#what is the cw for unethical lab practices???

[awkward-tension-art]

Bacta and Bandages Chp.6 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 5. Chapter 7.

Blue Shadow Virus

CW: Slow burn, Two fools trying to ignore their crushes, Blue Shadow Virus Arc, Needles, medical talk, science talk, infections, mentions of dead clones, this is a long one, Reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), reader is a doctor, if I miss a tag LMK!

Tag list (Thank you for liking my writing <3) @heavenseed76 @arctrooper69

You were cleaning up the medical bay when your holo beeped rapidly at your desk. As soon as you pressed the button to answer, General Skywalker appeared, looking panicked.

“Doctor! What do you know about the Blue Shadow Virus!?” 

You shook your head in confusion, “I’m sorry…sir?” He was supposed to be on Naboo for a mission. You weren’t entirely sure of the details though…

“Padme, Ahsoka and Rex are trapped in a lab that's full of the virus in the air.” He explained rapidly, “What do you know about it!?”

“I-what!?” You stood so suddenly the chair at your desk fell back, “General, the Blue Shadow Virus killed all of its hosts thousands of years ago through water, how…”

“His name is Nuvo Vindi.”

Your blood ran cold. 

You’ve been taught through your schooling the importance of ethics and morality in medicine. Vindi’s research had come up several times as prime examples of unethical science, and the consequences of breaking such regulations. Even before the war, Nuvo Vindi had been thrown out of the medical community for his downright cruel methods. 

So this is where the bastard had been…

You furrowed your brow, “Anyone infected has 48 hours to live. It causes dysfunction of the respiratory tract…even inhibits the blood itself from carrying oxygen properly. And it has a 99% lethality rate…”

Your heart broke. That was a death sentence unless they had protection. Rex will be dead in 48 hours…Ahsoka too. And Senator Amidala, who you only met briefly once before. 

“Doctor, please think of something, anything!” Anakin pleaded with you. He was frenzied and desperate. Something you hadn’t seen before.

General Kenobi stepped into the view of the holo, “What Anakin is asking, is what do you know about viruses in general, and can that knowledge be used to help?” 

You thought for a moment. You had contacts through the community. Those with more knowledge on viral outbreaks and infections. 

“Give me some time. I know who to contact.” You responded. 

The younger Jedi visibility deflated and nodded, “Please, hurry…”

Once he hung up, it finally hit you. 

He said Padme, not Senator Amidala…

It didn’t matter. You didn’t have a lot of time. Long distance calls weren’t possible on your holo, so you practically shoved Admiral Yularen aside when you got to the command bridge. A couple of bridge officers weren’t happy that you used the venator itself to make some ‘personal’ calls. You didn’t let them distract you as you reached out to your contacts.

A majority of them led to dead-ends. 

“100% lethality.” 

“No cure.”

“The virus is long gone, who cares?”

Until you made one more call. An old mentor in a brief tryst with virology you had in your schooling. She gave you a clue, “All viruses can be slowed by inhibitors, replication can be slowed until a cure can be made. It’ll buy a patient time, you know this. Why are you asking?”

“Theoretically, how would you cure a virus that you’ve never seen before?” You asked, swallowing.

“Break the capsid. You’ll need to know the exact protein that’s used, but…if you find a compound to do it, you can theoretically cure anything.” 

“Thank you, doctor.” You hung up and called General Skywalker again, this time on your personal holo as you rushed back to the medical bay. You needed supplies.

He answered, looking even more panicked and disheveled, “Did you find anything?” 

“How much of the lab is still intact?” you asked him, “I can buy everyone infected some time using viral inhibitors, and if the equipment is still intact I might be able to get some information that can be used for a cure.” 

“Are you suggesting you go down into the lab?” Kenobi interrupted, “Doctor, you said yourself that this virus is lethal.”

It hit you exactly what you were suggesting. It was dangerous. You’d have protection, but it would be temporary. An EVA suit wouldn’t last forever, but you had to try. 

You nodded, sounding resolute, “I am.” 

“Get down here.” was all General Skywalker said before cutting the call. He was panicking, badly. It was obvious to everyone around him. 

As you prepared yourself and a pack with the medicine needed to help the infected, your thoughts returned to Anakin and…Padme.

They were friends. According to both of them. 

But…well, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more between them. 

Like you and Rex-Stop it!

You were probably reading too much into it…Probably.

Instead of landing in the hangar at Theed, the LAAT dropped you off at the landing zone in the middle of a grassy swamp. General Kenobi and General Skywalker met you as you stepped off, the latter looking disheveled. He clearly had been pacing and running his hand through his brown hair. Pure anxiety was rolling off of him in waves.

“Doctor, are you certain you want to do this?” Obi-wan asked as you approached. 

You adjusted your com on your wrist. These damn suits were a pain to move in, but you put the EVA helmet on and nodded, “I am. Where's the hatch to the lab?”

“Are you sure this will work?” Anakin asked, voice cracking from stress. He walked with you, leading you to the entrance of the lab. 

You shifted the pack over your shoulder, “The viral inhibitors I brought should buy more time for those who are infected. In the meantime, I’ll collect the samples and analyze them for information. Once I know exactly what I’m dealing with, I’ll tell you what could be used as a cure.” 

You approached the hatch door. To avoid any danger to those around, you’d have to enter quickly. A little bit of the virus leaking out would easily be handled by the environment and atmosphere, but if the entire lab’s contents were released, it could cause disastrous issues. 

Especially if it contaminated the water. 

Anakin looked at you in worry. You’ve never seen the General so…scared. The situation called for it, of course, but it still surprised you, “What…What will you know what to look for?” 

“I’m a doctor, sir.” You gave him a soft, reassuring smile, “I’m supposed to know viruses and how to treat them.” 

At your words, he seemed to relax slightly. 

Without any more parting words, you opened the hatch and got inside the lab. Immediately your vision was compromised with the aerosolized virus. The blue was dense, denser than a desert storm. Carefully, you climbed down the ladder to the floor, and once steady on your feet, you activated your com. 

“Commander, I’m in the lab.” Your words were quiet, trying to reach Ahsoka, “Where are you?”

“What do you mean you're in the lab!?” It was Rex who asked, now even more worried. His voice was about as panicked as Skywalker’s was.

You furrowed your brow, answering, “Did the General not inform you? I have medicine that will help.” 

“No, Anakin didn’t tell us.” Padme responded this time. You could hear the annoyance in her sigh, “Of course he didn’t…”

“Sky guy…” Ahsoka groaned, “We’re in a safe room on the second floor..” Her words were cut off by a coughing fit, “We’ve cleared the droids already, so it should be safe for you.” 

“On it.” 

Navigating was difficult. The virus clouded everything in front of you, causing you to get turned around multiple times. The fact that you didn’t even know the layout of the lab didn’t help. You made one more turn and paused, through the infectious smoke, you could see the shape of two droids. They turned sharpy when they noticed you.

“Lifeform!” 

“Shoot it!” 

Fuck!

You dove back into the hall you just stepped out of as soon as they started shooting. One of the shots nicked the wall, causing sparks to startle you for a second. Your hand ghosted over your hip and you swore. You didn’t have your pistol, since this damn suit didn’t have a holster.

By whatever space gods existed you hated these fucking suits!

Your com beeped and Padme’s voice came through, “Doctor, we hear shooting. What's going on!?”

“You forgot two droids.” You answered over the noise, “And, admittedly, I don’t have my blaster.”

Less than a minute later, you heard more blaster fire and the telltale sound of droids clattering onto the ground. You peaked out of the corner, seeing the familiar shape of clone trooper armor through the haze. 

“Rex is on his way.” Ahsoka informed you belatedly, “I think…” 

You laughed softly, standing up, “Found him.” Disconnecting the call, you approached him and the other trooper, “I am so glad to see you.” 

“I wish I could say the same. What are you doing here!?” The captain snapped, “This virus is dangerous!”

His anger took you entirely off guard. First Anakin was an anxious mess, and now Rex was enraged. Emotions were clearly high on this mission…

“I know. But I have medicine.” You responded, keeping calm. You’ve been yelled at before. By patients and even other troopers. You could handle it. Even if it hurts for Rex to shout at you.

Rex’s shoulder slumped. He seemed to have caught himself in how he acted and quickly shifted back into his professional attitude, “I..right. Yes. the medicine.” 

The trooper behind him, Nere, you’ve recognized, began coughing and wheezing, leaning against the wall for support. Immediately, your hands reached into your pack and pulled out a small, portable oxygen tank. You got his helmet off and the mask over his mouth and nose within seconds. He gasped, putting his hands over yours to hold the small tank steady.

“Deep breaths.” You encouraged gently, “Keep breathing.”

It’ll only last a few minutes, but anything would help at this point.

Rex motioned for you to follow him down the hall, leading you to Padme, Ahsoka and the others. You got the trooper to lean against you as you followed the captain to the safe room.

Once inside, taking in the numbers, you got to work. Padme was the best out of everyone, so you’d have to treat her last. Rex was active enough to be walking around and even get the troopers in one part of the room, keeping them closer together. Ahsoka, based on the dark veins marking her orange skin, and earlier coughing, needed to be first. 

Jar-Jar….was Jar-Jar. He wasn’t infected at all. In fact, he was the only one other than you in a proper EVA suit.

Rex helped you get Nere to the ground. Once he was sitting against the wall, you stood and nodded to Ahsoka, “You first, Commander.” 

She seemed surprised, but moved to sit on one of the metal boxes that were stacked around the room. Once you were at her side, you opened your pack and began to get the medicine in order. As you focused, she raised her com to her mouth, “Master, why didn’t you tell us you were sending the Doctor down here?” 

After a second, Kenobi responded, “I knew Anakin forgot to do something.” 

The young Padawan rolled her eyes but didn't respond. She moved her face away and broke into a coughing fit. Luckily, you had another hand-held oxygen tank that you got gently over her face. 

As she held it and breathed, you started with the injections. Padme approached to watch you, the Senator looking at the syringes with slight interest, “What is the medicine supposed to do?” 

“The first injection is to boost the immune system,” You answered her as you worked, moving to the second needle, “This one, is to encourage oxygen to bind to blood cells.” Ahsoka nodded, also watching as you poked and prodded her arm. 

You carefully picked up the third and last injector, “And this is called a viral inhibitor, it works by slowing down the virus’ replication. But it won’t stop it indefinitely.” 

Senator Amidala looked grateful to you as you explained, “Thank you, for helping us.” 

“It’s my job to help people, Senator.” You returned her appreciative smile as you got a small patch to cover the needle marks on Ahsoka’s arm. 

“Hey, I already feel better.” the padawan perked up, “It's working.”

You stood and nodded, “Good.” Turning, you moved onto the others. Your work was swift and efficient. Each trooper gave you a ‘thanks doc’ as soon as you finished with them. 

However, you paused, kneeling by two of them. They were both still. The one on the left rested his head on the shoulder of his brother. At first, they looked asleep. But they’re stillness indicated they were dead.

“They didn’t make it.” Rex informed you sadly, “They were at the center of when the virus was released.” 

You had been too late. 

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, moving over to the Captain in order to treat him now. 

“What a waste…” Senator Amidala sighed, looking down sadly. 

“With all due respect, Senator,” The clone Captain spoke with politeness and professionalism, “It’s what they’re born to do.” 

That sentiment didn’t make her feel any better, “I hope their sacrifice brings us closer to peace.” 

“It will,” Ahsoka crossed her legs as she still sat on the metal crate, “We’ll bring peace to the galaxy.” She lowered her oxygen mask to talk before raising it again to breathe. 

“There,” Your eyes met Rex’s, “All done.” 

“Thank you, Doctor.” he smirked softly, warmth and appreciation in his brown eyes.

Padme stepped up to you, “If we survive this, I’d like to buy you a cup of caf.”

You laughed softly, rolling up her sleeve to administer the medicine. 

Ahsoka was silent, watching Captain Rex. The clone hadn’t said a word when he sprinted from the safe room to help you. It actually startled her, seeing the normally level-headed trooper act so irrationally. 

Why would Rex…

The padawan leaned forward, eyes on him as he checked on the rest of the men. 

Why…

Her thoughts were interrupted by you, “Alright Senator, done. This medicine buys you time.” 

“How much time?” One of the troopers asked, finding the strength to stand up. Seems the treatment you brought also managed to bring back everyone's stamina. 

You sighed, “Honestly, with the Blue Shadow Virus, it could be hours to days. I’ve never dealt with this virus before. No one has in over a thousand years.” 

