammed. Nobody expected a world like Sea.”

“C?”, asked Mr. Torres, puzzled. “Is it because it’s the third world? Why call it C?”

“Sea, as in ocean,” said Captain Alain reaching into his pile of data and handing over a crystal. “Look for yourself.”

Mr. Torres activated the viewing controls and knit his brows in concentration as he examined the picture and data flowing beneath it. “Where are the land masses? On the other side? It says that I’ve rotated the view but it’s no different.”

“It did rotate, Mr. Torres. There is no land anywhere on Sea.” Captain Alain paused to collect his thoughts. “So far as we can tell, the last island sank for good between one and a half and two and a half million years ago.” He gestured at the image. “If you boost the magnification far enough you will find floating weed mats and shallow areas that you can use to follow the rotation of the globe.”

Mr. Torres looked again, at high magnification. The skilled ecologist in him rebelled at what he was seeing. “This is not possible. Without land masses to break up air flows by both barrier and convection effects the atmosphere should turn into high speed bands of wind.”

“My crew and I are well aware of the problem, Mr. Torres,” said Captain Alain with the air of one who wished that he had not found the answer to a puzzle. “The reason that the atmosphere does not band is every bit as bad as what you have just seen.”

Once again he removed an image crystal from his pile of data. “As you watch this, bear in mind that it is a direct recording of an actual event. You can change the time compression to suit your own taste. It won’t alter what you will see.” Wryly he added, “We have already said that it’s impossible. It will spare you the effort.”

In utter disbelief, Mister Torres stopped the crystal playback and restarted it several times. It showed the birth of a storm. A large rotating depression was forming at about sixty five degrees South Latitude. Sympathetically, Captain Alain said, “Go ahead and let it play. It only gets worse.”

The storm swept north along a large curve that appeared to be dictated by Coriolis force. The warmer seas of the tropics fueled the storm and it grew into a monster with a core of powerful storm cells over a thousand miles across. The vastly aberrant storm’s clouds did not limit themselves to the troposphere. They towered high into the stratosphere, where no sane cloud mass, let alone a whole cyclonic storm, belonged. The wind speeds achieved over three hundred and twenty kilometers per hour.

The counterclockwise rotation of the storm should have killed it when it crossed the equator to the Northern Hemisphere where the same Coriolis force would now try to make the storm rotate clockwise. Instead, the storm broke apart into individual thunderstorms that followed precise vectors across the equator and reassembled themselves into a giant clockwise rotating storm, all angular momentum preserved, and with no loss of wind speed.

It followed a Coriolis arc north and finally cold northern waters robbed its energy. It broke up into thunderstorms, squalls and fogs about sixty five degrees North Latitude.

Captain Alain said, “Hard to believe, isn’t it? We have observed eight of those aberrations of nature and they ALL do that. Because of the form of the path that they follow, we are calling them Coriolis Storms. It’s as though there were a guiding intelligence handling the storm. Lovely fantasy. It would take at least nine of the most powerful synchronous orbit Weather Sats with a fleet of Low Orbit backups to get even one of those storms across the equator. It would be touch and go, even with equipment like that. All that we have here are the three moons and the primary star. We just haven’t figured out the natural mechanism yet, that’s all.

“The worst part of this is that while the spacing and placement of the storms appears to be completely unpredictable, statistically every part of the planet will get hit at least once every five years by one of these monsters. The crew has a betting pool on where and when the next one will occur. The sample is still too small to be sure but it is beginning to appear that the storms are not completely random in their occurrence.”

Mister Torres surprised Captain Alain. He accepted the statements without comment and quietly sat, thinking. At last he spoke thoughtfully, “I’m not an engineer but perhaps we can deal with the storms by going under them. Build domes or habitats on the reefs maybe. The water is calm only a few feet below the waves.”

