#with a giant no entry sign

[quiveringdeer]

can't believe this paultry, soggy ass sandwich cost $14 🫤 I don't even wanna finish the second half. damn airports

[dbphantom]

on this laptop is some old near art from hs/college and augh them...

[whensecretsrise]

The monster adoption fair was like nothing you could imagine. It was massive. Feeling as though it stretched on forever. Creatures ranged from mundane to outlandish. Rows upon rows of were-creatures- be it wolves or cats, naga or foxes or great feathered birds and more- all nestled safely within their kennels. A sign directed the way to where the centaurs, minotaurs, and satyrs were kept. You barely gave it a glance before turning down the next row. Tanks held merfolk and sirens, some muzzled for safety, and a number of amphibian and reptilian creatures. One tank in particular seemed impossibly large. The water in it so dark you weren't sure what could be inside. That was until a great suckered tentacle brushed along the glass.

Your heart kicked against your chest at the sight of it. Half primal fear, but the other half. Well, there wasn't any use dwelling on it. There was no way you could imagine what caring for something that large would take.

You wander deeper, giddiness welling inside you. The background checks you had to pass, the rounds and rounds of interviews you had to go through to prove that you would be a responsible owner. All of that and more was worth it to be allowed entry into the fair.

There was a temperature change in the next room you entered. Everything was warm enough that you were already starting to sweat before taking even a dozen steps inside. Demons, incubi, succubi, and plenty more beyond that all stared out at you through their glassed enclosures. The glass was thick enough that you couldn't hear their words, but the way they moved, so languid and sensual, had a blush rising to your cheeks that had nothing to do with the heat. The temperature slowly lowered as you approached the far end of the room. The creatures in those enclosures were more insectoid. Joints that seemed to bend the wrong way, appendages stranger than any you'd seen before. You couldn't help but pause to watch their twitching movements and how they traversed the structures in their enclosures. Beyond those lay more familiar creatures. Giant bees. Wasps with their wings beating so fast you were sure you could hear their buzz. Moths that had left a fine coat of powder from their wings on the glass. After a moment of awe you move on.

The temperature in the next room was considerably lower. A much welcomed respite from the heat. More tanks and enclosures filled this room. Your heart began to speed for you had made it to the room you had come for. Slimes of all sizes and colors pressed against their glass. There were plenty of humanoid slimes with big, soft eyes and coy smiles, but that wasn't what you wanted. You brushed past the larger tanks with barely more than a second glance. A smaller companion was what you were seeking. Something that wouldn't take up too much space, but was easy to cuddle with if you wanted.

You carefully inspected a number of tanks. Some of the slimes gave off a faint glow while others shimmered under the lights. There were even some that seemed to change from one color to another as they moved. Each one had a small description plate in front of it detailing habits, temperament, enrichment suggestions, and more besides. The wiggling masses within regarded you with varying levels of interest.

One, however, immediately perked up when you approached it. It was a beautiful pearl white that sparkled with golds and pinks. It swarmed against its glass, pressing itself as close to you as it could manage. Tentatively you placed a gentle hand against the glass. Doing so wasn't allowed, but you couldn't help the way it was drawn to you. A trickle of warmth passed through the glass and a wave of calm washed over you. This was it. The one you would take home had claimed you for its own.

You quickly scribbled down your guest number on the provided card, and took a copy of the creature's location card. The slime remind pressed against the glass as if watching you work. It was only when you began to walk away did it shrink back down to the bottom of its container.

It took a while to locate a staff member among the vast network of rooms and the other visitors of the fair.

"I would like to adopt this creature please," you said as you handed over the slime's identification card.

The worker scanned the card before giving you a sympathetic look. "Are you sure about this? This particular slime has been bounced back to us at least three times. It's very temperamental."

You recall the wave of calm you had felt when you were only separated from it by the glass beneath your hand. "I'm certain."

"Have you ever had a slime before?"

"No," you admitted, "I've never had the money to adopt one. I've been saving for years though, and I'm certain this is the slime I want."

"You might want to start with an easier one first. You being brand new to this and all. I can almost guarantee that this one will still be around if you decide to go looking later."

You shake your head. "I appreciate the advice, but I'm set on this one," you say firmly.

"Suit yourself," the worker shrugs. "Not like the poor thing isn't used to coming back here."

"I'm going to take great care of it. I've got my apartment set up and everything."

"Alrighty then. You can go ahead and head up front to pay. I'll have your slime brought up by the time you finish." The identification card is handed back to you.

As promised, there was a small, travel sized tank waiting for you after you'd paid and gone through the mandatory speech on slime care. You already knew most of it after years of research, but it did remind you of a few things you seemed to have forgotten.

You carried your new creature out to your car and buckled the tank safely in the front seat.

"Alright little slime, it's me and you now. I'm going to make sure you have a good new life. I'm not going to give up on you like the others." You pat the top of the tank and feel a vibration and a soft noise from the other side of the glass, almost as if the creature was purring.

Back home you carried the case over to the tank you had prepared for it and sat it inside. Only then did you open the travel container so that the slime had a chance to safely explore and get used to its new surroundings. You secured the tank lid and went off to put away the pamphlets that the adoption fair had given you.

When you returned the slime had moved into the big tank. It pressed itself against the glass as though it could sense you.

"Hey there, it looks like you're getting used to your new place. I hope that it’s big enough for you. It'll be a while before I can afford something bigger, but even then I'm not sure it would fit."

The slime vibrated again.

You smile and open the tank to remove the travel container. The slime oozed off of the glass and to the bottom of its tank. You stick your hand back down, fingers brushing affectionately against it. Another purr came from it. This time, the first time you've actually touched it, had it suckling at your fingers. Calmness washed over you again. Your fingertips began to tingle.

"Hey now, what are you doing?" You pull away with a laugh.

The slime follows you up, but releases you once your hand is nearly out of its tank. It sinks back down into a puddle and crawls to a corner as if sulking.

With another laugh you reach both hands down toward it. "Alright, if you're going to be mad about it, I guess I can let you out for a bit. We'll both have a chance to properly meet each other."

It surged upward into your hands. It oozed over the edges of your hands, but retained its overall shape. You carried it over to the couch.

The creature puddled into your lap. Bare seconds had passed before it was sending tendrils out to explore you. It wrapped itself up your arms. Retreated and slid along your neck. It caressed your lips and coated your stomach.

No residue was left in its wake. You had expected needing a full shower after taking it out of its tank, but perhaps not. Calmness had stolen through you, stronger now that the two of you were touching. The soft, lapping movements over your skin lulled you. Before you knew it you were stretching out across the couch, mind hazy with calm. Time passed and your eyes dropped closed. Your slime exploring you had faded into the back of your consciousness.

When it slipped beneath your clothes you barely noticed. Not even when it explored lower, seeking out the warmth between your thighs. By then your body was pliant and wanting. A wanting that stole over you on paws so soft that you couldn't remember not that want. Something secret, just for you. The slime drizzled like honey into your center. So slow and fluid you didn’t register the feeling. No, you existed in a state of such hazy serenity that it was only when the slime began to purr that you clicked back to reality.

The purr sent a jolt through you. A vibration that had your hands clenching into fists on pure instinct. Now you could properly feel the ebb and glide of it within you. Your hazed mind began to clear with your racing heart. Heat bloomed in your cheeks. Seemingly of their own accord, your hips began to rock. The slime began to spread. It filled you in ways it hadn’t before. A moan escapes your mouth. You arch your back, trying desperately to grind on thin air.

The slime moves inside you as if thrusting. Hitting you deep and slow. Even through your first orgasm it doesn't stop. It sent another wave of haze inducing calm washing over you. Keeping you right on the edge. Making sure you felt every millimeter of it. A tendril of slime draws out of you. It spreads to cover your center. The feeling of it sucking at you pulls another orgasm from your pliant body.

It wrings orgasm after orgasm out of you. The state of bliss and arousal is never disrupted for long. It ebbs and flows from orgasm to orgasm until, finally, the slime pulls away. It climbs up your sweat slicked skin to nestle against your chest, purring contentedly.

"Little slime," you whisper, "you and I are going to get along very well."

HAVE YOUR AGE LISTED OR CATCH A BLOCK

[tsukimefuku]

that's spooky af, honey :: jjk characters

They’re not the biggest fans of horror movies, but they might make an exception just for you - feat. Gojo, Toji, Nanami, Higuruma, Kusakabe, Shoko

cw: gender neutral reader, crack, comedy, i’m flexing here so some ooc, and a lot of fluff. roughly proofread. notes etc.: happy spooky season, guys 🎃 Entry for the spookinky event.