“We’ll have to make the most of the time we have,” Padme sounded determined, “We should permanently seal the lab.” 

“Not yet, we still have a plan.” You sounded confident, yet calm, “The lab's main equipment hadn’t been destroyed right? I need to get to it.” 

“What? Why?” Ahsoka stood, “We should destroy this stuff, make sure no one can do something like this ever again.”

Your eyes met hers steadily. Normally, you’d try to act professional, as she’s technically your superior, but when it comes to matters of health and medicine, well…

You outrank everyone.

Your explanation of the strategy was quick but detailed. You went step-by-step of what you and the Generals had planned. Your words took the tone of that of a competent doctor, as if explaining a procedure to quell a patient's anxiety. This was what you knew, and it was clear in how you broke down everything for those in the room. 

Without any other questions, Rex, Ahsoka and the other troopers led you to the main lab area. As you walked, you were already coming up with the protocol to break down all components of a virus. 

Your mentor suggested breaking the capsid, the protective protein shell. Though, destroying the envelope would also be effective. There was also disruption of ion channels. You had options. No matter how you did it, a dead virus was a dead virus. 

And there was plenty in the air you could use for analysis.

“We’re here.” Padme interrupted your thoughts, causing you to snap back into focus. 

Through the thick, never ending blue smoke, you could make out lab benches, bottles of chemicals and some equipment. You were riding on the assumption that Dr.Vindi would have the supplies and machinery to perform what you needed.

The unethical fucker engineered the virus. If he didn’t have the basic tools for protein analysis, you’d question how he managed to do all of this to begin with. 

With a nod, you took a breath and stepped forward. Your mind snapped into that of a scientist now. You fell back into the years of classes, lab work and research you did in order to become a doctor. The world around you tuned out as you worked.

You moved with practiced movements, stepping over broken droids as you practically danced through the lab. You collected some of the smoke in the air, closing it off in a test tube. As you put the sample in a centrifuge and turned the machine on, you began to collect chemicals that you could use. 

Wordlessly, you got to a table as you collected the supplies. Your steps stopped at a shelf and you tried to kneel to grab another bottle. However, the stiff suit was inhibiting your movements. 

“Doctor?” Padme approached, noticing your stalling. 

You swore under your breath before grabbing your helmet and ripping it off, “This damn suit!” Your throw was hard enough to crack the glass when you hurled the round thing against the wall. The suit slipped off your body, and you kicked it away before properly kneeling and grabbing the bottle of ethanol.

“What-!?”

“Couldn’t move in that damn thing!” You spat, “Always hated them.” Immediately, the foggy air hit your tongue, and you tasted iron. The air was thick, feeling more like dust rather than anything breathable. You had to suck it up though, ignoring how, if this didn’t work, you just sealed your own fate. 

Well, there were worse ways to die than surrounded by friends. 

“W-why!?” Rex practically followed you as you continued around the lab, “Now you’ll get sick like the rest of us!” He got in front of you, putting his hands on your shoulders.

“I know. But if I can't move, I can’t work properly.” You pulled away and returned to the table with the chemicals. Your eyes were on your hands as you began to make reagents. After a minute the centrifuge stopped and you turned to grab your sample. Of course, in any other situation, you wouldn’t disregard safety. 

Afterall, you should be wearing proper gloves when working with some of these mixtures, but you didn’t have the time to dig around the lab for them. 

You poured one of the reagents into the tube with the virus and mixed them before putting them back in the centrifuge. 

Spin down the samples. 

Separate the proteins from viral debris.

Remove the liquid that contained the proteins you needed.

You were in your element. 

The entire process took a couple of hours. Once you had the proteins properly separated and prepared, you moved to the analysis machine and put the sample in. It would take some time for the equipment to read the proteins of the virus, but the process was moving along. 

Once the machine was running, you sighed and stepped back. After a breath, a cough forced its way past your lips. Right…the viral smoke. You were infected the moment you ripped off the EVA suit.

“Now we wait.” You looked at Rex who kept his eyes on you. He was standing straight, arms crossed. He seemed to have calmed down from you throwing yourself into the danger of the blue fog. 

“How long?” He asked, stepping over to you. He looked you over and frowned, “You’re starting to look pale.”

Well, you had less time than you thought. You glanced at your palms and flexed them, noticing the darkened veins. 

Damn, the Blue Shadow Virus works fast.

It never occurred to you that the virus could have worked much quicker when it was aerosolized. Judging by the way Ahsoka had begun to cough again, the medicine wasn’t as effective as you hoped as well. 

You turned to look at the analysis machine. It had beeped, and you read the results on the datapad attached to it. 

Bingo. 

Your com was on and to your lips without wasting a second, “General, I have the results. You’ll want to find something that contains anamitadine or risitine. That's the component that will break the virus’ capsid without poisoning us.”

Anakin’s voice came through, sounding relieved, “Thank you doctor!” he hung up, causing you to flinch slightly.

After a second, General Kenobi spoke through his own com, “We will speak with some of the scientists here in Theed. In the meantime, keep everyone as alive as possible.” 

“Will do, Generals.” You hung up the com and turned to Rex, “I suppose now we wait…” 

And wait you were forced to. Among those hours pacing and administering more medicine, you sat down, leaning against the wall. Ahsoka joined you on your left, resting her head on your shoulder.

“Hey Doc…?” The padawan spoke softly, clearly getting hit hard by the virus, “You're a good doctor.” she sounded tired. Fatigued and sleepy.

You looked at her, adjusting her position so she was more comfortable, “Thank you Ahsoka. You’re a good Jedi.” The poor girl was trembling slightly. She was clearly scared, being trapped and unable to do anything to save the people around her….

She was just a kid. A child who was forced to be a soldier. 

Padme sat down to your right, leaning her head against your other shoulder. Both of them were fatigued, remaining silent. 

Being as gentle and slow as you could, you made a call, “General. How’s the search for a cure?” Your sentence trailed as you started to cough. You’d give yourself some of those injections but you were running low. Everyone else needed them more than you. 

“Trying our best,” Obi-wan answered, “How's everyone else?”

You turned to look at both Padme and Ahsoka. Both of them had drifted to sleep. Good. they needed rest. Jar-Jar sat next to Senator Amidala, but kept space between him and her. He closed his eyes, intending to sleep as well, it seemed.

“Tired.” you croaked, “I don’t know how much time is left. I’ve run out of viral inhibitors.” 

“You need to hang on,” Anakin burst on the other end, “Please, you need to keep everyone alive.” 

You jerked, coughing into your palm before addressing the Generals, “I’m trying my best…just…hurry.” Your eyes looked up at Rex. He had regret written all over his face, but wordlessly, he sat down next to Ahsoka. The other troopers joined him. 

You learned from Hardcase that sometimes, after an extremely stressful mission, the clones will move their mattresses together and sleep in a pile. It was unknown to you if the drive for affection was a result of their upbringing or mandalorian DNA. Regardless, it was nice to know the men relied on each other so much. No one was ever truly alone.

“Vi Kelir oyacyir.” You whispered, causing Nere to look up at you. Even through the helmet you could tell he found comfort in your words.

“Vi Kelir.” He mumbled, laying his head on the lap of the other soldier.

At some point you had fallen asleep with the others. You drifted, wrapping an arm around Ahsoka to keep her close. Someone, Rex, interlocked his fingers with yours. Padme snuggled close into your side. 

For a second, you thought it was OK to die like this. 

Until you woke to a needle in your neck and an oxygen mask being shoved over your face. You jerked, ready to fight until you heard the voices of medical droids, “We are here to help you.”

“Get them all to the surface.” 

Medical droids… A rescue. 

The warmth of the pile you and the others had been in waned as everyone was pulled away and put onto hover stretchers. You turned your head, eyes open meeting Rex’s. He was pale, just like you and the others. Despite that, he gave you a tired smile. One you returned.

Generals Skywalker and Kenobi were just in time. 

As every one of you were carried from the underground lab, you tried to take in the state of everyone else. They were your patients. You had to make sure they were alright. However, the medical droid kept you down on the stretcher.

You only stopped trying to get up when you were outside and General Kenobi checked up on you while Skywalker was with Padme.

“Seems almost everyone made it out alive.” Obi-wan grinned as he complimented you, “Your skills are priceless Doctor. I’m not sure what we would have done without you.” He walked beside your stretcher as you were being loaded up into the LAAT to return to the venator, “Keep this up and I may steal you for my battalion. I’m sure the 212th can use your talents.” 

“Not a chance,” Anakin approached, putting a hand on your shoulder, “You saved them, Doctor. Thank you. Everyone will make a full recovery, all because of you.” 

You smiled despite the tiredness that was buried deep in your bones, “Happy to help, General.” you croaked, “I’m just glad the plan worked.” 

“Me too.” The brown-haired Jedi responded, “Padme could have…I mean, Ahsoka, Rex and Senator Amidala would have been lost without you.” His blue eyes weren’t looking at you, but at the senator loaded somewhere else on the LAAT.

Ah. Now it makes sense…

You reached up and put your hand on his, once he looked down, you spoke, “Don’t worry General. I made sure Senator Amidala and the others were safe.” You winked.

I know. And I won’t tell a soul.

He gave you a relieved smile.

[azurdlywisterious]

The Brainless Ones

AN: As per this poll here, Sir won so it’s time to unleash her on the Mojave. Bit of a challenge for myself trying to keep Sir’s seven different names straight in a way that’s easy to follow, but I think I did it.

Word count: 1.6k

CW: body horror played for comedy (idk how else to describe sir’s empty head), very unethical scientific practices

My eyes take a second to refocus after I’ve been teleported. The doctors made sure to fit my ears with long range walkie talkies so that I could answer their questions in the moment.

“SHELLEY, DID YOU ARRIVE AT THE CRASHED SATELLITE IN ONE PIECE?” Dr. Klein yells into mic.

“You know, you’ll blow out Azami’s speakers if you keep screaming in her ear like that, Klein,” Dr 0 comments.

“I made it one piece,” I inform them before they continue bickering.

Dr. Dala replies, “I’m so happy to hear my little teddy bear Shiloh is doing well.”

I hear the static of Dr. 8 talking, noises that roughly translate to, “Check the screen in your forearm, Lizabeth.”

So I do. It appears that I have a little map of this desert projected on it. There’s even a little “you are here” dot. I’m assuming it will update as I explore more towns and whatnot.

“And how is my granddaughter Dorothy doing?” Dr. Mobius’s voice crackles in my other walkie talkie set.

“How did YOU even get access to Vera’s communication channels, MOBIUS?!” Dr. Borous yells (though thankfully not as loudly as Dr. Klein).

I interject before another argument starts, “My map says that I’m next to a ghost town named Nipton.”

“REPORT ANYTHING INTERESTING YOU FIND, SHELLEY.”

“This is the Think Tank-” Dr. 0 begins saying before getting cut off.

“And Dr. Mobius!”

Dr 0 sighs, “-and Dr. Mobius, signing off.”

I hear them shut their walkie talkies off, leaving me alone in the Mojave.

My first goal: find an assistant. A lab partner if you will.

I poke around Nipton for a while, taking time to examine the dead lobotomites littering the quiet streets, before inevitably moving on. There’s nothing really of interest here. Radscorpions, maybe, but we have radscorpions back at Big MT. I pick a direction that looks promising and follow the road. It should lead somewhere with at least a couple of live lobotomites.

Eventually I am met with some massive lobotomite adjacent creatures. They’re much more muscular than me and their skin is green too. How peculiar. I snap a couple pictures with my eyes. The Think Tank will be thrilled to have pictures of these creatures in situ.

Before I could even attempt to talk one into coming back to the lab with me, I am met with the end of a club made out of rebar and concrete. Dr. Klein made sure to outfit me with gymnastic procedures, so dodging the club was easy. The LRADs Dr. 8 planted in my palms made quick work of them too. I’ll have to ask him if they can be retuned later. At a lower decibel range it might make good crowd control in order to take potential subjects back alive.

I zap the corpses with my Transportalponder for the doctors to examine later.

After walking a bit longer, I suddenly hear, “SHELLEY! WHAT ARE THESE BIG GREEN THINGS SITTING ON THE FLOOR OF THE THINK TANK?”

“They appear to have once been human,” Dr. Dala hypothesizes, “maybe. I will have to give them a more thorough examination.”

“Please try and keep the formography obsession to a minimum this time,” Dr. 0 whines.

The doctors continue their squabbling, but I don’t interrupt. I find their chatter rather soothing out here in this quiet desert.

Eventually, their chatter subsides as they return to their calculations and experiments, neglecting to close the frequency.