Captain Alain gave Mister Torres points for being quick on his mental feet. Gently, he said, “My crew and I ARE engineers. We did think of that. Unfortunately, it can’t be done. A dome is an engineering nightmare. The buoyancy is massive. The pressure gradient from top to bottom is all wrong. The air pressure inside the dome is controlled by the depth of the lowest part of it. That means that the dome will try to burst at the top because the water pressure is lowest there and the inside air is at the pressure of deepest part where the water pressure is highest. Small habitats would be possible except that we don’t have the materials to build that many of them and can’t get what we need from the environment.

“We brought equipment to mine on land or in space. We can fabricate almost any device except for a tiny problem. There’s no land to mine and the rest of the system is metal poor. This world does have quite a lot of high quality ores. Unfortunately they are under about fifty to over nine hundred meters of water. We can’t get at them. Captain Alain inhaled heavily and added, “We can’t even get useful silica sand on this planet. It’s in the same situation as the metal ores. The common coral sand is useless for glass making.

“What we can do is process the local coral and coral sands into a form of concrete. It is possible to get useful amounts of aluminum, magnesium and small amounts of titanium from the seawater. We can go to the three moons for silicates to make glasses. They even have small amounts of available iron and some other useful metals. The silicates make structural glass a real possibility. Fiberglass is also practical. Many of the local seaweeds will process to yield various useful plastic resins for both the fiberglass and to mold directly into useful objects.

“In this environment, only the titanium and structural glass are durable. Corrosion will destroy the other metals in short order. Concrete made from coral is subject to long term erosion by the water, not to mention the many animals and plants that will attack it. Even the fiberglass will have a limited life due to long term water absorption. Of course you can recycle the fiberglass materials.”

Now it was Mister Torres who spoke. “You know about the nutritional deficiency issues of this world, um … Sea? Good name, by the way.”

Captain Alain accepted the compliment with a nod and replied, “Yes. You will be short a pair of critical amino acids, a small raft of vitamins, and there’s a carbohydrate problem of some sort.”

It was Mister Torres who spread his hands now. “You are right. We brought the solutions to all of that along in the form of crop seeds and embryonic animals. We did not expect to have no place to raise them. Hydroponics could answer the plant problem, perhaps. The animals are a different matter altogether. They have to have a certain amount of space for proper development.” He paused and looked thoughtfully at a painting of Mt Fuji, back on Earth, “Could we bypass the growth of the animals and do a carniculture system? I ask because that is more an engineering problem.”

Captain Alain considered in his turn. Mister Torres let him think. A thousand lives hung in the balance. At last, Captain Alain said, “It could be done. It has been done before. There is a nutrient limitation. You have to be able to supply the culture tissues with the necessary amino acids. The whole animal would manufacture its own from the crops fed to it. The culture can’t do that. I think that with the available resources, you are stuck with raising the animals whole. I can ask. We didn’t think of that solution.” He dictated a note for his ship’s system engineers to look into it.

Suddenly Mister Torres exclaimed, “Those storms all follow the same pattern! That means that if we build a platform, we can design it to be strongest in a direction that will resist the storms best! What sort of tidal variation are we dealing with?”

Captain Alain thought a moment and consulted his data. His brows knit as he worked through the problem. “When the sun and the moons line up unfavorably, the sea level can drop until the shallows become shoal-water. At the other extreme, the water depth can go to twenty meters. A storm depression coupled with a low tide can actually bare the upper parts of the coral. That kills the coral and limits upward growth.”

Mister Torres shook his head. “Between storms, coral should grow on the skeletons of the dead coral and cause island building. Why doesn’t it?”

Captain Alain realized from the form of the question that Mister Torres was giving him credit for intelligence and was pleased. He answered, “There’s a common fish with a hard beak. It seems to think that the dead coral is a delicacy and mows the reef down as it grazes. It chews up the stone to get the dead organisms. That’s what makes the coral sand.”

Mister Torres nodded. “Like the parrot fish back home. Makes sense. The same fish attacks our concrete too?”

Captain Alain just nodded. Then he had a thought. Excitedly he said, “We could put titanium mesh in the outer layers of the concrete. That would keep the fish out of anything structural. Once the platform was built, you could process more concrete on your own. You could re-plaster the areas that the fish attack.”