⛧ GOJO SATORU

(The Exorcist - 1973)

It was a very hot night. The type of night in which even mosquitoes could drop dead from the heat at any second. It felt like you were in an oven, so surely, it made no sense that your boyfriend, Satoru, kept you in the death grip of his hug like a koala hanging from a tree.

A pretty desperate koala latched with his abdomen to your back.

“Toru, please, I can’t breathe,” you insisted, trying to move his hands from your waist just to get a few inches back of freedom. It backfired, and he tightened all around you. 

“You don’t, babe,” he cooed, nuzzling around the sweaty nape of your neck, “you just need to be here.” 

He sounded cuddly, definitely a little clingy, but you thought it was cute how after you both turned off the classic rendition of The Exorcist, Satoru gripped you and didn’t let go since.

You huffed, accepting defeat. 

“Okay, but I need to at least drink some water and I also need to go to the bathroom,” you told him, shuffling around over the bed sheets.

Satoru didn’t flinch, still gripping on you like you were the last flatscreen on sale during a Black Friday. 

“Satoru.”

Your voice contained a warning (a warning coming mostly from your bladder). 

“Go in the morning! It’s so cozy,” he whined, letting go from you just enough for you to slightly turn back and look at his messy white hair covering his playful blue eyes, which decorated a remarkably adorable pout.

It would be cuter if you weren't on the verge of peeing yourself on the bed. 

“It’s not! Satoru, it’s searing hot, we’re both drenched and I need to pee!” 

Satoru pressed a quick kiss to your lips and rested his mouth over your hair. 

“No, you don’t.” 

“Sir, you’re not the boss of my pee.”

He chuckled softly and made it abundantly clear he wouldn’t let you go willingly.

“Oh, I’m not getting a urinary tract infection because you’re too scared to be in the room alone after a cheesy horror movie!” you protested while chuckling back, starting to wrestle around with him, failing miserably to free yourself from the giant’s grip, “I have to go to the bathroom now!” 

“Then I’ll go with you!” he conceded, finally freeing your waist and jumping himself up off the bed with a grin.

You sighed with a half smile on your face at his antics. 

“Dear Lord Almighty.”

—

⛧ FUSHIGURO TOJI

(Hereditary - 2018)

You had barely managed to get around the second isle in the grocery store before your phone started blowing up with calls. You had left Toji watching a horror movie while Megumi was napping in his own room as you took a quick run to the shop. You had forgotten to buy a few things for dinner earlier that day. 

Your phone had already vibrated a few times, the tell-tale sign you got fired up with quite a few text messages.

“Yes, Toji?” you said while answering the phone, “I left you watching a movie and just came down quick to get some groceries, what’s up?” 

“The movie is finished,” Toji answered in his characteristically nonchalant way, but offered no further explanation. 

“I still have some things to grab around here. How’s Megumi?” 

“He’s fine, I’m in his room. He’s still sleeping.” 

“Oh, good.” 

You had committed to memory the way Toji would every night sit on little Megumi’s end of the bed, and silently look at him before smiling and leaving his room. He never connected the dots of how you would always, somehow, need something from the kitchen during that same time, just to walk by the door and see them both.

However, this was too early for his nightly ritual. Megumi was sure to wake up from his nap soon.

Then, a thought crossed your mind. 

“Toji.” 

“What?” 

“Are you scared? After the movie? That’s why you’ve been texting and calling me like crazy?”

He scoffed on the other side of the line. 

“Of course not, I’m not a little kid.” 

You kept silent for a few moments, and he didn’t say anything else, still lingering on a bated breath. 

“Well, if that’s the case, then I think I’ll just run to the convenience store quickly and get us some-” 

“No! Just come home already,” he complained, and you couldn’t help but giggle. 

“Only if you ask nicely.” 

Toji groaned.

”Please, babe, come home and let’s eat dinner.” 

“Fine, I’ll be back in ten.” 

—

⛧ NANAMI KENTO

(It - 2017)

A ritual you and Nanami had after you broke your leg — and got prescribed lots of bed rest for that — was watching a different movie every night before sleeping. 

You’d usually doze off shortly after while your husband would keep reading his books by himself, in his own personal nightly routine. He’d make good use of that extra time he was always awake to get a water jug from the kitchen and leave it by your side, just in case you felt thirsty during the night (which, to be fair, you always did).

This time, however, after watching the “It” remake of 2017, you weren't feeling quite sleepy, so you decided to doom scroll on your phone while your husband read. 

You did notice a funny thing, though.

An hour had passed, and he hadn’t moved from the bed.

“Kento,” you called, blocking your phone’s screen and looking at him.

He put his hand over your thigh softly, not to disturb the cast under the knee that was already propped up comfortably by a pillow, and kept reading, holding his book with his other hand.

“Yes, sweetheart?” 

“Aren’t you going to get the jug of water for the night?” 

“Soon,” Nanami replied, his eyes making the quickest glance down the dark corridor, so quick you barely noticed, “soon.” 

“Ken, honey, I’m getting thirsty,” you cooed, resting your hand over his.

He looked over to you and put his book with open pages down on the nightstand.

“I apologize, darling,” he replied, leaning over and planting a soft kiss on your lips. “Would you mind if I just finished this chapter?”

His voice sounded so velvety and sweet, honestly, how could you say no?

“No problem,” you replied, and he smiled before sitting back and pulling his book into his hands again. However, once more, his eyes glanced down the dark corridor.

“Kento, I have a quick question, though. I promise not to keep interrupting your reading.” 

“You can interrupt me whenever you want. What is it?” 

“Why do you keep staring down the corridor?”

Nanami was clearly taken aback, even if he attempted to feign nonchalance.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, love.” 

“Oh, come on, you do…” you began, right before the realization dawned on you.

“Kento, did you get spooked from the movie?”

Nanami turned his head to look at you, but his expression was not exactly surprised. He seemed more like a kid who had been caught stealing cookies from the jar before dinner time.

“Excuse me?” 

“Light of my life, you never take this long to get the jug, and also, you are staring at that dark corridor. I’m sure of it.” 

“I will get it, right after I finish the chapter,” he replied with little to no conviction in his voice, “and you’re always fast asleep when I do. How do you know how long I usually take?”

You stared at him, in all his 6 feet tall glory, and bit down a chuckle. 

“I didn’t know you were afraid of clowns,” you said, trying not to grin. 

“Darling, I’m not afraid of clowns,” Kento replied sounding slightly offended while he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, let me go get your water.”

Nanami put his book down, walked towards the room’s door, but didn’t fail to take a second before turning the corridor’s light on prior to walking towards the kitchen. You heard the kitchen’s light being turned on too.

Shortly after, he was back. Nanami put the water jug accompanied by a cup on your nightstand, and laid down.

“Thanks, Ken. Good night, I love you.”

“Good night. I love you too, darling.”

There was still something off, though.

“Ken, why are we sleeping with the night lamp on?”

He pretended to not hear you.

—

⛧ HIGURUMA HIROMI

(The Shining - 1980)

You had noticed it happening for the past hour of the movie you were both watching, The Shining. Hiromi wasn’t someone very vocal about his discomforts, but his body would occasionally betray him. 

With each passing twenty minutes or so, you noticed your fiancée had inched himself closer and closer to you, with the feeble excuse that he wanted to be closer to the popcorn. His hand was diving in the pot, picking a single popcorn at a time, as the rain tapped violently against your windows.

His eyes were glued to the screen, and for a second, you couldn’t quite remember the last time he had blinked ever since the movie started. 

“Hiro,” you whispered at him, “are you enjoying the movie?”

Hiromi simply nodded, not looking away from the screen. 

“Are these actual ghosts or is Jack just going insane?” he asked just below his breath, putting another single unit of popcorn in his mouth. 

“I mean, going from the book, the Overlook Hotel is haunted,” you whispered, “but Kubrick wanted to dive more into that psychological aspect of the horror. Stephen King really hated this movie,” you concluded, shoving a handful of popcorn in yours. 

“Did he? Why?” 

“Mostly because the hotel should be the corrupting factor, Jack wasn’t supposed to be cuckoo crazy from the start like Kubrick made him to be,” you replied with your mouth full.

Hiromi huffed, blinking for the first time in God knows how many minutes. 

“I guess no one is, truly.”

You smiled and laid your head on his shoulder, cozying up against Hiromi’s body warmth. 

“Oh, this one’s good,” you stated, heightening his already sharp attention to the events unfolding in front of him.

This was the scene where Hallorann, the cook, went back to the hotel after Danny managed to ask him for help. By this point, Jack was already roaming through the Overlook with his signature axe and well, what would happen was pretty obvious, but still.

Hallorann came walking down the corridor, his steps against the linoleum floor being the only sound filling the space. The tension grew, Danny’s face in the dark showed up, and you propped yourself for the big jump scare.