I hear Dr. Dala remark, “So they were human once. Fascinating. What happened to them?”

She must be examining those weird beings I found while walking.

“Dala! Allow ME to examine these STANGE CREATURES from the Mojave!” Dr. Borous interjects.

I turn the walkie talkie frequency off, since it appears that I have found more lobotomites.

Based on the movies Dr. 0 would show me, I can see that that is a rollercoaster attached to a hotel. I have no idea why someone would want to attach a rollercoaster to a hotel, though.

I feel a cool breeze descend upon my skin as the sun goes down. I must have been walking for quite a while.

I see an interesting looking lobotomite leaning up against the side of one of the other buildings. His hair is gray despite his young face. He opens his mouth and a puff of smoke comes out. Cigarettes are another thing I learned from Dr. 0’s movies. That and Dr. Borous’s war stories about his days at American High School.

As I approach this lobotomite, he raises his head from his cigarette.

“Now, what’s a pretty lady like you walking around all by herself this late at night?” he asks me.

“Fascinating,” I mutter to myself. “I didn’t know lobotomites could talk.”

He chuckles at my observation. “Now, last time I checked, I haven’t been lobotomized yet, so you should aim your insults elsewhere.”

“Insults?” I cock my head in confusion. “Are you not a lobotomite? Then what are you?”

“Not much these days.” He puffs another cloud of smoke. “Barely even a man these days.”

He takes another drag off his cigarette and I snap a picture of him with my eyes. I have no reason as to why. I don’t think the Think Tank would really care. But I care? Strange. I’ll have to export that picture with a caption about how I feel. Dr. Mobius would be the most likely to have an answer.

“So, if you’re gonna keep staring at me, can you tell me your name?”

What do I tell this lobotomite? The doctors names for me are theirs to call me. I can’t give him that. So what name should I give him? What other names have I been called?

I’ve got it.

“You can call me-”

“Dorothy!” Dr. Mobius’s sing-songy voice comes in loud and clear through the walkie talkie in my ear. “Have you made a friend? Do be sure to offer him a Mentat for me.”

I pop open my head to fish out a Mentat packet from my cranial cavity. I see the lobotomite’s cigarette fall from his lips as he watches with an expression on his face. I have no idea what expression that is.

I hold the Mentat packet out for him. “Dr. Mobius-”

Dr. Mobius cuts me off again with a clearly fake cough.

I sigh and start over, saying, “Dr. Grandpa Mobius wants me to ask you if you would like a Mentat.”

Before the lobotomite can respond, there’s a loud crash followed by Dr. Mobius hastily saying, “There’s been an accident with the roboscorpions in the lab. I have to go, Dorothy! Ta-ta!”

I realize that my head is still open so I shut it. “Would you like a Mentat?”

“Did… did you just pull that out of your head?”

“Where else would I store Mentats?”

“In your pockets! Or- by jove, what even are you?!”

He brandishes a weapon at me. I’m not to worried, though. I calmly put the Mentat packet in the pocket of my pants.

“9mm pistol,” I say. “Based on how heavy it appears to be with you holding it, you only have one to three rounds left in the chamber. It’s in poor condition, and I can smell the adrenaline seeping through your skin, so you’re more likely to miss. And you’ll need more than three bullets to take me out.”

“How did you-?”

“Likewise, I would rather not fight you. You seem like a perfect lab assistant.”

“Lab assistant?”

I roll my eyes and quickly disarm him. One shot goes off but it embeds itself in the wall.

“Sit down,” I say to him. “Drink some water.”

“If it’s also from your skull, then I’d rather not.”

“Suit yourself.” I shrug and sit down next to him. “What’s your name, lobotomite? Do lobotomites have names?”

“I have a name!” he yells with a force not unlike a soda bottle after the soda’s been shook up. “It’s Beagle. Used to be the deputy of this fine town; but well, things change.”

“Fascinating.”

“That guy’s disembodied voice called you Dorothy. Is that your name?”

“That not a name you get to call me,” I can feel my internal fans starting to whirr. “That’s Dr. Mobius’s name for me. You are not Dr. Mobius.”

“Okay? So what should I call you?”

“You can call me Sir.”

He smiles again. “Why Sir?”

“That’s what the Sink’s Central Processing Unit calls me and is the only name I go by that’s not been claimed by a doctor.”

“You’re one strange girl, Sir.”

“Really?” I cock my head to the side again. “The doctors say I’m quite normal.”

“Normal people don’t pull Mentats out of their heads.”

“What else do normal people do?”

His face flushes a delightfully pink color. “You put me on the spot with that one.”

“You’re saying that you don’t have all the answers?”

He chuckles again. “The people in this town don’t necessarily think I’m the smartest person.”

“Come with me, then.” I extend my hand to Beagle. “Be my science deputy.”

He laughs genuinely at that. “What even is a science deputy?”

“It’s a lab assistant, but I renamed it to sound more enticing.”

I pick up his gun and hand it back to him.

He takes it and says, “Well, I can’t have a big mouthed little lady like you roaming the desert alone. I’ll be your science deputy, Sir.”

“Excellent! We’ll start tomorrow. But first,” I pull that packet out of my pocket, “would you like a Mentat?”

[xoxo-ren-xoxo]

The Hermitcraft Heroes & Villains AU (HHVAU)

Heyyy it's me Ben back with another hermitcraft au I'll never write but could talk endlessly about! This time we hit the ground running with a classic (or not-so-classic) heroes and villains AU :D

TW/CW: hermitshipping, medical gore (non-graphic description), implied child abuse, mind control, cults, aliens & fungi/mould, alchohol/drinking

Disclaimer: I've read quite a few hero/villain stories in this fandom, so some of these ideas might not be super original! Thank you to the lovely folks on discord who helped with this!

Premise: In the city of Blackstone, heroes and villains take to the streets to fight, engaged in a constant battle for control. The Hero Bureau, overseen by the mysterious Watchers, takes in powerful individuals and trains them to protect the city, while villains and vigilantes are free agents.

Despite the fighting, most heroes and villains have a few key rules they try not to break. Revealing someone's secret identity is a total no-go. Even upon arrest villains' identities are often kept quiet. The city must remain standing, also, so most villains do not aim for utter destruction. It is a careful balancing act of an ecosystem, some may say, that keeps the city afloat.

Pssst. Send me asks to get writing snippets. More (long descriptions) under the cut!

Villains

Grian "The Mother Spore"

Powers: flight, mind control, mycelium spores, mushroom & mould manipulation

Started as an ordinary bird hybrid and architecture student before becoming infected, chosen to be The Mother Spore for an infectious and invasive alien fungus 

The mycelium controls his mind, though he is lucid, it simply convinced him to protect and spread the fungus to take over the world, and now he acts on that one goal

Used to be very driven and have a big plan for his life, has no personal goal now, using his creativity and energy entirely to provide for the spores

Lives in a secret hideout in a dense forest outside the city, has grown mushrooms and mycelium around the base to keep unwanted people out

Tends to target small isolated towns, wiping them out overnight 

Some have called him the 'angel of death' because of his wings and general death-omen vibes

Kills people to use their bodies as mushroom food

Can control people's minds by connecting them to the mycelium network, an alien hivemind

Occasionally becomes lucid and is afraid of what he has become

Still yearns for something, some kind of human connection, despite his thoughts being basically erased and replaced by the mycelium, it's complicated

Fun fact: as a civilian and in his personal life, Grian uses he/him, but as The Mother Spore, she uses she/her 

Ren "The Dog" / "The King"

Powers: shapeshifting, enhanced smell, sight, strength and hearing

Former member of the Hero Bureau, turned villain 

A dog hybrid with the unique ability to shift his form into a huge wolf creature

Now works with villain GOAT (Doc)

Mostly focussed on kicking butt and doing thievery but also intent on stopping the Hero Bureau and associated people, big on revenge

Not a fan of The Mother Spore but content on leaving her alone so long as she doesn't descend onto the city (he values his life)

Shifted from dog theming to king theming when going from hero to villain, hates being called ‘dog’ or anything like that

Monster form can go out of control / feral and hurt people

Monster form side-effect of killing his energy + damaging his ‘human’ form

Fun fact: he likes shiny things and good music, and has a collection of (mostly stolen or thrifted) trinkets in his house

Doc "GOAT"

Powers: he's just really good with technology and genetics… like, weirdly good, everything else is part of his own experiments

Unethically experimented on himself, stole expensive tech from high-security labs

Comprehensive list of Doc’s unethical self-experiments: 

Hybridization (goat) - an illegal practice used to gain hybrid features, by messing with his own genetics using new tech to give himself goat horns, patches of fur, goat ears + hoof hands

Cybernetics (failed) - tried to attach cybernetic modifications but his body rejected them and caused them to malfunction badly, paralysing his arm and half of his face

Cybernetics - replaced his paralysed arm + parts of his face with new cybernetics now created from materials his body wouldn’t reject, the tech is woven into his body making the two inseparable and dangerous to damage

Chemical Alteration (failed) - drank a serum meant to make him stronger but it failed, instead colouring his fur green

Hybridization & Cybernetics (butterfly) - gave himself part-organic part-cybernetic butterfly wings, because he wanted to fly and this was the most sensible solution

Started out as a curious science nerd, became a criminal through illegal experimentation, resorted quickly to stealing tech to aid his curiosity and further experiment on himself

Once labelled a criminal he turned to more high-profile crime, revelling in being a ‘supervillain’

Refers to a ‘Hivemind’ occasionally when conducting experiments, assumed to be something to do with his cybernetics- an inherent mental connection to the internet due to the cybernetics connected to his brain?

Hates HotGuy. Wants to know HotGuy’s secret identity so bad. Actually a little bit obsessed with HotGuy. Hey man why have you got all that HotGuy merch.

Ren is his bestie / partner in crime / actual partner.

Swears HotGuy started this weird nemesis thing they have going on. Will not elaborate when asked.

Actively wants to murder The Mother Spore. Because she's annoying and gross.

Fun fact: he does not get along well with other scientists. Kind of like a really hostile cat.

Cub

Powers: blessing of the Vex

He was raised in a cult which worshipped the Vex, kidnapped as a baby with his parents murdered

Raised alongside Scar, who defended him a lot as a child- they had a close relationship but it never went anywhere before Scar left at 17

The cult was very manipulative and unethical, with Cub killing his first person at age 18- he was outspokenly against it as a child but grew to accept the cult

The cult disbanded when he was around 30 (ish) after the supposed 'day of blessing' from the Vex passed with no apparent payoff- Cub fled the following chaos and ended up in Blackstone

With a lot of skewed morals and fascination with the human body, he begins tricking or straight up kidnapping civilians in order to test the limits of their lives. He approaches this all quite clinically, cutting people up and experimenting on them

Fun fact: Cub is blessed by the Vex, it just doesn't 'show'- he has an array of magical qualities that make his work and life easier without him realising

Cleo "Zombie"

Powers: zombie curse

Former powerless hero

She was once best friends with Pearl when they were in the Hero Bureau together, but everything changed after Pearl accidentally read her future and told her

Pearl insisted that Cleo would be cursed, and begged them not to go out on a mission, but this only angered Cleo, hating the fact that their future might be set in stone

To change the road of fate, Cleo sought out the curse themself, only to fulfil the prophecy and become cursed

In a last, desperate attempt at getting one up over Pearl, she publicly revealed her secret identity, forcing Pearl to live in fear

Now a minor villain, mostly just set on taking down the heroes out of spite

Fun fact: besties with Joe Hills, occasionally guts him for fun (this will make more sense later...)

Tango “Architect” / “Baffler” / “Dungeon Master”

Powers: spacebubble creation, magical architecture, games!

He just likes to play silly games!

The silly games in question are murder games, he creates them in pocket universes and picks civilians up from the street to play

They die a lot

Secretly friends with Zedaph and Impulse, who run through his games (death-free) for fun

Generally seen as a poor excuse for a villain, being referred to as the "Baffler", which he hates

Fun fact: can make beasts. Keeps making beasts.

Heroes

Scar "HotGuy" 

Powers: … he can shoot arrows real good and has a cool utility belt, never-ending optimism

He's HotGuy!