He subsided, “You’d have all your eggs in one basket, though. The thing would have to be huge. We can only marshal the resources to build one.”

“It’s not really that important,” said Mister Torres softly. “There’s no possible way for us to survive until a ship can return with what we do need. Still, we have to have the platform for morale reasons. My people need hope. It’s all that we can really do for them.”

Captain Alain suggested, “We can request a recovery expedition as soon as we get back. It is ESA policy to have a colony ship ready for just such an emergency.”

Mister Torres shook his head negatively. “I fear that the war that was shaping up will be long over when you get back. I pray that you will be able to survive your return. I do not think that there is any possibility of our survival.”

Captain Alain looked compassionately at Mister Torres. He shook his head. “You’re right. The war will change everything back home. We received messages from Earth before we got The drive up to threshold energy. The shooting did start. We were ordered to return but disobeyed. I can only hope that some form of the ESA has survived.

“As for your platform, even with the Crossover Drive to push us faster than light, we can’t get back to you in time. No platform that we can build will survive long enough. It is going to get hit by at least five and probably more of those Coriolis Storms. One of them will sweep it away. Without its facilities, your people will die of malnutrition in fairly short order.”

Mister Torres looked back at Captain Alain and said bleakly, “I know that. What we are going to do is simple. We will lie to your crew and my colonists alike. We will fake evidence to show that the necessary nutrients can be found in the ecology. We just can’t localize them well enough from space. The search will keep hope in them to the last.”

Captain Alain closed his eyes in pain. This was indeed difficult. Why couldn’t Mister Torres be angry, rail at fate or just cry? This calm acceptance, this cold blooded planning to deceive a thousand doomed people was beyond him. He shook himself and said, “Very well, we will follow your lead. Two of my crew will have to be in the conspiracy. They are needed to create the false data.”

That simply, the decision was made. With massive labor, a platform was built with all of the best systems, electronic controls and computerized communications. It held laboratories, shops, apartments, docks for boats, recreational and farming spaces. All critical exposed areas, like the upper levels of the farms, could be closed over with locking domes in bad weather. On the platform, a space one kilometer by one and a half kilometers, several stories thick, a thousand people were left on a planet that could not support them. Only one of their number actually knew what had been done.

-The End-

[seashanties-and-tales-blog]

Nejire anon here! So, since you wanted to have Tomura requested. How about Nejire's S/O being kidnapped by the villain alliance! If this is too much too ask, don't doubt on saying so! Thank you ~

No, thank YOU. This ended up kind of comedic actually, like the Smash comics, but I still included Nejire

“Aah, now what..? What are we gonna do with her..?”

“She’s cute… I wanna stab her!”

“Quiet, you psychopath. We can’t stab her.”

“Let’s torture her! No, you can’t torture cute girls! Yeah, good idea!” 

“What are you talking about? You can torture cute girls! The cute ones are the most fun!” 

“Huh, really Toga? Well, if you say so, it must be false!”

“Haaah, shut up!” 

Everyone instantly shuts their mouths and looks in Tomura’s direction. Their leader is scratching at his reddened neck in frustration, starting to feel anxious. He doesn’t know what to do with you. He saw an opportunity and seized it - not he has a UA student in his grasp but… what to do with you?

Killing you will surely send a message, but once you’re dead how are you supposed to give them information? Perhaps you’re the easily-swayed type - maybe you’ll join them? 

“Just let me think in quiet!” Tomura lifts a hand toward them, the rest of the villains seeming unsettled by Tomura’s anger with the exception of Dabi’s careless expression. 

This is when you start to come to. On your side, laying on the hard, cold ground of the bar, your wrists are bound behind your back. You hear their arguing first, but slowly blink open your eyes after it’s quiet for a few moments.

Kurogiri notices your eyes open first, proclaiming to them, “She’s awake!” 

All of the villains look down at you, and the sight of about seven villains all staring down at you in an unknown location is not a fun one to wake up to. Your head is still reeling from being knocked out, but that doesn’t mean you don’t start to panic.