However, at the very moment Jack jumped into the frame bearing his axe…

The lights in the entire house went out.

You didn’t get a second to process it, though. Before you knew it, the popcorn bowl flew over, meeting its fateful end on the ground, popcorn spread all over you both and the floor, the blanket you and Hiromi were both under became a crumpled messy ball while falling over. He yanked you over with his arms around you so violently your lungs struggled for a second. To call that a hug would be sugar coating it (a lot).

Hiromi was holding onto you for dear life.

The power took a few seconds to come back, and when it did, you realized he had his eyes sewn shut, opening them softly as light hit his eye lids. 

It took you a few labored breaths to ask, 

“Do you want to watch something els-“ 

“Yes.”

—

⛧ KUSAKABE ATSUYA

(Cabin in the woods - 2011) 

“Get up!” was the only thing you heard before falling off the side of the bed in utter disorientation. Seconds before, you had been sleeping peacefully, and your boyfriend, Kusakabe, should’ve been by your side.

However, as you regained your senses, you saw him standing with his back against the wall beside the bedroom door, in the dark, holding onto his katana. 

“Atsuya, what happened?” you inquired, still half dazed, but adrenaline definitely kicking in from the way he was carrying himself. Alert signs went up in your mind. 

“There’s something in the house,” he whispered urgently, signaling for you to pick up your weapon too.

Your sorcerer instincts came fully awake and you pulled your dagger from the bedside table, walking towards him in a crouch. 

“What grade do you think it is?” you asked, looking up at him. 

Apart from him being like this, though, you didn’t sense anything. Not yet.

Before answering you, he darted himself out of the bedroom — something considerably uncharacteristic for him — and you followed him, alert and confused. 

“The assistants, and the lab, they-“ you heard Kusakabe mumbling to himself as he was walking around the house, “always giving me more work. Them and the teens, no one can do their work right, shit.” 

… What now? 

“Atsu, what are you talking about? Where’s the curse?” you insisted, “what grade is it? What is it like? Should I call Gojo?” 

You were now definitely starting to feel the pain in the back of your neck and the base of your back from falling off the bed. 

“No, we can handle it ourselves, we always have to, no one knows how to do their job and-“ the senseless mumbling ensued, “and the merman…”

Oh, no. You finally realized what was going on.

Irritation instantly hit you, and you walked towards Kusakabe, yanking his katana from his hands, looking very seriously at the sorcerer before chastising him. 

“You gotta be kidding me! You woke me up in the middle of the night and scared me half to death because of a nightmare?!”

He blinked multiple times, shaking his head, and looked back at you. 

“You’re not listening, the merman-“ 

”There is no merman, love of mine,” you replied, sighing and pinching the bridge of your nose, “this was one of the monsters in the movie we watched before going to sleep. The one where there is a lab, and monsters, and young uni students going on a trip, being idiots and getting killed… Don’t you remember?” 

After a few seconds, the realization finally dawned on him, and he put his hand on his forehead. 

“There is no merman?” 

“There is no merman, Atsuya. I promise.”

You had to hold down a laugh before leading a very confused Kusakabe back into the bedroom, tucking him for a — hopefully — calm night of sleep.

—

⛧ IEIRI SHOKO

(The Autopsy of Jane Doe - 2016)

Your girlfriend had the pokerest of poker faces. So you didn’t expect her to be jumping around from fright or anything of the sort.

However, the cigarette she let burn out completely untouched, still hanging from her mouth, betrayed just how scared shitless she was. The entire thing had become one continuous trail of ashes that ended on her lips, and funnily enough, it hadn’t fallen.

Yet.

Discreetly, you picked up the ashtray from the coffee table and hovered it under the cigarette, just in time for the tube of ashes to fall perfectly down in it.

Still, no movements from your girlfriend. 

You waved your hand in front of her face, but she just stood there, sitting down in the exact same position she had been ever since the movie started, like a marble statue.

“Shoko, sweetheart, are you okay?” 

Shoko only hummed what could be interpreted as a “yes” in return, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft giggle. Trying to ease her out of the fear, you tried joking a little. 

“So, this cursed corpse is kind of different from the ones Principal Yaga makes, hm? His are cuter, for sure.”

Another soulless mm-hmm came out, and you wondered if you had maybe taken this horror night a little too far. She did autopsies for a living, after all. Perhaps this was too close to home. 

“Honey? Love?” 

No response. 

“Do I have to call Gojo to pull you out of this?”

This finally elicited a you can’t be serious right now response from her, and it eased your worries, even if just a little.

Picking up the remote, you paused the movie, and put a hand on her shoulder. 

“Shoko, would you like to watch something else?”

She sighed, seemingly relieved, and turned her face to yours. 

“I want to watch my actual autopsies videos. Like, ones without curses in them.” 

You chuckled softly before planting a tender kiss on her lips. 

“You’re weird. Of course, love you.”

written by tsukimefuku ㋡ comments and reblogs are appreciated. do not copy, translate or repost. copycatting is for losers.

[whenmemorydies]

Lessons of a mentor: every second counts

The Bear brainrot continues unabated and a character that has been sitting at the back of my mind since I first watched 2x07 Forks has been Chef Terry. Her influence is felt in a multitude of ways throughout season 2, most notably via the impact she's had on her former chefs, Carmen and Luca. What fascinates me more about Chef Terry though are the parallels between her and Syd and the home truths that both these powerhouse women keep dropping (and which many a loudmouth dude on this show keep missing...*womp*).

Lots more under the cut. This is a long post but this show is so bloody juicy I couldn't help myself!

Who is Chef Terry?

So quick recap: Chef Terry is the Executive Chef at Ever, a 3-Michelin starred restaurant in Chicago, loosely based on and shot on location at the actual Ever. In the show, the restaurant opened in 2012 and was awarded "the best restaurant in the world" that same year.

In 2x07 Forks as Richie walks past portraits of Ever's alumni, we learn that both Carmen and Chef Luca (now based in Copenhagen, Denmark) both worked at the restaurant together, under Chef Terry. This is previously hinted at in 2x04 Honeydew when Luca talks to Marcus about working with a chef who worked "harder and faster than [Luca] ever could," and who inadvertently pushed Luca to get "better than [Luca] possibly could be, just from trying to keep up with him."

Chefs Carmen and Luca at Ever.

In 2x07 Forks, we get Chef Terry's origin story as she recounts it to Richie, who Carmy has sent to Ever to stage for a week. We learn that:

Chef Terry, like Richie and Syd, is an only child. She likely had a tense relationship with her father (who we learn was a Corporal in the military) before he passed, but is incredibly close with her mother, her only living parent.

Carm getting Richie a spot to stage at Ever was not a favour because Chef Terry doesn't do favours:

Chef Terry is quick to praise folks who try to learn. Note when she asks Richie if he'd like to peel mushrooms with her and she tells him that his first attempt is great (despite the fact that process-wise, he peels them in the exact opposite direction she does):

She had previously tried to open "a giant place" years ago when she was younger, and by her own description, "was on fire [and was] arrogant." Chef Terry then says she moved too fast and couldn't keep the place open.

She later opened Ever after coming across the building's "For Lease" sign while walking.

Its clear from her conversation with Richie about Ever's beginnings that Chef Terry is a firm believer in it never being too late to try again:

But for me, the most important thing we learn about Chef Terry in the 5 minutes she's on screen with us, is her belief in time being well spent. When Richie first sees Chef Terry, she's quietly peeling mushrooms by herself in the kitchen. When Richie asks her why she's doing this work, instead of a stage, we get this lovely bit of dialogue:

Chef Terry then goes on to tell Richie about her father and how he kept pocket notebooks in which he made hundreds of entries about different experiences while he was on military tour.

While Chef Terry never tells Richie how her father signed off on each of his pocket notebook entries, its implied by the end of the episode, that The Bear's mantra of "every second counts" originates from those very notebooks.

This was revelatory to me. Up until Chef Terry and Richie's conversation in 2x07 Forks, "every second counts" in this show was synonymous with Carmy's "sense of urgency", taped to the pass in 1x02 Hands and tattooed across his knuckles in the form of "S O U".

Prior to 2x07 Forks, "every second counts" was wrapped up in the frenetic pace of a restaurant's back of house, with Mikey dying well before his time and by his own hand, with the panicked need to fix the regret and broken-heartedness that accompanied years of estrangement, with Donna's litany of cooking timers going off every other minute in a kitchen covered in chaos and passata. It had to do with time slipping away and the persistent, but always losing battle to try and steal it back.

But in Chef Terry's conversation with Richie, it is made clear to the audience that the lesson in "every second counts" is not about speed or clawing anything back. Those notebook entries were not made for any other reason than to describe, remember, and step into a moment. Chef Terry peels mushrooms at first light in her restaurant because it attaches her to her work and connects her to those whose bellies she fills with her food. "Every second counts" is about savouring every second that we have, while we have it, and being present in each of those moments, as much as we can.