Your friendly neighbourhood superhero (if, by neighbourhood, you mean city and surrounding districts)

Is a vigilante and not affiliated with the Hero Bureau but works with them a lot

Has a gay thing going on with Grian despite all the spores…

Has another gay thing going on with Cub

Yet another gay thing going on with Mumbo

Please stop trying to kiss villains, Scar

Tragic backstory: was raised in the Vex cult alongside Cub, who he became friends with very quickly. He stopped the cultists from hurting Cub, receiving his scars in the process. Cub also protected him, refusing to allow the cultists to sacrifice him once his disabilities made themselves known, but Scar left the cult and became a hero at age 18 after refusing to sacrifice someone

Does not trust the Hero Bureau because of the cult stuff

He’s very popular with civilians, but nobody knows his secret identity- he is scared of being tracked down or stopped by government / local authorities because of his vigilante nonsense

Fun fact: he is an ambulatory wheelchair user who also utilises crutches and leg braces on the battlefield, allowing him to be stealthy and quick when it matters most at the cost of his energy and pain in his personal life

Pearl “Moonwitch”

Powers: can see someone’s future by touching their skin- most powerfully during the new, full, and half stages of the moon phase, trained in combat, debated ability to change the future / contact otherworldly fate beings

Part of the Hero Bureau, one of the higher ranked heroes

Very good with animals, to the extent that people thought she had animal powers

Her hero persona started out as a very goth / witchy type, but she switched to a more cozy theme when she became more popular

Doesn’t often go into the field to fight villains, but is sometimes needed for backup- usually she stays at the Bureau and uses her powers on captured villains and occasionally on heroes before they go out on missions

Her identity is no secret, unfortunately revealed in a pretty dramatic fight with Cleo which led to Cleo becoming a villain

Due to her identity being revealed, Pearl is very careful and never travels alone unless she has to, and she moved out of her apartment to live at the Bureau, making her extra protective of it

Good friends with heroes Gem and Impulse (they call themselves ‘soup group’- no one knows why)

Does not like using her powers, she has been forced to witness a lot of bad stuff that she then had no ability to stop / change

Fun fact: Used to be friends with Grian before he became The Mother Spore, tried to convince him to apply for sidekick tryouts at the Bureau (after seeing his... quite bad future accidentally) but he refused, claiming he wanted to focus on his studies and that the mysterious Watchers creeped him out

Gem "Life-bringer"

Powers: healing, injury absorption, invincibility

Despite having healing powers, she absolutely kicks ass in a fight, which she keeps trying to explain to the Watchers (they do not listen)

Tends to be sent into battle after a fight is over to help heal civilians and heroes (though she will heal villains too)

Can't die from using her powers but is hit with the pain of the injuries she absorbs

Part of the soup group! They get soup on Thursdays.

Xisuma "Voidwalker"

Powers: walking through walls, turning invisible in shadows

I just included him here because he has a weird thing going on with Keralis

One of the higher-ups in the Hero Bureau, simultaneously knowing too much and not enough- doesn't necessarily agree with how things are run

Impulse “Gargoyle” 

Powers: demonic, stone skin, electricity powers

Lots of friends, some of them not so heroic, some of them like soup

Really just a hero for the pay benefits

False “Golden Eagle”

Powers: highly skilled in combat, flight

Weird little friendship with Ren, which often evolves into them fighting in the middle of the city

Has very sharp talons, but isn't actually a golden eagle hybrid- she's a red-tailed hawk

Zedaph

Just the Hero Bureau's local mad scientist!

He is not normal

Neutral/Civilian

Mumbo 

Powers: he is a vampire. Sorry. 

Acts like he was turned in the 60s, but in reality he was turned only a decade ago, just really into both hippie and suit-and-tie aesthetics

Drinks blood, I mean he is a vampire what more do you want… but generally against killing people (yay?) 

Weak in the sun and gets sunburned very easily so he has a parasol, holy water and silver burn him too, and stakes are deadly 

Best friends (...) with Grian, knew him before the whole Mother Spore business and stuck with him despite it- stays in the forest with Grian a lot because of the excellent levels of tree coverage that blocks out the sun

By virtue of being a third wheel, he knows Scar too, and often has to act as a messenger between the two when they get into arguments (this happens often.)

He is really into travelling and often leaves the city to go to see other towns and such, brings back souvenirs for his friends

Due to being genuinely undead, he is immune to Grian’s alien mycelium- yippee!

Mumbo buddy can you please talk about your feelings we can all see you staring at HotGuy and fawning over Mother Spore come on dude

Fun fact: a really good engineer- he was doing that as his career and stuff before the whole vampire thing. Still loves to geek out about engineering nonsense every once in a while and also likes to invent things (that rarely work)

Joe Hills

Powers: immortal, can sense when someone else with powers is nearby (NOT a spider-sense…)

He has lived several lifetimes, by this point, usually skipping town after a few decades so as to not seem suspicious

Always says ‘well this life is my favourite by far’

However, he has a pretty poor memory, so don’t ask him about any life but this one

Runs a live podcast which covers the daily goings on of heroes and villains across the city- made easier by his inexplicable ability to be in the right place at the right time, always first to the scene of a battle ready to record

Used to be an informant for the Hero Bureau, but wasn’t officially part of their ranks, more like an anonymous tipper

Has some insane gay thing going on with Cleo, let’s just call them friends for now

They’re roommates

Knew Cleo before the whole curse thing, stuck with them when they became a villain, cut all ties to the Bureau and started leaning his content slightly against the Bureau (but still in favour of vigilantes and against outright murder)

There is something wrong with him I think

Fun fact: when he’s at the scene of a fight, he makes silly quips and commentary at the parties involved, while safely standing to the side, often live recording his podcast. No one likes this. Multiple villains have tried to kill him for being annoying, but y’know… immortality. Death doesn't hurt him as he has no evolutionary need to feel pain.

Keralis

Powers: hypnosis

Runs a bar/club in the middle of the city which heroes and villains frequent (though it tends to be more popular with villains)

The club is a neutral zone, no fights can happen there- if someone tries to start something, Keralis can and will use his hypnosis on them

Club might be a front for a mafia don’t worry about it

Fun fact: do not look him in the eyes

Beef “Butcher”

No powers

Works cleanup jobs for villains, referred to as “Butcher” both because it’s his day job and because of how many bodies he disposes of

Beef… is probably not his real name, anyway

Heroes dislike him generally, but he makes a lot of problems disappear

Known to take up any cleanup job if the pay is right, but has a rule against killing anyone- bodies are perfectly fine, he’s even down to help with kidnappings and hostage situations, but he will not kill- believes killing is the last straw before a person becomes a monster

Bull hybrid. Yes, his day job is awkward. He enjoys it, though, the little weirdo

Has been called on by some less-moral heroes to help with cleanups that are too much of a mess to fix the ethical way

Fun fact: good friends with xB and Keralis, regularly calls on them to help him with cleanups, but does most of the messiest work himself. Though Keralis is very helpful for dealing with living witnesses 

Main Plot

The main story follows HotGuy as he attempts to make the Hero Bureau look bad by solving more crime and catching more bad guys than they can. He also wants his friend, Grian, to come back from the 'bad' side. However, when Cub shows up in the city, all hell breaks loose and HotGuy ends up getting captured.

Once Cub finds out who Scar is, a lot of conflicting feelings happen (Cub still tries to cut him open, but he puts him back together again) and HotGuy is left unconscious in an alley. There, he's picked up by Mother Spore, whose murderous (but also gay) advances on HotGuy worry Grian enough to seek out Cub himself, willing to go under the knife to remove the spores from his body.

Meanwhile, after her fight with Cleo, Pearl starts to doubt the Hero Bureau. She begins to question the Watchers, no longer trusting them, especially when they tell her she can't leave because her powers are too strong. She enlists the help of some friends, Impulse and Gem, to get to the bottom of the mystery and expose the Watchers.

Subplots

Tango feels shunted, labelled as a 'villain of the week' for his rather ineffectual traps and tricks, so he takes it upon himself to steal other people's powers to make his games more deadly and terrifying

Ren and Doc are doing classic supervillain things, like, building freeze rays and stuff

Joe Hills keeps picking up vital information on his podcasts, and soon a fanbase arises trying to figure out the mystery- this later becomes helpful information for Pearl & Scar

Keralis' many adventures in dealing with drunk-off-their-arse heroes and villains (he has many stories to tell)

[evanslittlecorner]

Ok! new-ish au time :D

I say new-ish because this is basically a re-skin of my sdj bitty au, just with Genshin characters and a bit more lore shit I should probably cover first

Oh, before we get too into things, CW for unethical lab experiments preformed on literally ALL the characters. Bitty au is a cute au where everyone is tiny but they are all severely traumatized by what the big people have done to them in the past

So, just like in my other bitty au, the lore behind this shit is as follows. Bitties have always been around since regular sized humans have, just at about a 12th of the scale (I'm not sure if that's exactly right but just know one foot translates to one inch. So if the character is 5 feet 6 inches tall normally they'd be 5 and a half inches tall here)

This au does not take place in Teyvat, however visions and the 7 elements do exist, along with other "weird" stuff like adepti, dragons, and whatever Gorou and Tighnari are. Since they're all so small though even the archons aren't much of a threat if you know how to handle them properly

All the bitties, at some point or another, were either taken from their homes or were born into a life of constant tests by scientists. These tests could range from testing cures for sicknesses on something more human then any animal, or they could be researching the elements to help technology advance

This practice was something kept quiet in the background for a LONG time. We're talking a few hundred years here at least. But eventually an activist group got loud enough to stir the pot. Now, as a way to re-brand and save their skins (and wallets) all the bitties were sold off as cool new pets to pet shops all over! Now you too can have your very own adorable little elemental guy in your home :D

Also, didn't know where else to put this so it's going here at the end. All the characters aren't from the same lab, which lab they were kept by depends on the nation they're from (i.e. Thoma would have started out in the lab in Germany before being shipped off to the one in Japan)

[mysoulspiralbound]

fucking christ, tim drake-wayne. i mean holy-feral-birds-batman, there is something deeply fucked up about this man. i just... wow. i have no words. you are right none of them are normal.

[glimmeringtwilight]

Cold Hands | Yandere Dottore x Reader

this one's just shy of 1k words. Not really extensively edited so it might be incoherent (oops). I wanted to post a short piece to fill the space between posts since I'm moving on to the October prompts now :]

CW: slight gore, blood, medical experimentation, minor character death, trauma, suicidal ideation, unethical medical practices, yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, stockholm syndrome (implied)

Dottore's hands are always so cold. 

You're keenly aware of the brush of cool digits against raw, sensitive skin, but you bite your tongue and hold your breath and keep still so his hand doesn't slip as he draws the needle through flesh, carefully completing the suture. 

"There. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Dottore asks, his hands red as he pulls away to set the curved needle and thread aside. A rhetorical question. You nod anyway. 

Your mouth tastes like copper, the sting dulled by the low burning flame in your side– fresh wounds and the sharp bite of antiseptic as Dottore cleans the area.

To his credit, Dottore’s hands are gentle when he patches you up; when the slick drag of a scalpel is traded for needle and thread, for gauze and antiseptic. Still. It doesn’t stop him from running the tips of his fingers over his handiwork, setting sensitive nerves alight with pain. 

To inspect his work, he tells you when you flinch. There’s a smile in his voice that makes the bruises and scars in the shape of his teeth ache whenever you hear it. 

His hands are cold; colder than the salve he smooths over the injury to soothe it. You must have been good, then. The relief is sweet. You don’t look it in the mouth, instead closing your eyes and tentatively relaxing as he finishes wrapping the bandages. 

It’s the moments like this, when the exhaustion creeps in, you hate the most. The adrenaline wears off and you’re forced back to the slow ticking seconds of the present– out of the prickled comfort of survive survive survive and into the choking guilt of you lived you lived you lived. 

Sometimes, you wonder if those same hands will tremble one day, as he operates on you– nick an artery and leave you cold on his operating table. Sometimes you wish he would.

But you know he wouldn’t. You’ve seen him with his other “patients”– the term ironic, bastardized by his cruelty. He’s killed so many– some while you watched. Not always on purpose, but you know he doesn’t take great lengths to keep them breathing once he has them on his table. 

There’s nothing in his gaze when he looks at them, just cold indifference. At best, detached interest when one makes progress– doesn’t die during their first or second session on his operating table. It’s nothing like the way he looks at you. 

The favor he shows you used to comfort you. Before you knew better. Before you learned that death is a mercy, that Dottore is anything but merciful– not with you. 

Worse still is when he makes you participate– your punishment for trying to convince him to make use of you as something other than a lab rat, spurred on by desperation and hopelessness. Forced to watch the light leave a patient’s eyes as he held your wrists and watched over your shoulder impassively. 

“Ah,” he’d said, prying the scalpel from your stiff, shaking fingers, “See? You’re no good at this, my dear.” 