“W-what the.. what the hell?!” You try to escape somehow, get yourself away or use your quirk, but it’s difficult with your arms behind your back and dread kicking in. 

Where were you last, before this happened? You were… think, (Y/N)… you were working a mission with Nejire, fighting some low-level villain that was committing crimes. It’s a blur after that, but you vaguely remember the appearance of the League. 

“W-where is she? Is she okay?!” By ‘she’, you mean Nejire, assuming that they’ve taken her as well.

Tomura tilts his head, and behind the hand on his face he looks a little confused. “..Is she crazy or something?” 

“Funny for you to say.” Dabi remarks.

“Who invited you here, huh?! Go back to sleep!” 

Dabi rolls his eyes and stands up straight, pushing himself off of the wall. “Sure thing, boss.” Everyone is quiet as Dabi leaves the room, leaving a silence to fill the room that is interrupted when the other villain is finally gone. 

“Who are you talking about?” Compress asks from his seat at the bar. 

You stare up at him for a moment, taking in the mood of the room. They seem truly confused… they don’t have her, too? You’re flooded with relief in knowing that Nejire might be okay, however you don’t yet realize just how much she’s panicking right now in another part of the city.

Not wanting to out Nejire’s identity, you remain quiet, not responding to Compress. Since you know she’s not here, they don’t have to know you were worried about her. They could easily use that as leverage against you. 

Tomura eventually shakes his head, walking closer to you. His feet stop right before your eyes, and you’re staring at his black shoes before you roll onto your back and look up at him. Your lips are shut tight, gaze steady and serious despite how you’re scared on the inside. You can’t let them see your fear.

“If you’re going to be quiet, then fine. We have ways of getting information out of you…” 

“How the hell did you steal my star?” Tomura growls, his fingers angrily pressing the buttons on his video game controller - pinkies lifted off of it. 

“Uh, I landed on a Boo spot…” You answer carefully. 

“Tomura, you suck!” Toga says, seating herself on the armrest of the couch that you and Tomura are not sitting on. 

“Shut up, will you..” 

“Hey, let me try! I’ll beat her,” Spinner says, standing up from his seat.

“No, I’ll do it!” Tomura snaps, growing visibly frustrated with his second loss.

The rules were: If he gets first place in Mario Party against you, you give him the information that he needs. However, there’s an issue with that: you’re winning. 

Out of nowhere, the door to the bar bursts open flies across the room, hitting Twice directly and sending him flying onto his back. “Ow, what the hell?! That felt good! Do it again.” 

Everyone immediately stands up, readying themselves to kill this intruder. In through the door comes…

“Nejire!” You cry, your face immediately brightening up. 

“(Y/N)!” She calls to you, gasping in relief. Thank God you seem okay and… wait, you really are okay. Why? She thought you were going to be at least a little bit beaten up!

Nejire remembers the situation and then narrows her eyes at the villains around you. “I’m here to take her back now!” 

Tomura puts his hands up when Nejire is about to use her quirk. “Hey, hey, hold on a second. We’re just playing a game.” 

Nejire’s eyes narrow, glancing side to side and taking in everyone’s expressions. It doesn’t seem like they’re bluffing.

“We can’t just  quit in the middle of a game. At least let us finish.” 

Tomura makes a good point. “Hmmph! Fine!” Nejire eventually says, putting her hands down. 

You smile as she walks over, scooting over on the couch so that she can take a seat next to you. She’s still very visibly uncomfortable, but you take the time that you have to be close to her and don’t waste it. 

“Good, now let’s continue…”

About thirty minutes later, in through the space that the door used to be, Mirio and Tamaki both run in. “League of Villains, we’re here to take back (Y/N)!” Mirio announces, putting on his serious hero expression. “..HUH?!”

However, the scene that he expected to see isn’t going on. Instead, you’re sitting on a couch with your legs draped across Nejire’s lap playing a video game with Tomura and the rest of the League watching.

“Oh, hey Mirio! Hey Tamaki! Come watch!” You call, motioning them over with your hand. 

The two boys exchange confused expressions for a moment before looking back at you. “Um…(Y/N)… Nejire… is that really you?”