Its about realising that every second does count because every second has meaning.

Time spent informed by this knowledge, is time well spent.

Lessons and Parallels with Sydney

Like Chef Terry, Sydney also tried to run her own business, Sheridan Road, but it "got too big too fast", and she was unable to keep up with its demands. As she tells Carmy in 1x05 Sheridan,

My credit got destroyed. I mean, my whole shit got rocked.

The failures of both of their respective businesses pushed both women into the depths of existential crisis. Chef Terry tells Richie how she had been "unemployed, angry, depressed", and "blaming everybody else for all the time I'd lost."

While Sydney never makes an admission like this about the fallout of Sheridan Road, the depth of the impact of that failure on her is clearly apparent in the show, most notably in 2x09 Omelette. In this episode, Syd's father Emmanuel asks her why she is putting so much pressure on herself to be successful with The Bear. Syd responds, its because she doesn't know if she could start another business.

Later in the same episode, we hear Syd's even more vulnerable admission to Carm about her fear of failure, under that pretense for intimacy table.

Like Chef Terry, Sydney does not do favours. Recall when she fixed Tina's bouquet garni-infused cream in 1x04 Dogs after the latter kept ignoring Syd's advice on how to prep the mashed potatoes and ended up ruining her first batch of cream in the process:

Also, bonus Fak attack (lol) from the same episode:

But also like Chef Terry, Syd is generous with her praise when folks try - as opposed to only praising those who succeed. The praise is for the attempt in the moment to grow, not in the growth itself. Recall in 1x02 Hands as Syd calls out orders to Ebra, he falters and says back the wrong count. Syd gently corrects him and Ebra tries again, after which Syd says,

Gorgeous. Thank you, chef.

Its a small moment, but its one of the first times we hear the word "gorgeous" used inside The Beef. You can literally see Carmy's shock at the utterance, at the firm kindness of the exchange between Syd and Ebra. I personally like to think this might also be a moment of recognition for him, where he sees an echo of his mentor, Terry, in the woman he's about to hire as his sous chef.

And finally, of all the characters on this show, the one who seems to best understand that every second counts because every second has meaning, is Sydney. To me this is epitomised by her omnipresent notebooks in which she's always writing, clearly echoing Chef Terry's father and his will to remember the detail.

Sydney's question to her father in 2x09 Omelette is also indicative to me of a person who understands that each moment we have on this tiny blue dot is precious. When Emmanuel tells her that he doesn't think she needs to make everything "the thing" because she will always have his support, Sydney asks him,

Why can't we put everything that we have into everything that we can?

I've no doubt that Sydney's ethos, embodied by this question, is the result of the passing of her mother when she was a child. With that loss, Sydney would have learned from a young age that every second is important. She knows that you can't get more time, so you make the most of that which you have. Or in her words, you put everything you have, into everything that you can.

Its striking to me how differently Syd and Carm have interpreted the intention behind "every second counts" in the context of death and bereavement. Sydney moves through life with a drive borne out of knowing that our lives are finite and so every second contains the potential for possibility. Its why she had the guts to start her own business, had the optimism to apply to work at The Beef under a culinary hero, and had the hope to take a punt with The Bear.

In contrast to this, Carmy rails against time: at the time that he lost with Mikey, at the seconds that he might lose with each hiccup that delays a plate on the pass. For him, there's never enough time because it is constantly being snatched away.

He tells us in 2x03 Sundae that he struggles with being present in the moment and open to the world because he is always waiting for "the other shoe to drop",

I have to remind myself to breathe sometimes. I have to remind myself to be present, you know. Remind myself that the sky is not falling, that there is no other shoe. Which is incredibly difficult because there is always another shoe. I dunno, I think, you know maybe if I could provide more-more-more amusement or-or enjoyment for myself, it would be easier to provide for others, you know.

This isn't to say that Carmy isn't trying. Throughout the show, we've seen glimpses of him stopping to sit within a moment: his making time to talk to Richie about purpose in 2x01 Beef, his constant beckoning to Sydney to "say more" in both seasons 1 and 2, his return to art and drawing in season 2 - an act that physically forces you to slow down and observe detail, his repeated attempts to check in with Natalie about how she's doing despite his discomfort at the question, and most obviously, taking the time to softly, intentionally and unhurriedly comfort a worried Sydney with less than 25 minutes to open on the opening night of their restaurant.

To me, there are a number of reasons why its no surprise that Carmy is drawn to Sydney. I've mentioned a few here in this reply to @mod-doodles. Chief among them though are her consistency, her stability, and her integrity, all informed by Sydney's ethos of putting everything she has into everything she can; into making every second count, just like Carm would have seen his mentor Chef Terry do while he was at Ever.

I reckon Carmy's ultimate challenge in The Bear is going to be getting to the realisation that Chefs Terry, Sydney and even Luca (recall his chat about "openness" with Marcus in 2x04 Honeydew) have already reached: that because every second counts, happiness and peace - indeed amusement and enjoyment - are to be found in the doing, in the process, in the getting there, together. I'm sure by the end of our journey with these lovingly crafted characters, Carm will get there too.

Author's note:

Incidental to the above is this show's God-tier level casting. Storer and Calo have made it a point to cast famous and immensely talented actors in some of the smallest parts on this show...why? I'm thinking specifically of the casting of Jamie Lee Curtis as matriarch/walking emotional vortex Donna Berzatto and Olivia Colman as Capo/Chef Terry. Jamie Lee Curtis appears in The Bear throughout one full episode (2x06 Fishes) and in one scene (with everyone's favourite unproblematic king, Pete) in 2x10 The Bear. Olivia Colman appears in the show for just under 5 minutes, at the end of 2x07 Forks.

I reckon that, while the speaking parts for these characters are relatively small compared to other roles in The Bear, the casting choices here are reflective of the impact of these two characters on Carmen (in particular) and others on the show. The showrunners needed to cast folks whose reputations would precede them in order to instil in us, the audience, the same gravity of their presence as would be felt by the characters in the world of The Bear.

Donna Berzatto:

Donna's impact on the psyches of her children is huge. For evidence of this, watch the faces of Carmen, Natalie and Mikey whenever they're in proximity to their mother in 2x06 Fishes. They are constantly watching her, gauging her reactions and her levels. This is most clearly the case for Natalie who spends most of Fishes in a state of panicked fear, anticipating her mother's every move. Who better to cast as the anxiety-inducing-word-slurring-flirtatious-alcoholic Berzatto matriarch than scream queen, 80s/90s sex symbol and survivor of intergenerational substance abuse, Jamie Lee Curtis?

Chef Terry:

In contrast to Donna, Terry is a stable, consistent force of nature who has mentored successive waves of chefs that have walked through Ever's halls. She's overcome setbacks and had to relaunch herself, doing so with great success, while remaining grounded. While Olivia Colman's been plugging at acting on screen for over twenty years, she didn't reach the height of fame that she's currently enjoying until much later in her career and her life. By many public accounts, she's an incredibly talented, kind and down to earth A-lister. Also this interview with her is so Chef Terry coded I wouldn't be surprised if Calo and Storer read it and offered her the role the next day:

“There’s some amazing actors who don’t get asked back because they don’t behave very nicely,” she said. “Learn your lines, try and know everyone’s name, be on time … There’s a million people who would have your job in a second and more … who are better than you. Take your job seriously and not yourself.”

Without naming names, Colman said: “We all have actor stories of people who were unpleasant, unkind, ungenerous – and it goes around.”

Nor should actors ever become too grand to take on even a short film, she suggested: “Some people might think: ‘I don’t do that any more.’ I think that’s exciting to do. You’re going to meet new people or a new writer who might remember you later on … [Do] not get too up yourself, too grand. Work is work. If I now decided: ‘Oh, I will only do feature films,’ I might not work again.

“If you get accolades for something, enjoy it for a bit, but put it aside and pretend that hasn’t happened a week later. You still need to work and no one else will remember it either after a week. So crack on.”

Yes, Jamie Lee Curtis and Olivia Colman are fantastic actresses who could have acted the pants off their respective roles without their own personal backstories and filmographies doing any lifting...but given the limited time that they're on screen, having actresses who can bring all of that history and shorthand to the role is GOLD for quickly creating meaning and depth for the audience.

As soon as Donna first turned that corner in the kitchen in 2x06 Fishes chaotically balancing a tray of branzino in one hand and a cigarette in the other, yammering about spilling shit everywhere, I knew I was in for a ride. Likewise, as soon as Chef Terry gently suggested where Richie might find the polish he was looking for (instead of biting his head off because he was a mere stage and she was Capo), I knew I needed to be seated for the lesson that 2x07 Forks had been building up to all episode (and indeed that Richie's entire character arc had been building up to for almost two seasons). And phew...did these two brilliant women absolutely deliver.