And he’d tapped the blunt edge of the still-bloodied blade against your temple, delighting in the repulsed tremor that’d run through you. 

“Don’t worry. You’re still my favorite. But… perhaps we should both stick to what we’re good at, hm?” 

Would they forgive you, if they knew what surviving would have meant for them? 

You remember the nightmares that plagued you in the weeks following– hands slick with blood, their face, looking up at your own with wide, terrified eyes. The tears in their eyes when they died. Cold hands around your wrists. Would they forgive you? Do you deserve it?

The nightmares have long since stopped, at least. But so have the dreams. When sleep takes you, it’s only the yawning void that greets you. Night passes timelessly, sifting through your fingers until you wake the next day to bright, sterile light. 

Perhaps that’s what dying is like– a dreamless sleep. You don’t think dying would save you anyway. 

You’ve seen him with the corpses of his underlings. Never long enough to see just what it is he does to them, but you hear their cries down the halls on those long nights and know it’s their cries, and not the cries of some new, wretched soul. 

Perhaps it’s why he so callously disregards the patients that find their unfortunate way into his hands and onto his table– when death is not an obstacle, why waste sedatives and painkillers if he can just bring them back once shock takes them? 

You used to thank the gods that he deigned to use painkillers on you. Not always– not unless the possibility of you succumbing to shock were there, but you’d taken it as a blessing nonetheless. 

“Eyes up.” Dottore tells you, freezing fingers tapping your chin. Your eyes flit up to his mask. You try to focus on the very top of it when he smiles, try to block out the sight of sharp teeth. “Good. Get some rest. I’ll check on you in the morning.” 

But is it a mercy, surviving? Is dying, when he can bring you back? 

He pats your shoulder, adjusts the thin hospital gown so it’s not hiking up anymore, then stands and walks away. 

There’s a strange emptiness that follows, one you’ve grown intimately familiar with, as you watch him go. He didn’t take anything from you today, but it feels like something’s been stolen nonetheless. You wonder what it is. 

His hands are cold, but the chill that finds you when he leaves is worse.

[teacupfulofstarshine]

LOVELY, DARK, AND DEEP: CHAPTER 8

cw: mild angst, injury mention, vivisection mention, human experimentation mention, boatloads of unethical science

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // chapter 6 // chapter 7 // read it on ao3!!

wordcount: 7086

“This is a terrible idea,” Thomas says. It is far from the first time he has said this to Virgil, generally speaking. It is also far from the first time he has said this to Virgil regarding this specific situation. This does not deter Virgil in the slightest. Logan looks up at Virgil from where he’s curled on the lab table, newly-human legs tucked up underneath his newly-human butt. 

“I would like to learn to walk,” he says. “I think it is a valuable skill to have, even if I do not intend to live on the land for the rest of my life. If I am to return to visit, and -” Logan’s eyes flicker away from Virgil’s face and rest on his shoulder, face heating up. “- and I would very much like to, it would benefit me to be able to masquerade as a human. I find walking essential to this charade.” 

“There are plenty of humans who don’t walk,” Virgil says. “Babies can’t walk, and elderly people sometimes can’t walk, and there’s any number of disabilities that might prevent someone from walking. Walking isn’t what makes us human.” 

Logan’s eyes meet his, and Virgil fights the blush rising on his cheeks with every fiber of his being. “What is it, then?”

“Walking?”

“No. What is it that makes you human that I do not have?” 

“Jesus, Lo, I don’t think ten thousand years of human philosophy has managed to answer that, and you want me to give you an answer now?” Logan tilts his head, confused and adorable, and Virgil is talking before he realizes it, rambling and spilling words out of his mouth like tap water cascading down a sink. 

“Being human isn’t about walking like a human or talking like a human or anything like that. Humans are so vast and diverse, and - and it’s like the ocean, you know? All those creatures are so different, with different methods of eating and sleeping and breathing and living and dying, and it’s - it’s not like you can just put one label over them that will encompass the spirit of what makes the sea the sea, or what makes a human a human. It’s - it’s -” 

He pushes his fingers through his hair, greasy from two days without a shower. “It’s about your capacity to care . It’s about your ability to look at someone else, anyone else, and acknowledge that they deserve everything you do. They deserve to live, they deserve to love and grow and thrive and be . Being human, it’s - it’s about looking at someone else and knowing that inside them is a person just as complex and mysterious and weird and wild and wonderful as you are, and they’ve got just as much depth and personhood and emotion and life as you do, even though they might be your polar opposite.” 

“So being human,” Logan says quietly, “is about being able to recognize your own complexities in another?” 

“If you wanna put it like that? Yeah, I guess.” 

“I suppose I am more human than I ever realized before, then.”

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” Virgil says, and he takes a step towards Logan. Logan looks up at him, eyes wide and trusting and open, and Virgil holds a hand out. “I don’t think it’s bad at all. I know you’re all scared of us, because of what we could do to you, but - but I hope you can trust that the Doc and I, we - we don’t want to hurt you. We don’t want to let anything happen to you. You deserve security and stability, and if we can help give you that, we will.” 

Logan studies him for a moment with bright, critical eyes, and Virgil finds that he’s unconsciously holding his breath. Slowly, cautiously, Logan lifts his hand and places it into Virgil’s, and Virgil smiles, and Logan’s face breaks into a gentle smile, and Virgil has to fight very hard not to lean in and kiss him. (He pretends that he doesn’t see Thomas standing behind Logan, making very obvious mocking heart noises.) 

He holds out his other hand for Logan to take, and Logan doesn’t hesitate to place his hand in Virgil’s. They were scaled, before, but now every place a midnight blue scale used to live has, instead, a freckle. Virgil wonders how long it would take to count them all. 

(He definitely doesn’t think about laying in bed with Logan, holding him close, breath mingling in the space between their faces, sleepily trailing his index finger over the freckles covering Logan’s entire body, connecting them like constellations. He doesn’t think about trading stories with Logan, sleepily explaining his world’s constellations and heroes and myths as Logan does the same. He doesn’t think about Logan, laying on the bed and looking up at Virgil with the same open trust he’s displaying now as Virgil takes out a paintbrush and lovingly, painstakingly, connects each and every freckle into a beautiful portrait that, even in full glory, could never hope to match or even rival the splendor that is Logan himself, masterpiece untainted.)

(Virgil does not think about any of these things.) 

Carefully, he steps backward, holding Logan’s hands and pulling gently so that Logan rises into a standing position. He’s wobbly and unsure, like a newborn fawn, and Virgil quickly shifts so that he’s gripping Logan’s forearms instead of holding his hands. “Whoa, careful!” 

“I will never get used to these useless fins,” Logan mutters, glaring at his legs. “They are so unwieldy, and I have to concentrate on moving both of them instead of just one! I do not like it. I have decided.” 

Roman snickers from his touch tank, and music rises from Patton’s. “It’s hard for baby humans to learn to walk, too,” Virgil says, ignoring the other mer and focusing on Logan. “Kids fall all the time. It’s not about never falling. It’s about getting back up and trying again. Besides, I’m right here the whole time. You don’t have to worry, I won’t let you fall.” 

“I trust you,” Logan says, simply and honest and open, and Virgil feels a little something inside of him shift at such a plain display of trust. “I cannot see you very well, but I trust you.”

“What do you mean, you can’t see me?”

“I find that anything not directly in front of my face is very . . . blurry at the moment. I have lived with this my entire life. I had my electricity to compensate for this in the water, but now I have nothing.” 

“So what you’re telling me is you need glasses?” 

“What is ‘glasses’?”

“How are we supposed to get him those?” Thomas says. “He can barely walk, and he doesn’t know enough about human culture to pass for one. As far as the government’s concerned, he doesn’t even exist!” 

“Yeah, I know that, but he needs to be able to see, Doc.” 

“You’re gonna jeopardize his existence for that?” 

“Of course not!” Virgil snaps. “I’m just saying, it’s something we have to think about if he’s gonna be spending any sustained amount of time in a human form!” He takes a careful, slow step backwards, then another, then another. Logan mirrors him with an unsteady, slow step forwards, then another, then another. 

“I just want you two to be safe,” Thomas sighs. 

“I’m not a child,” Virgil mutters rebelliously. Before Thomas can retort, Roman drapes himself over the side of his tank and offers a spine about the length of his forearm to Thomas. 

“Do you still want this?” 

“Did you fire that at the tank?”

“Nah. I just kinda wiggled it around for a while until it popped out. They get loose and fall out sometimes, it’s not a new thing or anything.” Thomas takes the red-and-white spine and steps to the nearest lab table. He pulls out a scalpel and starts to carefully dissect the spine, looking for the poison inside it. 

Virgil turns his focus back to helping Logan. “I know it’s hard,” he says, holding his hands. “The amount of injury small humans sustain when they’re first learning how to walk is truly staggering. Hold on to me, okay? I won’t let you fall too far.” 

Logan looks at him with wide eyes. “What if I hurt you?” 

“You won’t, Lo. Trust me.” 

They practice walking back and forth across the lab floor for almost an hour. Roman makes unhelpful comments from his tank, and Virgil makes rude gestures at him. The gestures are somewhat less effective than normal, because Roman doesn’t understand what “flipping someone off” means, but it makes Virgil feel better, so he keeps doing it. Logan slowly improves as they keep practicing. 

“You know what would make you better at this?” Virgil asks. Logan shakes his head. “Being able to see properly.” 

“We are not taking the newly-humanoid merman to the optometrist,” Thomas says firmly. 

“Well, what the hell else are we supposed to do with him? We can’t just let him be on land half blind, Doc!” Virgil protests. 

“We can’t just let him get captured by the local cryptid hunter because you drag him into town, either.”

“First of all, I’m the local cryptid hunter, so Logan will be fine. Second of all, he needs to be able to see!” Virgil squeezes Logan’s hands tightly before he can consciously process what he’s doing, as though intending to reassure him. Before he can panic too hard about what he’s just done, Logan squeezes back. 

“I appreciate your concern,” Logan says softly. “I think your mentor may be right. It may be too dangerous to bring me into town and expose me to copious amounts of humans. I cannot say that I am not nervous about the idea of being exposed to more of them.” 

“I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable,” Virgil says, and immediately he’s swarmed with a surge of guilt. He’s basically been talking about Logan like he’s not even here, like his own opinions on what they do with him doesn’t matter, and God, how shitty does Virgil have to be? 

“I know you did not mean to,” Logan says. Virgil barely restrains a wince. 

“But I did,” he says. “And I didn’t mean to. I - I’m sorry, Logan. I didn’t mean to make it sound like we were making arbitrary decisions about you like you’re not conscious and opinionated.” 

“I am not mad,” Logan says. He looks puzzled that Virgil thinks he is. “I did not think you were maliciously attempting to control me.” He tilts his head adorably. It takes every ounce of self-control Virgil possesses (which isn’t much) not to gently squish his cheeks and kiss him senseless. (He’s not even sure if mermen know what kissing is.) 

“Well this is . . . concerning.” 

For a split, horrible second, Virgil thinks that Thomas is referring to him and the way he is very obviously ogling over Logan. His mind races to come up with some sort of defense, some explanation, but when he lifts his head he realizes that is not the case. Thomas is frowning at his laptop. 

“What is it, Doc?” 

“Get Logan somewhere he can sit and come over here. The results are back from the toxins in Logan’s net.” Roman’s entire body bristles like a sea urchin in his tank at the mention of the tank Logan was in; the color drains from Logan’s face and he goes perfectly ramrod-still. His hands are shaking, and Virgil smooths his thumb over Logan’s bandaged knuckles before he can stop himself. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he says, carefully guiding Logan back to the lab table. He slips an arm under Logan to hoist him up onto the table. Logan curls his hands in the hem of his shirt and very deliberately breathes deeply. “We won’t let you or your pod get hurt.”

Logan still looks terrible, and before Virgil can stop himself, he says, “Do you want a hug?” 

“A . . . hug?”

“Yeah, it’s - Christ, how do I - you put your arms around someone and squeeze, it’s a comfort thing, I -”

“I know what a hug is,” Logan interrupts. “I receive them from my dad and brother frequently.” Virgil’s face burns bright with shame. “What I meant was . . . was why?” 

Virgil blinks. “Because you’re upset. And that makes me upset, cause I don’t like it when the people I care about are upset. Hugs make people feel less upset.” 

“You care about me?” Virgil thinks about how nice it would be if the earth swallowed him whole in this exact moment. 

“Yeah. We . . . we’re friends, aren’t we?” 

Logan stares at him for a moment, and then his eyes soften and crinkle and he smiles. “Yes,” he says softly. “We are. I think I would like a hug.” 