Nejire smiles the kind of smile that someone in this situation probably shouldn’t. It’s like a normal gathering between friends! “Of course it is! Who else would I be? Sit down, we just started this game!” Her hands stroke your hair absentmindedly as you watch the screen, letting her fingertips fall to your back to draw small circles. 

With careful, unsure steps, Mirio and Tamaki slowly make their way over to the ‘hero’ side of the couch. 

“Are… you serious…. who the hell is the Reaper on the other team?!” Tomura is near to throwing his remote down at the ground, clearly getting angry that he’s keeps losing these games against you. 

After playing Mario Party, you have now switched to a game of Overwatch, as they had Toga go out to the store with Twice and steal some computers to hook up in the bar. A usual thing for them. 

It should have been the four heroes against four villains in a custom game, however some random player had entered the game on your side and ended up winning the match for you at the very end with a successful team kill.

You all shrug your shoulders, unsure of who the mysterious fifth team member is. 

Tomura thinks a little harder about the player’s username, one which had bothered him from the beginning for good readon. ‘loltomurasbad’. Who the-

“..Dabi…”

Everyone watches as Tomura disintegrates the remote in his hands to ash before standing up from the couch. He doesn’t say anything more, but it’s clear that he’s fuming. Tomura exits the room presumably to go yell at Dabi, leaving you, Nejire, Mirio, and Tamaki with the rest of the League members. It’s silent as you stare at one another, unsure of what your next move should be. That is until…

“Wanna play Super Smash Bros?” 

It continues like this for the rest of the day. Perhaps heroes and villains can get along after all?

[dadzawa-adopt-dabi]

1-35 on fanfic asks

1. From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing? (No downplaying yourself!)

2 stars maybe? Im not great and i forget a lot of things. but no one can stop me from writing and i enjoy it. the more i do it the more i may like my own writing one day

2. Why do you write fanfiction? Fanfiction is everything to me. It was a matter of time until i started writing it seriously for myself.

3. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

Literally nothing. I tend to go off with ships and specific things i want represented... but thats it. anyone can write.

4. Are there any writers that inspire you?

Always! so many! the best thing about fanfiction is how it builds upon itself and spreads!

5. What’s the fic you’re most proud of?

Im very proud of Secret Baby/ River run. Its large and a mess and i hate it. But im proud ive done it. A completed one im proud of is "Compress said its his turn on the murder screen" i think i did well with that one and kept the tone I wanted.

6. What element of writing do you find comes easily?

Arguments between characters and having them express themselves other ways.

7. What element of writing do you struggle with most?

It's the making up and posting works i struggle with. Along with editing which is another monster.

8. Which character(s) do you find easiest to write?

I do love the murder boys! Dabi, Itachi, Deidara, Naruto (should have killed everyone), Reno. If theyve got issues i love them!

9. Which character(s) do you find most difficult to write?

happy characters. I just don't know what to do with them. Like a domestic setting with no action? nope not for me!

10. What’s your favorite genre to write for?

Hurt/comfort has always been my jam!

11. Who or what do you find yourself writing about most?

im not entirely sure? I havent been really writing/posting that long.

12. Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about.

Expectations! its a collaboration i'm working on with a friend and a DabiHawks fanfiction again! It's a fic where they fall in bed together before they even like each other. A lot of assumptions are made and not a lot of talking gets done until quite a bit of Damage has been done. Hawks finds out that Dabi's been doing some things he wasnt comfy with just because he didnt know how to tell Hawks and because he was attached to him. It's messy and won't get less so.

interesting to write to say the least because im such a Zero tolerance person.

13. First fandom you ever wrote for?

Naruto lol

14. What’s your favorite fandom to write for?

part of my heart will always belong to naruto. can't leave it. But im enjoying writing for bnha immensely!

15. What’s the weirdest fandom you’ve ever written for?

Food Fantasy! a video game i did a short one shot on last october!

16. Any guilty pleasure trope(s)?

Soulmate au's! Omegaverse! I love tropes! Oh! Hanahaki!