K that's the end. If you made it this far, DM me because you are probably incredibly patient, kind and like to read and I need more of that energy in my life LOL. Thanks for spending some of your precious time with me <3.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The "religious liberty" angle for overturning the overturning of Dobbs

Frank Wilhoit’s definition of “conservativism” remains a classic:

There must be in-groups whom the law protects but does not bind, alongside out-groups whom the law binds but does not protect.

https://crookedtimber.org/2018/03/21/liberals-against-progressives/#comment-729288

Conservativism is, in other words, the opposite of the rule of law, which is the idea that the law applies equally to all. Many of America’s most predictably weird moments live in the tension between the rule of law and the conservative’s demand to be protected — but not bound — by the law.

Think of the Republican women of Florida whose full-throated support for the perfomatively cruel and bigoted policies of Ron Desantis turned to howls of outrage when the governor signed a law “overhauling alimony” (for “overhauling,” read “eliminating”):

https://www.orlandoweekly.com/news/this-is-a-death-sentence-for-me-florida-republican-women-say-they-will-switch-parties-after-desantis-approves-alimony-law-34563230

This is real leopards-eating-people’s-faces-party stuff, and it’s the only source of mirth in an otherwise grim situation.

But out of the culture-war bullshit backfires, none is so sweet and delicious as the religious liberty self-own. You see, under the rule of law, if some special consideration is owed to a group due to religious liberty, that means all religions. Of course, Wilhoit-drunk conservatives imagine that “religious liberty” is a synonym for Christian liberty, and that other groups will never demand the same carve outs.

Remember when Louisiana decided spend tax dollars to fund “religious” schools under a charter school program, only to discover — to their Islamaphobic horror — that this would allow Muslim schools to get public subsidies, too?

https://www.huffpost.com/entry/louisiana_n_1593995

(They could have tried the Quebec gambit, where hijabs and yarmulkes are classed as “religious” and therefore banned for public servants and publicly owned premises, while crosses are treated as “cultural” and therefore exempted — that’s some primo Wilhoitism right there)

https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/montreal/quebec-francois-legault-crucifix-religious-symbols-1.4858757

The Satanic Temple has perfected the art of hoisting religious liberty on its own petard. Are you a state lawmaker hoping to put a giant Ten Commandments on the statehouse lawn? Go ahead, have some religious liberty — just don’t be surprised when the Satanic Temple shows up to put a giant statue of Baphomet next to it:

https://www.npr.org/2018/08/17/639726472/satanic-temple-protests-ten-commandments-monument-with-goat-headed-statue

Wanna put a Christmas tree in the state capitol building? Sure, but there’s gonna be a Satanic winter festival display right next to it:

https://katv.com/news/offbeat/satanic-temple-display-installed-at-illinois-capitol-next-to-nativity-scene-menorah-decorations-snake-serpent-satanic-temple-springfield-christmas-tree

And now we come to Dobbs, and the cowardly, illegitimate Supreme Court’s cowardly, illegitimate overturning of Roe v Wade, a move that was immediately followed by “red” states implementing total, or near-total bans on abortion:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/15/paid-medical-disinformation/#crisis-pregnancy-centers

These same states are hotbeds of “religious liberty” nonsense. In about a dozen of these states, Jews, Christians, and Satanists are filing “religious liberty” challenges to the abortion ban. In Indiana, the Hoosier Jews For Choice have joined with other religious groups in a class action, to argue that the “religious freedom” law that Mike Pence signed as governor protects their right to an abortion:

https://www.politico.com/news/2023/06/21/legal-strategy-that-could-topple-abortion-bans-00102468

Their case builds on precedents from the covid lockdowns, like decisions that said that if secular exceptions to lockdown rules or vaccine mandates existed, then states had to also allow religious exemptions. That opens the door for religious exemptions to abortion bans — if there’s a secular rule that permits abortion in the instance of incest or rape, then faith-based exceptions must be permitted, too.

Some of the challenges to abortion rules seek to carve out religious exemptions, but others seek to overturn the abortion rules altogether, because the lawmakers who passed them explicitly justified them in the name of fusing Christian “values” with secular law, a First Amendment no-no.

As Rabbi James Bennett told Politico’s Alice Ollstein: “They’re entitled to their interpretation of when life begins, but they’re not entitled to have the exclusive one.”

In Florida, a group of Jewish, Buddhist, Episcopalian, Universalists and United Church clerics are challenging the “aiding and abetting” law because it restricts the things they can say from the pulpit — a classic religious liberty gambit.

Kentucky’s challenge comes from three Jewish women whose faith holds that life begins “with the first breath.” Lead plaintiff Lisa Sobel described how Kentucky’s law bars her from seeking IVF treatment, because she could face criminal charges for “discarding non-viable embryos” created during the process.

Then there’s the Satanic Temple, in court in Texas, Idaho and Indiana. The Satanists say that abortion is a religious ritual, and argue that the state can’t limit their access to it.

These challenges all rest on state religious liberty laws. What will happen when some or all of these reach the Supreme Court? It’s a risky gambit. This is the court that upheld Trump’s Muslim ban and the right of a Christian baker to refuse to bake a wedding cake for a same-sex couple. It’s a court that loves Wilhoit’s “in-groups whom the law protects but does not bind, alongside out-groups whom the law binds but does not protect.”

It’s a court that’s so Wilhoit-drunk, it’s willing to grant religious liberty to bigots who worry about imaginary same-sex couples:

https://newrepublic.com/article/173987/mysterious-case-fake-gay-marriage-website-real-straight-man-supreme-court

But in the meantime, the bigots and religious maniacs who want to preserve “religious liberty” while banning abortion are walking a fine line. The Becket Fund, which funded the Hobby Lobby case (establishing that religious maniacs can deny health care to their employees if their imaginary friends object), has filed a brief in one case arguing that the religious convictions of people arguing for a right to abortion aren’t really sincere in their beliefs:

https://becketnewsite.s3.amazonaws.com/20230118184008/Individual-Members-v.-Anonymous-Planitiff-Amicus-Brief.pdf

This is quite a line for Becket to have crossed — religious liberty trufans hate it when courts demand that people seeking religious exemptions prove that their beliefs are sincerely held.

Not only is Becket throwing its opposition to “sincerely held belief” tests under the bus, they’re doing so for nothing. Jewish religious texts clearly state that life begins at the first breath, and that the life of a pregnant person takes precedence over the life of the fetus in their uterus.

The kicker in Ollstein’s great article comes in the last paragraph, delivered by Columbia Law’s Elizabeth Reiner Platt, who runs the Law, Rights, and Religion Project:

The idea of reproductive rights as a religious liberty issue is absolutely not something that came from lawyers. It’s how faith communities themselves have been talking about their approach to reproductive rights for literally decades.

The Clarion Science Fiction Writers’ Workshop (I’m a grad, instructor and board member) is having its fundraiser auction to help defray tuition. I’ve donated a “Tuckerization” — the right to name a character in a future novel:

https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/clarion-sf-fantasy-writers-workshop-23-campaign/#/

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/11/wilhoitism/#hoosier-jews

[Image ID: Moses parting the Red Sea. On the seabed is revealed a Planned Parenthood clinic.]

Image: Nina Paley (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Moses-Splits-Sea_by_Nina_Paley.jpg

CC0 1.0 https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/deed.en

 — 

Kristina D.C. Hoeppner (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/4nitsirk/40406966752/

CC BY-SA 2.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

[preservationofnormalcy]

[My name is Meghan Hendricks, and I’m about to do something stupid.]

[I’ve scheduled my work to be sent to my superior in the federal government’s oversight committee unless I stop it in one week. A dead woman’s hand. It’ll be somewhat fruitless - I’ve begun to suspect that my work will be restricted, censored, and buried like most other things the Office does.

A lot of the people I talk to are exculpatory of the Office, even if they say they have questions or concerns. I think most of them mean it. I don’t think it’s brainwashing. I think in such a tighly knit community as the supernatural world people feel a more genuine sense of belonging than they might otherwise. A werewolf helping werewolves is going to understandably try and defend the hand that deals the help, even if they’ve bit it in the past. But one thing I’ve learned as I’ve been peeling up rocks and seeing what scurries away is that something isn’t right. Something is hiding in plain sight.

Most people don’t know about it. They can feel the shape of it, the outline the absence of something makes. Some people, however, do know. At least a little. I’ve seen them avoid questions, look away, end interviews. I can see it in their eyes. They know enough to not want to know more.