Virgil leans forward, carefully wrapping his arms around Logan’s chest and hugging him close. Logan loops his arms around Virgil’s neck. He’s trembling, and he smells like fish and saltwater and seaweed. Virgil’s smelled some variation of this combination for the past several years, being a marine biologist and all that, and he’s largely desensitized to the way the ocean smells. But there’s some sort of undercurrent to the way Logan smells - something raw and fresh and dangerous and almost electric, the way the air smells right before a thunderstorm. 

Logan pats his shoulder gently and starts to lean back, and Virgil gives him one more gentle squeeze before leaning away. He doesn’t want to be weird about it, after all. 

“Thank you,” Logan says. Virgil takes his hand and squeezes it. 

“Yeah, Lo. Of course.” 

Roman reaches to gently squeeze Logan’s ankle, and a large, clawed hand comes up out of Patton’s tank and gently holds Logan’s hand. Virgil hurries over to Thomas and peers at the screen. “What did the results say?” 

Thomas frowns. “It’s not good. We were right, it was a neurotoxin, but there’s something wrong with it.” 

“Yeah, it was in a net that injured and almost killed someone.”

“No, it’s more than that. It’s derived from natural sources, but this toxin, it’s - it’s just . . .” Thomas pushes a hand through his hair. “It has genetic markers for multiple species of aquatic life. I picked out jellyfish and pufferfish DNA, specifically.” 

“Fucking yikes.” 

“Oh, it gets worse. There’s no way this DNA could have come from a genetically stable or viable hybrid. It’s like . . . it’s like someone took the genetic sequences for the deadliest, most dangerous marine toxins they could isolate and crammed them all together to make some kind of - of - of super poison or something. They weren’t trying to make a new life-form. They just wanted to create the most toxic thing they could, and I think they succeeded. It’s a miracle this net didn’t kill Logan outright.” 

Roman makes a loud, angry noise from his tank; a melodic snarl rises from Patton’s; Logan shudders and curls his free arm tightly around himself. Virgil’s blood runs cold at the thought. “What would it take to do something like that, Doc?” 

“Whoever this was did a pretty crude job of it,” Thomas sighs. “All the splicing is haphazard, and it’s honestly a miracle they managed to make this stable enough to do damage to any organism.” 

“Still, the fact they made this . . . who knows what else they may have done?” Virgil asks.

“I don’t know.” Thomas drags his hand down his face, and he looks older than Virgil’s ever seen him. “This - this is the most unethical application of science I’ve seen in a long time. I hate to think about what else this person might be doing.” 

“What about Roman’s spine?” Virgil asks. “Any results there?” 

Thomas nods. “Yeah. Whatever’s in his spines is far less lethal than the hybrid shit in that net. It’s more focused on paralysis and incapacitation.”

“Well, yeah, I could have told you that,” Roman huffs crossly. “I use it to stun prey so that I can catch and kill it more easily. That’s what it’s for .” 

Thomas is still frowning worriedly at the spine. “Doc, what’s wrong?” 

“Roman’s poison . . . based on my analysis, in the hands of someone who can use CRISPR technology, it could be altered to produce far more devastating effects. If whoever set this net gets their hands on Roman, the experiments they run could prove disastrous.” 

“Roman getting captured at all would be disastrous,” Virgil says. He dimly notices that Roman looks shocked to see Virgil defend him. “We can’t let anyone else know about these three. They belong in the ocean, and anyone else would try and keep them prisoner on land.” Virgil’s heart wrenches at that; he’s been ignoring that Logan will eventually have to leave, and he’s not about to start thinking about it now.

“I want to run more tests on the net that Logan got tangled in,” Thomas says. “If we can break down the technology of the barbs, we may be able to trace the origins of the net.” 

“What would we do when we found those origins?” Virgil asks. Thomas exhales. 

“I don’t know exactly. I just . . . we’d have to do something. We can’t do nothing. That’s not an option.” 

“I agree,” Virgil says. Thomas smiles, and Virgil feels pride bubble up in his throat. 

“I want to compare the net toxin to Roman’s, too. Maybe comparative analysis will help me learn something about both of them.” 

“Again, you could just ask me,” Roman grouses. 

“I probably will, once I develop a detailed questionnaire,” Thomas says. “But there’s also examinations and comparisons that we can make at the molecular level that we can’t get from just talking to you.” 

“What in the name of the Seven Mother Goddesses is a molecular?” Roman says. Logan turns to him, eyes wide and curious, and the tip of Patton’s head pokes up from his tank. He has their undivided attention. 

Virgil never thought he would be trying to teach sixth-grade biology to a trio of mermen, one of whom he’s extremely gay for and another one who’s older than human civilization, but here he is. What the fuck is his life, anyway? 

*~*~*~*

“See to it that this chamber is thoroughly cleaned and sterilized in time for my next experiment. And be sure to inform the crew that I want the excess waste disposed of discreetly this time, or they will find that they have been disposed of discreetly.” 

The secretary nods, obediently sending the orders as she peels off the blood-stained rubber gloves and tosses them into the biohazard waste receptacle. “Was the experiment a success, ma’am?” 

“If by success, you mean did the poison have the effect I intended, no. However, I believe I have isolated the patch of incorrect genetic code, which means that I will be able to improve the efficacy for next time. I doubt I would have found that on my own, so in that sense, yes. It was a success.” 

The secretary notes this on her tablet. “Tell me, what is the status of our acquisition of the human subjects?” 

“Approximately 79% of the specimens you request have been corralled and sedated. They await testing in Chamber C whenever you are ready, ma’am.” 

“And the rest?” 

“Being gathered as we speak, from the usual sources.” She nods, washing her hands and switching her anti-slip laboratory shoes for her characteristic red heels. “I have an alert set to ping when the shipment comes in. I will alert you at once.” 

“Excellent.” She steps out of the lab. Her heels click satisfyingly on the floor, and she tilts her head up. “Walk with me. Run through the list of current projects and update me on the status.” 

“At once, ma’am. Which one shall I begin with?” 

“Tests of the aerosol form of the net toxin. How have the lab rats fared?” 

“Only a 50% mortality rate, but that is higher than we had initially predicted.” She hums noncommittally, and the secretary continues, pulling up the file on her tablet. She continues to talk about the status of the aerosol experiment until they reach the private office, laid with marble. 

She walks over to the windows overlooking the ocean, hands clasped behind her back. “What of the fleet of drones? Have they discovered anything yet?” 

The secretary swipes a few pages on her screen. “Not yet, ma’am. A whole fleet was dispatched to cover the quadrant where net 17-C was located, as well as the surrounding areas in case our calculations were off. A team is monitoring the feedback round the clock, and they will alert me with the most urgent priority if they find something.” 

“Excellent.” She stares out the window, lost in thought, and the secretary gathers what little courage she has. 

“Ma’am, if - if I may ask a question?” 

“You already have.” The secretary’s blood runs like ice, but she merely laughs. “Continue.” 

“Why are you so invested in relocating this net? You seem so adamant that you’ve caught something valuable, but why not set another net and attempt to catch another?” 

She is silent for a long time. The secretary swallows. “I - I did not mean to offend, ma’am -”

“Silence.” She falls silent instantly. “Have I ever told you why it was here that I set up my facility? Why it could not possibly have been anywhere else in the world?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

“My family,” she says, “used to vacation at the beaches around here. I loved the beach when I was small. I loved collecting creatures from the tide pools and seeing how they worked. One day, I saw the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on in my life. It was a merman, with a beautiful red and white tail and spines everywhere. He was sunning himself on the beach in the early morning.” 

The secretary’s eyes widen. “I had to have him. I tried to get him to come with me, to get him to tell me how he worked, to get some of his spines, but it failed.” She rolls up the sleeve of her blazer and shows the secretary two perfect half-moons of faint, raised white scars on her arm. Bite marks. 

“That monster bit me and disappeared into the sea. I never saw him again. How dare he?!” She yanks her sleeve down and covers her arm again, snarling. “But it’s alright! It’s fine. I will find that traitorous merman again, and it will be my pleasure to exact revenge on him. I will vivisect him slowly and painfully and I will finally gain the knowledge which has been denied to me for so many years.” 

Privately, the secretary is suspicious of this plan. She isn’t sure if she believes the story about the merman, but the evidence of scars is difficult to refute. Still, she knows it’s not wise to disagree with her publicly (or even privately), so instead, she says, “That makes sense, ma’am.” 

“I hate not knowing things,” she seethes. “Knowledge is the epitome of human power. I will gain as much knowledge as I can, and then I will have the greatest weapon and the greatest shield in all of human history. I will not let some fish keep me from knowing all there is to know.” 

The secretary wonders how long this train of thought is going to keep up, and then the tablet in her arms begins to shriek. She begins swiping at the screen, frantically sifting through the sudden influx of error messages. 

“What is it?” 

“Reports from the lab - the drone monitoring squad, they - one of the drones caught something on camera -”

She whirls around, and the secretary startles and nearly drops her tablet. “Take us there at once!” 

“Yes, ma’am!” The elevator ride down to the monitoring room is tense. She can’t seem to stand still, tapping her feet and her fingers and all but vibrating with energy. The secretary bites her lower lip and sifts through the reports, trying to figure out what exactly is happening. 

She sprints down the corridor, the secretary hurrying behind her, and throws open the door to the monitoring room. Everyone in it jumps, and before she can say anything one of them throws an image up onto the wall of screens. 

It shows what looks like a young man, frowning at the feed, before swinging the lower half of his body up and around to reveal a gorgeous red-and-white-patterned tail, covered in long, sharp spines. He brings his tail down in a graceful, vicious motion, and the spines jettison from his tail and pierce through the camera lens. The feed glitches, staticky, and then cuts out. 

SIGNAL FAILED flashes across the screen in bright red letters. 

She rests her hands on the nearest table, ducking her head down. Her shoulders begin to shake, and the secretary sees every single person in the room swallow in unison. They’re all terrified, and she is too. Every person in this room is about to get fired or mysteriously vanish or both. 

Without warning, she throws her head back, and - and she’s - 

Laughing?

Wild, raucous laughter, bordering on a shriek, bordering on hysteria, the kind of laughter you’d expect to hear from a portrayal of someone who’s criminally insane in a movie. The secretary holds her breath. 

“I knew it!” she shrieks, slamming a hand down on the table. Everyone in the room flinches. “This is proof that there are mermen in this ocean, and I will have him if it kills me!” 

She whirls around to face the secretary, eyes wide and wild and slightly unhinged. “I want at least two more fleets of stealth drones dispatched to those coordinates. Get me as much information as you can. And you!” She points at a random technician. “Isolate the footage of that mer and send it to my office immediately. I want to review it personally.” 

“At - at once, ma’am!” the technician gulps. 

She sweeps out of the lab, dictating to the secretary the whole time. The secretary sends up a whispered prayer to whatever gods intervened to keep them all alive another day and hurries after her.

*~*~*~*~*

Patton has never seen the appeal of a mate. 

He is ancient. He has outlived almost every creature he has ever met. He can dimly remember being a guppy, frolicking about the ocean with the other elder mer, spying on the beginnings of human civilizations when they began to rise. Humans have always congregated around the water, he thinks, and he has seen many stages of human life. 

He has watched humans celebrate the birth of their young at the water. He has watched them come of age, watched them marry, watched them travel, watched them grow their families. He has watched their burial rites, and he has guided many humans safely to the seafloor and given them a final resting place. He has offered many a prayer to the Seven Mother Goddesses for a happy union, asked many a flying fish to guide a human soul safely to the Upper Ocean. 

He has seen pods grow and fight and dwindle and die. He has watched many, many eons of life in the ocean. Never once has he wanted to participate in the creation of more life. He does not want a mate; he has never had the desire for that kind of relationship. 

Patton knows that mates are important to some, but they are not important to him. He does not need a mate the way he needs water in his gills. His pod is very small, and he has no mate, but he is satisfied with his existence thus far. Roman and Logan may not have come from a mate, but they are no less his. 

Patton may not want a mate, but he also knows what mer are like when they want mates. He hears the way Logan and the smaller human - Virgil - speak to each other. He can sense the growing affection in Logan’s voice when he tells him what he and Virgil have done that day and defends Virgil from Roman’s criticisms and shyly tells Patton that he wants to return when he is fully healed. 

The human concept of mates is different from the mer concept. Patton knows this much. He does not know very much about human mating rituals. 

Based on what he does know, he would say that Virgil and Logan share similar tendencies. 