17. A trope you’ll never, ever write for.

none.

18. Wildest fic you’ve ever written?

I wouldn't say ive done anything too wild?

19. Do you prefer canon-compliant, AUs, or something in-between?

get canon away from me! i love au's! any and all!

20. Gen fic or shippy stuff?

both!

21. Favorite pairing to write for? (platonic or romantic!)

currently its DabiHawks! i love my enemies to lovers! (everyone deserves compassion lave and basic decency)

22. Do you listen to anything while you write?

Sometimes! some fics have specific playlists!

23. Do you prefer prompts and challenges, or completely independent ideas?

All of the above! i dont know how to put wips back lol!

24. One-shots or multi-chaptered works?

I like one shots better but the amount of effort for multichapter fics is something else tbh!

25. Have you ever daydreamed about side adventures/spin-offs from your fic? Tell us about them!

Yes a few times brought on by comments! What if Hawks ran in to Dabi early on or if Dabi had stayed and talked to Hawks the last night they spent together. None of it ever really goes well? Dabi has no support besides his Significant Other in both of these and i dont like that.

26. Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try?

Nope! Ive been getting the hang of NSFW and i feel like that's one of my biggest areas to improve on!

27. What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received?

any! seriously i love comments! telling me to write more or that i forgot something was done 6 chapters ago or a string of emoji's!

28. How well do you handle criticism when it comes to your writing?

Much better than I used to!

29. Have you ever gone outside of your comfort zone for a fic? How did it turn out?

Every time i post lol. Im pretty comfortable with a variety of things! there's been times in this roleplay i participate in that i was very uncomfortable with how my character was acting but that was the entire point and it turned out well considering the outrage he kept causing!

30. Tooth-rotting fluff or merciless angst?

Best of both! ive also taken a shine to writing things that out of story context are fluff but in context are horrendous angst!

31. Do you have any OCs? Tell us about them!

Nope! I don't really do Oc's!

32. Summarize a random fic of yours in 10 words or less.

Secret Baby/ River Run- Dabi gets pregnant and runs away. Hawks is the father.

33. Is there anything you wish your audience knew about your writing or writing process?

I've had such a kind fantastic audience but i wish they would pay some more attention sometimes to why i have characters do things the way they do. Hawks leaves Dabi alone? theres a reason for that and the awnser is not to stalk him. even for Dabi's saftey.

34. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of.

Dabi dosen't meet Rumi like expected. He expected to just get taken out by her in a fight one day, if they met at all. Not him cleaning his torn staples in Hawks bathroom after he's been shoved in there, Rumi having interrupted a blowjob and Hawks had roughly shoved him in his bathroom. He couldn't hear much of the conversation going on outside. But what he could made his face burn with embarrassment as he tried to put himself together. The fact that she was also a Hero and Hawks best friend made him nervous. What a great first impression, sucking her best friends dick with a bloody face. -" NOT DATING-" Hawks voice broke through for a moment and then quieted. -"I DON'T GIVE A DAMN IF HE'S A VILLAIN KEIGO, HE WAS JUST GIVING YOU A BLOWJOB THERE IS NO ." There was a loud thump as Rumi was yelling and Dabi let himself flinch here in private. She quieted down soon after she had started yelling. Dabi sat down against the sinks cupboard and rested his head on his knees. Waiting for it to stop and Hawks to kick him out. He wouldn't actually get to meet Rumi as Keigo's, well as Keigo's anything. It was just sex between them on Hawks end anyways. There's stomping towards the door and Dabi scrambles up as he resists the urge to lock the door. To lock himself inside like a child thinking it will save him from Enjis rath. Hawks is.... he's not kind to Dabi, but he's not Enji either. The door opens and Rumi's gaze finds him as he's getting up. He ducks his head and gives a little half hearted wave, not sure what she's doing. Why she's looking at him with a gaze much softer than expected. "Hey. Sorry I walked in on you guys. I'm Rumi. Hawks best friend he's been hiding away from you." "I uh. Um. Dabi? I go by Dabi. I think it's more like I'm just his dirty little secret." He gives a small dry chuckle and a smirk, a tad on the mean side like he did with Keigo. It came out a little to real and he winced. He sounded like a whiny asshole, he thought as he kept his gaze on his bare toes digging into the tile. "Dabi, I doubt Keigo thinks of you like that." Rumi reaches her hand out and Dabi tenses in anticipation of her grabbing him. To harm him maybe? To throw him in cuffs? Out of Keigo's apartment but he has no doubt that he will be there soon enough after Rumi leaves. "Its fine. I'm just a villain he can sleep with ya know?" Rumi gets a determined look in her eye as she draws her hand back, having noticed him tense up. "I'm going to give you my number Dabi. Villains don't any resources and I don't like how Hawks treated you when I walked in. If anything happens, I want you to have a way out. I don't think you've told your friends who your sleeping with. Or you would have teleported out of here." Dabi hands his phone over still in shock to Rumi and she gently takes it. She's still super confident in person but, there's no violence or anger from her. Its... suprising.

35. Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

Dabi and Hawks can both have issues and have to put in some serious effort to not only see those issues, but work together with them. this has been a PSA.

[bestnewsmag-blog]

New Post has been published on Bestnewsmag

New Post has been published on https://bestnewsmag.com/the-joy-of-watching-sports-alone/

The Joy of Watching Sports Alone

  As a minimum in The USA, consuming sports activities is inextricably social. We’re nearly anticipated to consume sports in the presence of others, whether that’s in a bar with TVs on each wall or at a chum of a chum’s Joy region for the Exceptional Bowl. They’re a way to bring collectively disparate elements, a commonality that hundreds of thousands can agree on—despite the fact that it’s Alone regularly agreeing to disagree. And the triumph of take-pushed

  culture has verified that considering sports activities most effective matters if you can inform a person else they’re incorrect. however for a number of us, looking sports is a solitary pursuit. And at the same time as It may be anti-social, it also has its perks. On the maximum primary level, other humans are a distraction. In case you want to pay near attention to a recreation, sitting in a dark room by means of your self On the sofa is empirically the fine manner to miss nothing and absolutely lose yourself inside the motion. Solipsism is a hellish disorder, different brains can beautify your angle, and fun is commonly greater a laugh while it’s now not just you worried. but this situation isn’t as simple as regulating enter and output. These days, watching sports activities places you on the spot irrespective of who you’re around. As with every matter, everybody’s an expert, which means that that you’re expected to recognize your shit, or As a minimum now not embarrass yourself. It’s easy to end up with a case of imposter syndrome, irrespective of who you’re around. I know that I’m (rightfully) predicted to be some sort of authority At the NBA, and that frequently keeps me from being capable of kickback or relax—or even remember that I enjoy the game inside the first region. Occasionally the strain is so horrific that I want to run and cover. Shielding yourself from the outdoor international so that you can revel in video games in monastic stillness isn’t just about strict avoidance. In As a minimum one manner, it’s a heightened version of one in all fandom’s most basic truths. As a good deal as we talk in phrases of data, science, and other meant absolutes, a large a part of the fan revel in is interpretation. whilst a sport is on, we give you all sorts of yarns to make it greater exciting for us—now not as it’s boring, but due to the fact, we can. We create storylines that won’t be actual or hone in on info that doesn’t rely upon to supply color and texture. video games are not often so thrilling that you can move three hours without exercise a bit creativeness. whether or not it’s refining our mediocre takes or paying close attention to hairstyles or celebrations, we see matters that might not honestly be there but, in that moment, are especially true to us. Positive, to some degree you may do all this around other humans. however they’re a consistent reality test, or As a minimum—insofar as sports are a factor you objectively discuss with other human beings—get in the way of the full-on reverse. “I’m able to even offer shade commentary to a 5-year-vintage.” however watching on my own an excessive amount of can end up a liability. As an example, I am madly in love with someone who has never had any interest in sports activities, however, is now honestly curious about the NBA—in an element as it’s essential to me, but additionally as it’s sincerely one of the best matters ever. Once I turn on a game, she wants me to help her understand matters, even supposing most effective from my skewed angle. There couldn’t be a state of affairs in which I need extra too, um, use my powers for appropriate; there’s also 0 pressure to stay up to expectations. but After I try, I’m genuinely at a loss. I’m so used to either striking out in my own head or typing away on Twitter that speaking like a normal individual during a recreation can experience decidedly overseas. The identical thing takes place with my child, too, and the bar is even lower there. I’m able to even offer coloration observation to a five-12 months-antique. It’s almost like I’ve doomed myself to solitude, even in those moments After I’d want to discover my way again to civilization. Thank God for Twitter, which maintains me At the least marginally human. On the other hand, perhaps it’s simply heightening my isolation. Twitter is the exquisite middle floor here, the manner to acquire the advantages of accurate agency (elite, even) whilst being capable of preserving it at bay and manage your surroundings. You get the fast-fireplace commentary and scraps of information to hold things thrilling—particularly vital given how vulnerable most on-air expertise is—without the stress to reply or volley backward and forward. In case you want to have a communication, you can pick out one up at will and abandon it just as easily. We’re given thoughts you may preserve to yourself? go in advance, fire them available. Worst case, no one reads them or cares. but At the least, you’ve added them to fruition and gotten them off of your chest. In terms of the social nature of sports activities, Twitter is a classic case of half-complete, 1/2-empty. It’s better than not anything, but it additionally might be preserving us again. And there’s something appreciably 1/2-assed approximately it like sooner or later you ought to be able to take away the want for network altogether or suck it up and pass join up with a few pals. None of this is to mention that everybody must revel in sports on this manner or that those folks who do in any other case are morally superior. It’s a quite obvious blind spot, definitely. I’m Sure there are a few folks who would argue that I don’t even like sports within the first location. but At the least for me, it’s no longer how I think matters need to be—it’s a sincere assessment of what I’m able to. I realize that human beings don’t just sense obligated to devour sports inside the business enterprise of others—they sincerely enjoy it. They may be doing a higher activity than I’m. however, there has to be room for options. In the long run, sports activities aren’t a social settlement, they’re a form of amusement. Or even if there’s a proper way to do them, the ones of us who aren’t up to the assignment still deserve to have our fun.