All of that brings me here, to the backwoods of upstate New York. I’m dressed in all black, wearing a mask and gloves. My clothing smells of peppermint, and in my bag is a bottle of peppermint oil. It stung my eyes and, before I got the dilution right, burned my skin. I look in my car’s rear view mirror and it hits me that I look ridiculous. I don’t know for sure why the factory foreman Barry warned me about the peppermint, but I had a theory. 

For the last few minutes I’d seen the shape rising into the air, the metal tower with red lights up its length. That was where I needed to be. The highway was thankfully bare, at this time of night. As was the turn-off onto an unmarked gravel road, only distinguishable by the Office’s symbol on a plastic sign, held up on a thin metal spike. I’d learned by now that the broader public couldn’t see the Office logos and signage until they’d been exposed to the extranormal, something the Office calls “memetic masking.” I was, in their terminology, memetically inoculated, and it was that fact that ironically helped me find the path. The gravel road went into the forest, but I pulled over past the road’s entry, into the small area of grass down past the turnoff. I pulled a tarp from my car and threw it over the vehicle, once again feeling ludicrous…and frankly, a little scared. 

The hike was about twenty minutes, mostly uphill on a gentle incline, the numbers station being built on a hill. I’d done worse, but not in a while. I could see pretty well in the light of the full moon, a fact that made me a little more nervous. I walked along the edge of the gravel road, in the dark - hiking onto a government facility, my nerves went wild. Every shift of leaves meant an agent clad in camo, every whip of wind causing a noise that made me think of the things I’d seen since I began this assignment. Not this assignment, I had to remind myself. This wasn’t part of it. Not really.

I saw the fence in the distance first - an eight foot chain link fence that stretched as far as I could see in either direction. Past the fence, I could see dark buildings, giant spools of wire, and above it all the metal tower of the station. I hadn’t exactly planned for this, even though I knew it was more than likely. The handheld cutters in my back pocket were ready, but something in me didn’t want to cut the links, even if I fully intended to pass the fence. Getting in some other way could be a blunder, accidental. Cutting the chain meant intent.]

C] 1 15 12 24 2 12 12 21 16 26 1 15 12 22 21 19 6 26 2 25 3 16 3 22 25

[The voice almost made me vomit. I spun and saw a man. Disheveled, haggard, an unkempt beard and long hair. Older, in his 50’s, but being dirty and ragged made him look even older. He didn’t even look at me, mumbling numbers so fast I could only understand them later once I slowed them down in my recording. After his string of digits he stood there, looking at the fence, then back to me. In the moon’s light I saw his dirty, torn jumpsuit, the logo for the Office on the man’s arm and chest, along with an embroidered nametag - Cecil.]

M] Wh- who are you? What are you doing here? 

C] 4 12 25 16 23 23 12 11 22 2 1 1 15 12 23 8 25 1 22 13 2 26 1 15 8 1 18 21 22 4 26 16 1 26 9 25 22 18 12 21

[His stare was distant, vacant. It was a shock when his hand moved suddenly, pointing upward to the moon. It took me a second to realize what he was saying, and when I did, it confirmed my suspicions.]

M] Here? Now? 

C] 1 15 12 6 19 19 23 2 21 16 26 15 15 16 20 13 22 25 19 16 3 16 21 14 1 15 25 22 2 14 15 16 1

[With that, he turned and walked away. He looked back once, pausing as if making sure I was following - which, despite my better judgment, I did. I attempted to ask him some more questions, trying to understand who he was or why he was here, but he didn’t respond. Not even with his numbers. 

After a moment of walking by the fence, we walked away from it, down the hill. A steep path, rocky and unstable, that he navigated with ease. It was only after climbing down past a tree and a rocky face that I noticed “Cecil” backtracking up a few steps. A huge drainage pipe jutted out from the hillside, hidden from above by rocks and plants. A piece of wood in the pipe was the only flimsy protection, and without hesitation Cecil pulled it aside and bent over to climb inside. Here I was, in the middle of the woods, about to climb into a dirty tunnel to a strange old man’s bunker. 

I could hear a match catch fire just as I stepped down onto a concrete floor and stood up past the metal pipe. The space was small, a concrete box that ended in a pile of rubble. It must have been the entrance to an underground section of the complex at one point, but now was only a covered shelter. A camp stove, a bed, an orderly pile of refuse. He was living hard out here, but he was living. Cecil put the match into an old oil lantern and held it up to one wall. ]

C] 13 16 21 16 1 12 2 21 16 3 12 25 26 12 13 16 21 16 1 12 1 22 22 19 26 4 12 19 22 22 18 12 11 9 12 6 22 21 11

[All over the concrete wall, pasted or taped, were papers. Mainly old documents from the Office, with the Office logo watermarked on their corners. Many of them featured heavy black redaction bars. Some were torn, upside down. Cut in patterns, circled with heavy marker lines. I’d seen things like this in movies, of course. The stereotypical red string and thumbtacks on corkboard. This was different, however. When I looked over the collage I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t a man trying to figure things out. He’d already figured it out, in his own way, and this was some kind of…archive. Memorial. A reminder. I looked at him, and he looked down to the floor. In shame? Sorrow? I couldn’t tell. I scanned the wall again, trying to find some order.  

‘Numbers Station 23 Decommissioned By Order Of Reality Compliance Council.’ ‘Bulletin From Director Walker On Directive 61722.’ ‘Los Angeles–’ the last one was torn off.]

C] 26 15 12 16 26 14 22 21 12 13 22 25 12 3 12 25 26 15 12 11 16 11 21 22 1 11 16 12

M] What is all this? Who ARE you?

C] 1 15 12 23 25 16 21 10 16 23 8 19 16 1 6 4 16 19 19 8 3 12 21 14 12 15 12 25

M] Listen, I – I don’t want numbers. Can you speak?

C] 15 16 26 13 2 1 2 25 12 16 26 2 21 18 21 22 4 8 9 19 12 8 21 11 1 15 2 26 16 21 13 16 21 16 1 12

M] You used to work for the Office…at the numbers station? This numbers station? Is that why you can only –

C] 4 12 18 16 19 19 12 11 25 12 8 19 16 1 6 1 22 26 1 22 23 15 16 20

[I must admit to some frustration. I scan the wall again. None of it made sense. Clearly it did to Cecil, otherwise he wouldn’t have saved all of this. Was the numbers station related to…what happened to my brother? Phrases leap out at me: ‘reality compliance’, ‘the equation’, ‘project dammerung.’ That last one was…all over. There were scraps, shreds with the phrase, but all of it redacted.]

M] What is this? Project Dammerung? 

C] 2 19 1 16 20 8 1 12 4 12 8 23 22 21 13 22 25 1 15 12 2 19 1 16 20 8 1 12 13 12 8 25

M] I don’t…I don’t have time for this. You know why I’m here. Are you going to help me, or not?

[Cecil was silent for once, looking around hesitantly, and finally back to the floor. I give him a moment to respond, and when he remains silent, I take in a breath.]

M] Right. Thank you, Mister…Cecil. I’ll…

[He raises his hand, almost as if he wanted to grab my arm, but was too timid. Raising the lantern to a section of the wall, he gestured to a particular document, from Office Security, or O-Sec. A photo of a serious-looking Asian-American man, Corporal Han. Most of the document was blacked out. Was this a warning? I take in the wall one last time, and drop my bag so I can reach for my camera. A polaroid - no digital trail, no getting the photos developed. With a click I snapped a photo of the wall. 

A noise distracted me. I turned, and Cecil was going through my bag.]

M] Uhh…sir? Cecil? 

[He stopped, looking up at me in almost surprise, as if he’d forgotten I was even there. ]

C] 1 15 12 12 20 16 26 26 8 25 6 26 14 25 8 21 11 11 8 2 14 15 1 12 25 4 16 19 19 1 8 18 12 15 16 26 23 19 8 10 12

[He slid the bag back over to me. I couldn’t figure out what he was looking for, but it didn’t matter now. I needed to get out of there. I put the camera back in, quickly checking that nothing was missing, and backed up towards the pipe.]

M] I know you showed me this for a reason. I’ll figure out how it all adds up, I promise. 

[I enter the pipe again, leaving the old man holding his lantern.]

M] Thank you.

[When I turn away, he looks to his wall one more time. 

I emerge alone into the moonlight, attempting the climb back up the hill. Though I had more scraps of information, I was back at square one, or so I thought. When I reached the top and made it back to the fence, I saw a section of the chain link that had broken, detached from the pole nearby and bent away, covered in a bush that only kept it half hidden. This must be where Cecil still entered the facility. 

The gap in the fence opened up into what seemed to be a storage yard, the place I’d seen past the fence earlier. Piles of tarp-covered metal or wood beams, spools of wire as tall as I was. In the moonlight, I could see poles dotting the yard, cables stretched between them, each one bearing a floodlight. Though everything had been organized and put away securely, I got the feeling no one official had been here in a long time. Leaves covered most surfaces, and cobwebs shone in the dim light along the roof of a nearby shed. 