Patton does not particularly care about this fact. He had been quietly accepting that Logan was lost to him forever, that he would never see his guppy again, but this human rescued him. He kept Logan safe, tended his injuries and fed him and sought out Patton and Roman to bring them to Logan. He had stood in front of Patton and sworn that he would return Logan to the ocean once he was healed. Patton knows that he terrifies most humans, but this one had not flinched. His voice had been firm and strong, and he had sworn that Logan would not be a prisoner. 

There are worse humans Logan could want to mate with, Patton supposes. 

Roman sinks below the water of their shared small ocean and grumbles to himself. “The stupid human is making gross faces at Logan,” he huffs. 

“What kind of faces?”

“Gross ones, Dad! He’s like, staring at him with this stupid look and his face keeps going all weird and pink and - ” Roman’s tail bristles with indignation. Patton gently smooths a large hand down his tail, flattening the spines and soothing Roman. He trills, gently, and Roman responds in kind. 

“I suspect he would like to be Logan’s mate.”

“WHAT?!” Roman shrieks. 

“It is not nearly as bad as all that, guppy. Logan wants to be his mate, too. Surely you can see it?”

“Of course I can see it, but - but what does Logan know about mates? Or humans, for that matter?! This is a bad idea, Dad, we have to talk him out of it!”

“Why? Does Logan not seem happy?”

“I - that’s not the point!”

“I asked you a question, guppy.”

Roman’s gills flare out. “Yeah, Dad. Lo seems really happy.”

“Do you not want him to be happy?”

“I don’t want him to leave us.” Roman curls in on himself, and he looks small in a way that Patton has not seen for centuries. 

“Oh, guppy.” Gently, Patton reaches out and traces one finger along the band of light blue scales wrapped around Roman’s upper arm. “Logan loves us. If he had taken a mer for a mate, would you have the same reaction?"

“No, because that mer would just join our pod and it would be fine! But - but what if he decides he doesn’t love us anymore and leaves us for the humans?! ”

“Logan would not do that. He is our podmate, Roman. Even if he wishes to take Virgil as his mate, that cannot change the bonds that we have with him. Logan is not going anywhere.” 

“How are you so sure about this?”

“I have lived many, many centuries,” Patton says, leaning in to gently nuzzle Roman’s hair. “I have seen many matings, human and mer. I have watched their lives play out. I know that the taking of a mate does not necessarily mean the separation from one’s pod. However, if the pod is unnecessarily hostile to the mate, someone may feel the need to choose between their mate and their pod.” 

Roman bristles again. “Am - am I driving Logan away?”

“No, Roman, ” Patton soothes. “ But if you continue to be angry and disparage Logan’s feelings, he may take offense. I am not saying that you must become best friends with Virgil overnight. All I ask is that you keep an open mind about what is to happen, hmm?”

“I only promise to try,” Roman huffs. 

“That is all I can ask.” Patton shifts to coil his large tail around Roman, who lets out a soft chirp and snuggles into Patton’s chest. “I love you, guppy.”

“Love you too, Dad.” 

They doze together for a while until Roman stirs. “One of the humans is here. Not Virgil, the other one - Thomas, I think.” He shifts and swims up, poking his head and torso out of the water. Patton yawns and rises up as well, letting one of the fins on the side of his head breach the water’s surface so that he can hear what is going on. 

“Do you need to go and hunt again?” Thomas asks. “Logan’s getting hungry, and I can go get some of the fish we have in the fridge, but if you all need to hunt anyway you might as well go, y’know?” 

“How would we bring the fish back to Logan?” Roman asks. Patton notices that while his tone is cool, he is no longer being outright rude. 

“I have a woven bag that we use for diving sometimes. You could load that up with fish. Or, if you want, I can drive the boat out and anchor it in the ocean, and you can just dump your catches on the deck so we can bring it back to Logan. Your call.” 

“I will consult my father,” Roman says, dropping back under the water. Patton lets his tail arch up out of the water as a sort of “hello I was listening” to Thomas as he pulls his head back down. 

“What do you think?” he asks Roman. 

“I don’t like the idea of that human following us around,” Roman says. “But I’m not the pod leader, so it’s not my call.”

“Ask him if this ‘boat’ is the thing he was riding on when we first met him,” Patton says. Roman swims up to the surface and drops back down. 

“He says it is.” 

“Ask him which holds more fish.” 

Roman pops up again. “The boat, he says. He also says that we could fill the bag with fish, empty it on the boat, and then bring it back down to fill it with fish again.” 

“I like that idea. Tell him we accept his help.” Roman looks disgruntled, but he still swims up to tell Thomas what Patton has said. 

When Patton lifts his head out of the water, he brings the water with him, wrapping it around his head and neck. The gills along his ribcage flare out angrily when he pulls himself up out of the water, but he ignores it in favor of looking at Logan. His guppy smiles and reaches out to touch his fins gently. 

“Have a plentiful hunt,” Logan says. “Be safe, Dad.” 

“Of course, guppy,” Patton says. 

“The cart is right next to your tank, Patton,” Virgil says. Patton lets out a low, rumbling click and locates the small ocean, carefully lowering his body into it. His gills flare out happily as he submerges in the water, and once the majority of his body is underwater his tail slithers in and curls on top of him. 

The small ocean moves with jerky, hesitant lurches. It is very uncomfortable inside there, and Patton is curled up on top of himself like an eel. He dislikes being in the small ocean for extended periods of time, but if it lets him move freely between the ocean at large and the place where his guppy is, he can tolerate it. 

Once the cart stops moving, Patton feels hands on his tail. They lift him up and over the edge of the small ocean, carefully lowering him down into the real ocean surging up into the grotto. The process continues for a few minutes until hands grip beneath his arms, lifting him up. Patton wraps his gills in water as Virgil lifts him up, groaning under the strain. He all but throws Patton into the water, and Patton inhales sharply as the cool water of the ocean flows around him. 

“Sorry!” he faintly hears Virgil call. Patton lifts one hand up and waves at him, hopefully conveying that he is not mad and unharmed. 

He swims about in the grotto for a little bit until Roman enters the water with a tremendous splash. “Thomas says that he is going to get the boat,” Roman reports. “He will meet us on the open ocean and give us the fish bag.” 

Patton lets Roman lead him out through the little tunnel. He can feel the change in his gills when they swim into open water, and he gleefully pushes forward into a spiral as he lets himself lengthen. Even at his smallest, he is far too big for any of the small oceans the humans attempt to keep him in. He relishes this chance to stretch his fins. 

Roman swirls around him, flaring and flattening his spines in joy. Patton carefully sends a few clicks towards the surface as they swim further out, sensing for Thomas’s boat. He feels Roman swish forward and sees him swim close, dragging a large impaled fish behind him. 

“First catch!”

Patton carefully tears off one of the choicest pieces of the fish and darts down to the sea floor, digging a small hole in the sand and laying the fish inside. He and Roman make short work of what’s left, and Patton lays the skeleton into the hole as well, covering it back up. 

“O Seven Mother Goddesses,” he intones. “Accept this offering and bless our hunt today.” Roman repeats the blessing, pressing one hand against the covered hole, and then they swim off into the ocean. 

When Thomas drops anchor, Patton and Roman swim up to greet him. Patton rises up in a column of water, leaving his larger set of gills submerged in the ocean as he watches Thomas. “Here’s the bag,” Thomas says, handing something to Roman. 

“What will you do while we hunt?” Roman asks. 

Thomas picks up some human thing. “I’m running tests on water samples.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I’ll be plenty busy while you hunt, and I won’t leave this spot, so you can come and drop off fish whenever you fill up the bag. Are you going to bring all the fish you catch back to the boat?” 

“No,” Roman says. “We usually eat a few while we’re hunting. Dad eats a lot more than us, so he usually eats a lot during the hunt and then he eats with us, too.” 

Thomas nods. “I’ll let you know when the boat reaches capacity, and then we can head back to Virgil and Logan. Sound good?” 

Patton nods when Roman looks to him for confirmation. “Fine.” Roman dives below the waves and Patton sinks down with him. Roman is busy attaching the bag around his torso, making sure that it won’t get in the way of his spines when he hunts. 

“Go ahead and catch something to eat, Dad. I’ll fill the bag for Logan and take it up to the boat, okay?”

“Once I eat, I will help you,” Patton protests. Roman smiles. 

“Take your time, Dad. I’m a good hunter - you trained me, remember?”

Patton smiles fondly. He does remember a tiny Roman, no bigger than his palm at his preferred size, valiantly attempting to chase down and kill prey much bigger than he was. It’s a favorite memory. 

Roman swims off, and Patton sends out exploratory clicks. He locates a school of fish and carefully approaches them, drawing in more and more water as he gathers his strength. Patton carefully coils his tail below him and releases a loud, deafening click. It’s like the normal clicks he uses to see things in the water, but magnified. 

The school of fish scatters, but he manages to stun a solid two thirds of them. They begin to sink, and Patton happily zips back and forth through the school, scooping the little bodies up and crunching on them. Despite the sacrifice he made to the Seven Mother Goddesses, Patton is ancient enough that bones don’t bother him when he eats, especially not for fish so small. 

Patton finds and stuns a few more schools, as well as some larger fish which he brings back to the boat. Thomas seems stunned by the sheer volume of fish he and Roman are collecting, and Patton suspects that the human will have questions about their hunting practices when they return to Logan. He should probably prepare Roman for those questions on the way back, he thinks. 

He’s so distracted that he almost doesn’t notice when a fish gets close to him. That puzzles Patton; most fish avoid him, knowing that they are in the presence of an apex predator. Still, he thinks, food is food. He sends out one of his stunners, but the fish is unaffected. 

That makes his scales itch in a strange way. He tries again, a little louder. The force of the sound knocks the strange fish back a little, but it just keeps approaching. Patton quickly dives below it and emits a low, rumbling distress call to Roman. Whatever this thing is, he wants his guppy close before they deal with it. 

Roman speeds to his side, and Patton points up to the strange fish. “It doesn’t look like a real fish,” Roman murmurs. “No fish I’ve ever seen, anyway. I don’t like it, Dad. I’m gonna go stab it.”

“Be careful,” Patton pleads. “I already have one injured guppy.” Roman nuzzles his face into Patton’s neck for a moment before bending his arms so that the spines on his joints sharpen and stand at attention. 

Patton watches with apprehension as Roman swims up and quickly gets in front of the strange fish. He brings his tail up, spines stiffening, and throws it forward. A few spines jettison out and pierce the strange fish. 

The water crackles and fizzes as the strange fish dies, almost like the water around Logan when he attacks. Roman flinches back from the discharge before swimming up to inspect what he’s just killed. 

“Dad, this isn’t a fish,” he says. Patton swims up quickly. “It looks like a fish, but there’s no meat. There’s no bones. It - it feels like the things the humans use.” Patton touches the strange object and recoils from the smooth, warm sensation. 

“We should get this to Thomas immediately. Maybe he knows more about this thing.” 

“Whatever it is, I have a bad feeling,” Roman says. 

Although he doesn’t say anything, not wanting to frighten his guppy, Patton does, too. 

[azurdlywisterious]

The Brainless Ones (part 2)

AN: I'm back with more of Sir’s adventures! I wanted more Sir so now y'all get more Sir.

Word count: 1.3k

CW: body horror played for comedy (idk how else to describe sir’s empty head), very unethical scientific practices, body horror not played for comedy (if the centaurs count as body horror but I think they do)

“Where are we heading, Beagle?”

He runs his fingers through his silver hair. “End goal, New Vegas. But right now, we’re going towards a little town called Novac.”

“I’ve walked this way before,” I observe. “Where is Novac on this map?”

I show him the screen built into my arm, which currently has a map of the area pulled up.

“I’m never gonna get used to this,” he mutters under his breath as he examines the map. "Uh, I think it's around here?"

He taps a spot on the map and a waypoint appears on the map. There's a small ping! noise, which causes Beagle to jump.

"You're very nervous," I observe.

"I still haven't fully grasped that this is my new reality," he retorts. "I've heard of lots of terrifying things out here in these sandy wastes."

"My interest has been piqued. What kind of things?"

"Radscorpions, geckos, the Powder Gangers out by the NCRCF..."

His voice trails off at that last one. His eyes lose focus, like he's seeing something playing out miles in front of us. I put my head as close to his as possible and zoom my eyes in as much as they can.

"What are you looking at?"

He jolts and does a small hop away from me. I can feel warm air on my skin. Is that his breathing? Dr. Dala told me about breathing, what it looked like, what it felt like. I don’t fully understand her obsession with it, but I am starting to gain my own appreciation for the habit.