5 Common Sports Injuries: Their Prevention and Treatment

  Sports injuries are the most common type of hurts that occur when one indulges in vigorous exercises or athletic activities. They are primarily caused due to poor methods of training, weaknesses, and abnormalities in the structural frame as well as risky workout environments. Although many of these injuries are harmless and could be treated through rest and home remedies; some of them are severe and need professional help. In the following discussion, we would explore more about the types of sports injuries and how could they be prevented as well as cured.

More about the Sports Injuries

  1. Knee injuries are the most common for sports persons. A variety of pains and aches of the kneecap could be together called runner’s knee. Individuals, who take part in activities such as, cycling, swimming, and aerobics or in sports such as, basketball, football, and volleyball primarily, suffer from these complicated issues. The athletes must change their shoes and insoles often. They should not workout on hard surfaces and take rest between the exercise sessions. Apply ice and use anti-inflammatory ointments for treating these kinds of hurts.

2. Dislocations along with sprains and strains on shoulders are common with athletes, who take part in basketball, volleyball, tennis, swimming and weightlifting. These issues occur when the rotator cuff or groups of tendons and muscles around shoulders slacken giving rise to stiffness, pain, slipping and weakness of shoulders. Strengthening the muscles in between workout sessions is necessary. The RICE (rest, ice, compression, elevation) treatment could be given at home. If this does not work, the patients should consult any of the efficient sports orthopedic specialists.5. Lack of flexibility and fatigue could lead to pulled muscles in the athletes. Hamstrings and calves are the most common type of muscle pulls. They could be extremely painful and could lead to bruising. The ideal way of preventing this condition is by stretching before exercises. RICE treatment and anti-inflammatory medicines are helpful in cases of muscle pulls. In severe cases, the patients could be taken to sports orthopedic specialists.