Again, it struck me that I didn’t know what I was doing. Any information or leads would be in the building past the storage yard, and surely that had better security? Cameras, keycard locks - what was I even doing here? Walking through the yard, almost lost in thought - the tower of the station rose into the night sky in the distance, red lights along its length. They almost looked like eyes along the body of some thin creature, frozen against the stars. 

And then, lights near the station building. I stood still for a moment, uncomprehending until a pair of floodlights on poles a short distance away snapped on, then the next set. The lights were turning on this way, towards me. I had seconds to react, and I did what I’d practiced. In my bag’s side pocket was a plastic bag, containing a gross mess of wet cotton balls, soaked in diluted peppermint oil. Despite my panic, I threw them in all directions, slinging a handful of them in a wide arc, and then hid before the lights were on in my section of the yard. I could hear the electric buzz of the floodlights snapping on just as I ducked behind a row of wire spools, trying to stop my racing heart.

As I debated my options - running, waiting out the lights…maybe they were on a timer? I heard footsteps approaching, crunching on the leaves and pine needles that had accumulated over the unattended years.  When they got closer, I tried to peek through the center of one of the spools I was hiding behind. I saw his uniform first, O-Sec, Office Security. A large man, built like a weightlifter - could see the black shine of a gun in his right hand and my heart leapt into my throat. It was the man from Cecil’s mural, Corporal Han. Was he the officer assigned to this site? I should have known the Office would still have security even on decommissioned stations like this.]

H] I know you’re here. 

[He stopped in a large open area, looking around at the stacks of materials around him, the sheds and tarps - all hiding places.]

H] Normally, I might blame teenagers. Kids getting a kick out of trespassing on Office property. We had one group a few months ago, teenagers. Two humans, a fae and a vampire. They all forgot their vamp friend couldn’t enter without permission. Fun night.

[He paused, letting the silence fall again. I could see him look around, eyes scanning the yard and narrowing. He sniffed the air in a way that seemed…odd.]

H] But judging by the smell…I think you know what you’re doing. You came in with an idea of what was going on. Either you’re a professional, or someone told you…

[He carefully walked, passing behind a small shed and out of my view. I panicked that I lost track of him for a moment, but then there was a sickening sound. Like flesh stripping and bones crunching, and Han’s voice hissing. Then a sound that echoed through the yard, the sound of a hand - no, a claw, grabbing onto the edge of the shed’s corrugated metal wall, digging in and tearing the metal. A shape followed it. A long maw of shining teeth, white fur. A raised canine lip in a familiar but terrifying gesture of anger and aggression, a low rumble as the muzzle raised, and smelled the air. Then, a whine, another growl, sneezing and huffing as the muzzle retreated behind the shed again, out of my view. Another crunch, a growl, and Han staggered past the shed. Haggard, sweating, panting softly, looking incensed.]

H] And if someone told you, I’m going to have a nice, long…conversation with them. 

[He tried to collect himself, catch his breath, run a hand through his hair. He pulled a bandana from a pocket of his uniform, pulling it over his mouth and nose.]

H] You have one minute. One minute until I call backup. You can hide from me, but can you run from a dozen of us? Most of them won’t have my…shortcomings. 

[My heart was pounding. My head was swimming. My fingers were going numb. I couldn’t claim innocence, not when they found out who I was. Could I make a break for it? All of the ways out seemed to be past him, and if he was what he seemed to be, it would be a short chase. It would end up better for me if I surrendered now, but what happens after that? I’d never work again…or worse.]

H] Cecil?

[Han’s voice was confused, concerned. I snapped around to watch through a gap in the spools as Cecil approached, holding a bottle. The bottle of peppermint oil. He must have taken it earlier when he was looking through my bag.]

C] 1 15 12 18 21 16 14 15 1 9 12 8 25 26 1 15 12 14 2 16 19 1 15 12 16 26 25 16 14 15 1

H] Cecil, what did I tell you about–

[Han took in a breath through the cloth, and exhaled, clearly frustrated. His voice was sharp, low, but his face softened, and there was a soft click as he put his gun away.]

H] Why the peppermint, man? You know what that does to my nose. Were you just trying to sneak around without me knowing? 

[Cecil looked at the bottle, then dropped it.]

C] 26 22 20 12 26 1 16 19 19 13 12 12 19 23 15 8 21 1 22 20 23 8 16 21

H] Are you taking your medicine? Probably not. Let’s….let’s get you back home. Not that bunker, home. 

[Cecil seemed to hesitate, but Han put a hand on his upper arm.]

H] You know you can’t be here. Come on. If you come with me to the station I’ll ask someone to bring you dinner when they come pick you up. Okay?

C] 25 12 8 19 16 1 6 4 8 26 13 22 2 21 11 4 8 21 1 16 21 14

[The older man lowered his head, but followed Han as the guard turned and walked back towards the station - but not before looking around, deciding on the row of spools I was hiding behind, and nodding, jerking his head towards the direction of the gap in the fence.

I didn’t need to be told twice. Once Han and Cecil were out of sight, I ran to the exit. I don’t remember much of the next several minutes - running a roundabout way through the forest, coming to the edge, following that until I found my car. I didn’t allow myself time to decompress. I slammed the keys into the ignition and pulled out onto the highway. 

The tears came just as it started to rain, and I drove until it became difficult to continue. I had gained nothing from this. Nothing but a panic attack and a long-lasting nightmare, a recurring dream with claws, spools of wire, and the scent of peppermint. ]

[small-but-oho]

G/t Idea: sanctuary for critically endangered tols/smols.

Like take for example that line from the Ghibli Arietty film about how the Clocks may be the last of their kind. What if that was true?

What if humans realized that tinies existed, but there's only a few hundred of them left at all? In an effort to protect them from dying out entirely, scientists put up nature reserves for them, devoid of any predators and heavily observed 24/7, to monitor the species and garantee its survival.

What if the tinies didn't even know that? They know about the fence and that rarely, giants walk through their territory, but they know to hide from them. The elders tell of a time when they had been captured by the giants, but through their cleverness and wit, they managed to escape into this safe valley. Some however, are cynical. They claim that this place they call home is no safe haven but instead a prison!

The same can also be true for giants. Their safe space would probably be an entire valley, with huge, fortified walls all around it. Signs on the outside read "Giant sanctuary - entry prohibited" and a lot of other warnings. The scientists would have to be very careful not to be spotted - not that giants are ultraviolent brutes, but one must be careful with creatures several times ones own size.

And it is important for the humans to not let the giants/tinies know about the sanctuary, since they want to preserve the species' culture and behaviour with as little human meddling as possible.

But what would happen if a giant would ever spot a human? If a tiny revealed the secret behind their safe haven? What would their reaction be? Tell all their family members? Try to escape? Despair? Maybe even befriend their keepers?

But what about the humans? Do they maybe have different goals other than species preservation? What's the opinion of the public of funding such projects? Are there documentaries about them?

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

I Wish You The Best

Pairing: Dean Winchester x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: You thought you had it all figured out, but when a certain green-eyed stranger keeps showing up in your life and turns it upside down you wonder if it’s best to push him away or if you should let him in. Reader is a grad student in medical school that doesn’t know anything about the supernatural world. This is the first fic in my Before You Go Universe, but can be read as stand alone.

Tropes: Angst, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Age Difference (Reader is early to mid-20's and Dean is probably early to mid-30's)

Word Count: 5.5K

Warnings: Some swearing (once or twice), Mentions of sex (not explicit at all), Implied sex, Self-deprecating Thoughts (Dean),  Dean might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

"Did you understand anything from that lecture?" Tim asks nudging your shoulder.

The sour smell of beer and sweat fades in and out of your nose as you make your way to the Science building through the mass of students on the way to the football game. It was a Thursday night, Thursday night for everyone else meant tailgating, cheap beer, and face paint, but Thursday night for you meant four hours in the anatomy lab surrounded by the oppressive smell of formaldehyde and bent over a table examining the internal intricacies of the human body.

It wasn’t unwelcome, you knew what you signed up for when you decided to go to medical school, but you still wished that the lab was earlier in the day instead of at 6 pm.

The air is filled with the dull throb of energy, pulsing with the music from speakers all over campus, and through the throngs of people that pass you on the way to the stadium. The buzz of excitement in the air vibrated through your nerve endings. If you paid attention to how well the football team was doing, you would have known that tonight was the championship, but the closest you got to pigskin was the bag of pork rinds in your backpack and the occasional football player that asked you for help finding research materials during your shifts at the library.