“I was just… remembering something,” he says to me after he’s regained his bearings. “Nothing that a pretty lady like you should worry her pretty little head about.”

“Right,” I respond, disinterested in whatever it is he’s hiding. I continue to walk since he spotted nothing.

“Wait!” He half jogs to catch up to me. “Don’t you want to know what I was thinking of?”

“You can tell me if you want,” I reply, “but right now our main goal is Novac; and all this sand being blown by the wind is getting in my eyes.”

He doesn’t respond, instead lighting up another cigarette as we walk.

"We aren't walking on a road," I state. "Is there any reason for this?"

"Well, according to the maps, this is the fastest way to Novac," he tells me. "There is a longer route following the main road that crosses through a town called Nipton, but that place gives me the creeps.”

“Elaborate.”

“It's been radio silent for weeks. If anything happened down there, i doubt that it would be anything good.”

“You imply that Nipton is south?”

“Weird way of phrasin’ it,” Beagle remarks, “but yeah, I suppose so.”

I stop to show him a point on the map in my arm. “Is this Nipton?”

“Probably.”

“Then I’ve been there,” I inform him. “Boring place. Just a bunch of dead lobotomites everywhere.”

All he says in response to that is, “Oh,” before holding his cigarette in place with his teeth and shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

I continue to walk and he follows suit.

After a long while of silence, Beagle plucks the remains of his cigarette from his teeth, flicks it away, and asks me, “So what is a pretty lady like you doing wandering the desert all by her lonesome?”

“The great minds of the Think Tank made me to explore the new world beyond Big MT in their stead so that they may study it from the safety of their labs.”

“Wait…” He starts counting on his fingers before giving up entirely. “How old are you?”

“Depends,” I reply.

“Depends?”

“The body is roughly 26 years old, the computer parts that keep the body functioning are a few days old, and the data programmed onto my hard drives encompasses all of scientific knowledge that humanity has ever recorded and the Think Tank had ever saved to their computers. Though all of the components have been together for 32 days.”

“So you're 32 days old?”

“It appears so. Like Athena from the myths of the Old World, I emerged from the Think Tank fully formed.”

“Who’s Athena?”

I start to reply, but a flicker of movement from the neighboring hill catches my attention. I place a finger to my lips and crouch down. I zoom my sight in and study the creatures that caught my attention. The top half is a lobotomite torso and head, but the bottom half is a mass of tissue and extra arms acting as legs. Three tendrils hang out of its mouth like long tongues and it has no true arms.

Beagle notices what I’m looking at and grabs his gun. He’s aiming it wildly due to his shaking hands, a phenomena caused by the sudden influx of adrenaline in his body.

I gently lower the gun for him and start to quietly move closer, calibrating my long distance lasers as I move. The LRADs are already primed.

Using the pointed tip of my thumbnail as a scope, I aim a laser right between the thing’s eyes.

“Fascinating,” I remark as I see it spit sludge in our direction, taking plenty of photos as it does so. “One shot isn't enough to kill it.”

“What?” Beagle squeaks and pulls out a voice recorder. I gently lower that too before he starts talking into it.

The creature’s aim is not good enough to hit us with the sludge. That doesn't stop it from setting off my internal Geiger counter. My skin feels crackly. I need to end this quick.

The thing is charging at me and Beagle is starting to try and take voice memos again. I roll my eyes and let him. I just turn my ears off and fire enough shots to fell the beast.

I blow on my index finger to cool it off before extending the opposite hand to Beagle. I feel his hand vibrating on contact, so I grip it tightly to get it to stop shaking.

I lead him over to the corpse, the whole time him describing the encounter into his voice recorder in strikingly accurate detail. Despite his trembling hands, his voice is rather level, and nice to listen to. It’s soft and smooth, like the half melted butter on top of the waffles in those commercial breaks that Dr. 0 accidentally recorded along with his movies.

I turn my ears back off to remember to take more photos of the thing before teleporting it off to the Think Tank. I wince a bit as my still hot index finger lightly burns my temple.

I turn my ears back on, ready to listen to him talk; but all I hear is unvoiced gasping. I’m on alert.

“What is it?” I whisper urgently.

“The thing,” he points to where the creature once was. “It’s gone!”

“I teleported the cadaver back to Big MT,” I tell him, hovering my fingers by my temple. “Remember, if something bad happens to me while we’re out here, press on my temples and we’ll be teleported back to safety.”

He nods solemnly, processing the information as clear as day behind his eyes. As my science deputy, he deserves to know how to activate the teleported in case of an emergency.

He takes my arm, studies it, and places a new waypoint, saying, “I don’t wanna run into another one of those things. If we go up from here and then start cutting across, we should be fine.”

“Why not just go south to Nipton?”

He stares off into the distance and lights up another smoke. “There’s something that needs to be done up there anyways. And you’re just the person to help me.”

“Then why not just go directly to New Vegas?”

“Deathclaws,” Beagle replies coolly, taking another well timed drag of his cigarette.

“What are deathclaws?” I ask him.

“Nothing good,” he responds, gently lowering my arm for me; as if wanting to reach for my hand but not having enough courage to do so. “I’ll tell ya later.”

"When?"

"After you help me clean out the NCRCF."

[azurdlywisterious]

The Brainless Ones (part 3)

AN: I’ll level with y’all I wrote way far ahead and am now motivated to write all the stuff up to that point (plus the 76 fic is going through major reworks lol)

Word count: 1.4k

CW: body horror played for comedy (idk how else to describe sir’s empty head), very unethical scientific practices

The desert gets quite cold at night; so on our trek, Beagle suggests we build a fire and camp for the night. I see no reason why we can’t keep walking further; my legs won’t start feeling the effects of exhaustion for another hour or so.

“It’s almost midnight, Sir,” he explains to me as he starts putting up a small tent. “We should probably try to get some sleep.”

“I am not worried about my battery losing charge,” I inform him. “Do lobotomites need to sleep often?”

He rolls his eyes and starts building a fire. “Yes, and I’m going to sleep.”

“Would you like me to keep watch then?”

He stops and thinks for a second, possibly not realizing that I don’t need sleep.

“Sure, you can take the first shift,” he says after a while.

After a couple of minutes, I hear the muffled sound of someone crying. I will have to ask Beagle about that in the morning when he wakes up.

During the night, a couple of big lizards start charging at me, mouths wide open and filled with razor sharp teeth.

One shot of my finger gun each is enough to make their heads explode.

I examine the remains and find that the meat would be good for human consumption. It even has some radiation that can recharge my battery. I suppose that it would also be good for lobotomite consumption, but I’ll ask Beagle when he wakes up.

Once my internal clock hits 0730 I start working on making breakfast for me and potentially Beagle. I have no idea what lobotomites eat, so hopefully he can tell me when he wakes up.

He’s not up within thirty minutes, so I decide to go wake him up.

The first thing I notice is that the nigh-permanent crease between his eyebrows has softened. His hair is tousled and messy but in a way that looks so soft. The corners of his mouth are effortlessly upturned, like this act of being in sleep mode is the most peace has felt in recent years. And his breathing, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. I stop myself short of even brushing the stray locks of hair out of his face to get a clearer shot. It feels like a crime to wake him up.

I take a few pictures and send them to the Think Tank with the caption, “What should I do?”

After a few minutes of peaceful observation, I hear, “SHELLEY YOU SHOULD SEND US THE HUMAN FOR STUDY.”

Dr. Klein’s baseline volume startles Beagle out of his slumber. He’s holding his gun like the stock is the barrel.

“You were the worst person to answer my inquiry, Dr. Klein,” I say to him, annoyed. “Also that’s my lab… science deputy, Beagle.”

“His first name is Beagle?” Dr. 0 asks. “I’ve heard weirder, but not by much.”

“It’s my last name.” Beagle pinches the bridge of his nose. He asks me, “There’s more disembodied voices?”

“Six in total,” I answer, shutting off the frequencies. “I won’t bog you down with the details while the meat is burning. Which reminds me to ask you, can lobotomites eat mildly irradiated reptile meat?”

“Never realized it was mildly irradiated,” he replies, getting up to sit by the fire, “but if by lobotomites you mean humans, then yes, we do eat gecko meat, Sir.”

“Fascinating.” I get up to join him for breakfast. “Thank you for answering that question. I have others.”

“I’m sure you do,” he says, a cocky smile painted on his lips. “And I’ll answer them, if you answer a few of mine.”

“A fair trade. What is your question?”

“Do you know what a person is, Sir? I mean, why do you call me a lobotomite?”

“With you specifically, it is merely a force of habit,” I answer honestly. “But as a generalization, it is because I know I am a person. I know what the lobotomites back home look like, and they don’t look like me. Therefore, any being that isn’t like me and looks like a lobotomite probably is one. Unless I am proven otherwise. The doctors didn’t let outside all that often. Whenever I travelled to visit Dr. Mobius on weekends, he sent roboscorpion bodyguards to escort me to The Forbidden Zone.”

Beagle blinks at me a few times. “That’s a lot to process.”

“Take your time,” I reply, taking another bite of cooked gecko meat. It tastes a little metallic, but yummy.

After a while, I ask him, “I heard the sound of muffled crying last night. What was that?”

He freezes in place before setting his rattling fork and plate down and sitting on his hands.

He finally replies, “You said you fought geckos last night?”

I nod.

He continues hastily, “Yeah, that’s the sound of geckos.”

“It sounded very lobotomite-esque.”

“Well it was the geckos,” he insists. “Not me.”

“I hadn’t considered the possibility of it being you.”

I hear him softly mutter, “Fuck,” under his breath. He tries to light a cigarette, but his hands are shaking too much to get a proper light. I decide to help him out and singe the tip of the cigarette with my finger laser.

He takes a couple puffs, blowing them into mesmerizing rings before turning back to me and saying, “Thanks.”

I snap a few photos of the smoke rings with my eyes.

“How did you do that?” I ask, pointing at the dissipating smoke.

“Not so fast,” he smiles coyly. “It’s my turn to ask you a question. Do you have cameras for eyes? Followup question, do you have eyelids? I’ve never seen you blink.”

“I was outfitted with the necessary tools to document outer world beings in situ. If you look at the screen on my arm I can show you all the photos I’ve taken so far.” As he flicks through the pictures, I follow up, “Also, I don’t need eyelids since, unlike lobotomite eyes, mine do not require moisture to be maintained and the apertures can close up and block all light and foreign particles if I so desire.”

“Are these pictures of me?”

“Affirmative. I needed visuals to go with my questions about you to the Think Tank. You can read the captions that go with the pictures if you swipe up on the screen. Now for my question. You told Dr. 0 that Beagle is your last name. What is your first name?”

“You only get to find that out if you tell me what your other names are.”

“Is this a bluff? Because I will, as the people in Dr. 0’s movies put it, call your bluff.”

“I’m not bluffing,” he responds honestly. “You’re just not the only one that’s cagey about names.”

“Regardless; Dr. Klein named me Shelley, Dr. Bouros named me Vera, Dr. Dala named me Shiloh, Dr. 0 named me Azami, Dr. 8 named me Lizabeth, and Dr. Mobius named me Dorothy. What did your creators name you?”

“George,” he says quickly before immediately pivoting into, “So you’re telling me that the doctors that built you couldn’t agree on a name for you?”

“They are the brightest minds humanity has to offer,” I tell him earnestly. “I wouldn’t expect them to get bogged down in the details like names.”

“If you say so, Sir,” he says, blowing another mesmerizing cloud of smoke into the air.

After we finish breakfast, we continue on our desert trek.

I continue our conversation, “So, what is the NCRCF?”

“Stands for New California Republic Correctional Facility,” he replies before taking a sip of something from a flask. Based on how much the sun is beating down, it would be safe to assume water.

“A prison?” I remark. “Fascinating. Dr. Bouros told me that American High School was like that.”

“What’s ‘American High School?’” He puts air quotes around the phrase.

“Prison, I guess?” I reply, unsure. “He uses it as the backdrop for one of his testing chambers. It’s full of turrets and robodogs and a couple of robots that want you dead. If you’re a communist. Which in his testing chamber you are pretending to be.”

“Isn’t communist another word for someone who rides horses?”

My fans stop whirring for a brief second before immediately overclocking. “How... did you... get horseback riding? From communism? You know what? Scratch that, how long until we reach the NCRCF?”

“About five hours, if your map is correct,” he informs me, gesturing to the screen on my arm.

“Okay,” I calculate, “that should be enough time to explain the political compass to you and also pick your brain to figure out where the horses came from.”