"Nope." You reply jostling past a group of guys toting a giant stuffed pig wearing jersey of the school’s rival while they catcall some girls up ahead dressed from head to toe in bright red.

"Then why did you keep nodding?"

"Because Professor Drake was staring right at me!"

"You didn't have to make eye contact."

"It's a little late for that don't you think?" You smile up at him. He's taller than you, with dark hair falling forward into his glasses and a lean build. "But it's alright, I'll just binge watch YouTube videos."

Tim laughs adjusting his backpack over his shoulder. You had been lab partners since your first year, randomly assigned and forced to collaborate, but after many late night study sessions and mental breakdowns, Tim was one of your only friends.

“You seem to spend a lot of time on YouTube." He smiles.

"It's free education."

"Seems ridiculous to pay all this money just to learn it on YouTube."

"If YouTube handed out degrees for watching videos I’d be a doctor by now. I’d probably also have a degree in culinary arts.” You look down to check the watch on your wrist. You were both running late for lab. Dr. Welsh hated it when students were late, in fact, he was notorious for locking the door. Each week there was always some poor soul that banged on the door for entry, but Dr. Welsh knew no mercy. One time, you witnessed another student attempt to sneak in through the window an hour late. Dr. Welsh made them go back out the way they came, despite the lab being on the third floor.

At least the student brought a ladder with him.

“Culinary arts?”

“I like pie. Plus baking helps me cope with my stress.” You knock into his shoulder to shut him up. “What? You don’t watch anything weird on YouTube?”

“I usually start watching videos to understand the lectures and suddenly it’s been 7 hours, it’s 3 am and I’m watching a timelapse of metal rusting.”

“We’ve all been there buddy.”

"Hey doll-face!" You hear from somewhere behind you, but you ignore it, believing it to be another group of guys who splash beer over the sidewalk.

You glance down at your watch again.

"We're not going to be late." Jake says sensing your anxiety. "We've got 5 minutes."

"Early is on time, on time is late, late is inexcusable." You sing-song.

"Dr. Welsh embroider that on a pillow for you?"

"No it’s just-"

Someone grabs your backpack and pulls you back a step. What the- You whirl around prepared to cuss out a drunken frat boy, but you weren't expecting Dean Winchester.

"Dean." You say in surprise.

He looks better than you remember. Dean's wearing a red flannel covered by a black jacket, his hair tousled just the right amount to look effortless, his green eyes crinkled around the edges as his mouth pulls into a smile that makes your knees weak.

Your relationship, if you could even call it that, began your first week of classes, two years ago. You had just moved into your apartment and met your new roommate, but instead of going out to the new student mixer with her, you decided to stay in and unpack. It was past midnight when you heard a commotion in the apartment next door and when you opened your front door to investigate, you found Dean in the hallway leaning against the wall.

His clothes were torn, he had a knife in his hand, blood was soaked through the front of his shirt, but when his eyes met yours, you weren't afraid. He looked so broken, so small that you had to help him. So you pulled him into your apartment and stitched him up the best you could, while he tried to lie about how it happened and explain why he looked like he'd been through a blender. Dean had never been good at lying to you, not even then. He was also the biggest baby you had ever met when it came to wound care.

In the months that followed Dean continued to show up, each time with injuries less and less life threatening asking you to help him, until one day he showed up perfectly fine and continued to show up. You would spend every minute together for a few days and then he would leave like nothing happened, only to show up again in a few weeks and it would start all over again. 

Sometimes you thought that he wanted more than just a few days together, but then he would just leave, not giving you any other explanation. You hadn't expected to fall for him as hard as you did, but each time he left it broke you. You found yourself hoping each day that he would show up, only to be disappointed when he didn't. Days would drag by fading into shades of gray until finally Dean would show up and everything went back to color, only to sink back into monochrome when he left. The last time you had seen him was a month ago, when you told him that you couldn't do this anymore and told him not to come back.

But now he was here, again.

"Hey Doll-face." Dean smiles wider.

You try to ignore how your heart stutters in your chest when he smiles at you.

"Do you know this guy?" Tim asks you taking a step forward to put himself between Dean and you.

Dean's eyes trace Tim, smile slipping into confident smirk as he sizes him up. He opens his mouth, but you interrupt whatever thought was about to come out.

"Unfortunately I do." You sigh. "Tim can you give us a minute."

"Sure. But-"

"I know." You say, understanding that he was going to remind you what time it was. "We won't be late."

"I'll be over there." Tim puts a healthy distance between the two of you, far enough to give you space, but close enough that he can see you.

Dean is still smirking at him. "Boyfriend?" His eyes flit to yours, amused.

"Lab partner." You adjust your grip on your backpack unsure what to do.

I said everything I needed to say the last time. I thought that was it. Did he think I didn't mean it?

You think about the last time he was here, when you told him that you couldn't do this anymore and when he finally left, how you skipped all your classes and stayed in bed for two days clutching a pillow to your chest and wishing that it was him. It had felt like the end. The end of whatever the hell this had been. Sometimes you wished that you had defined it the first time you slept together, wished that you had told him you didn't do that ever, that you didn't just sleep with people without feelings because you knew sooner or later it would end up like this.

Then again you knew that you always had feelings for him, since the moment you locked eyes with his the night you met.

"He’s cute. If you’re into that geeky kind of thing. Though you could always date Sam-"

"What are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood. Plus I didn’t want to miss the big game.”  Dean's eyes flit to the mass of people swarming around you, shouting and singing as they stumble down the cracked pavement. The dark shadows of the buildings stretch long over campus, illuminated by the lamplights that line the sidewalks.

"You should have called"

"I did. You never pick up" He arches a perfect eyebrow.

"Most would take that as a hint"

"Well Sweetheart given my profession you not picking up made me worry."

By now you knew exactly what he did. Despite Dean not acting like he wanted a relationship, when all was quiet and it was just the two of you laying in bed he confided in you, told you things about his life that made you hold him close and wish that you could make him forget all about it. You loved those soft moments with Dean, when it felt like more and you could imagine that Dean wanted to be as wrapped up in you as you were in him.

Your heart clenches in your chest as you try to forget it all, forget the day he walked into your life, and forget how much you like him.

"I can’t do this with you right now, I’ve got a lab in 3 minutes." You turn towards where Tim is standing, prepared to leave.

"Come on you can blow off one lab.”  Dean grabs your backpack turning you back to face him. “We can go to the big game. You know I can’t say no to free beer-“ The look in his eyes is joking.

He doesn't understand.

You shake him off. "No I can't Dean. This is important to me. This is my life. I can't drop everything just because you show up out of the blue."

"It wouldn't be out of the blue if you picked up your phone." His smile dips into an attractive pout that makes it very difficult to think.

"Dean why are you here?"

"I told you, I was in the neighborhood-"

"We talked about this. I can't do this anymore."

"I remember you talking about it."

"Yes and I remember you leaving." You snap as the memory of the last time you saw him rises in the back of your throat. You think about the days that followed, when you couldn't focus and flunked a test. 

"Y/n-“ Dean sighs.

"Look, I like spending time with you, but I can't keep doing this to myself. You show up, we spend every second together for days, and then you leave. It would be one thing if we were trying to do long distance, but we’re not.  All I get is radio silence for weeks and then you show  up all over again like nothing happened, expecting to pick up right where we left off, and the cycle begins all over again."

"I don't go radio silent for weeks. It’s you that doesn’t pick up your phone or text me back.”

"Yes you do and I can't do it. I won't do it. Because every time you leave I wonder if it's the last time I'll ever see you and-" You take in a breath to stop the ball of emotion that lodges itself in your throat. "It does something to me. And I'm not saying that what you do is any less important than what I'm trying to accomplish here. I’m not telling you to stop hunting. But this is my life Dean, my future. And I don’t want to put that in jeopardy because you show up every few weeks when you’re feeling restless. I want more than a few days every few weeks. I want more and I'm worth more. And if you can't give that to me that's fine, but please stop coming around and so I can find someone else who can."

The expression on Dean's face shifts, it's no longer the playful smirk or attractive pout, it almost looks heartbroken.

But that can't be right. Dean doesn't see me that way.

You look at where Tim is waiting for you to avoid Dean's gaze. He’s looking down at the watch on his wrist and you can feel his apprehension.

"I've got to get to my lab." You turn away from Dean, but stop halfway to Tim. "It was good to see you Dean. I wish you the best."

As Tim and you begin to walk away, you can feel Dean's eyes on you the whole way up the stairs into the science building, but you refuse to turn back.

"Are you okay?" Tim whispers.

"I will be. Let's just go before Dr. Welsh locks the door." You mutter while pushing down the guilt that rose when you thought of how Dean looked when you walked away.

Despite Dr. Welsh’s attempts to lock the door, you were far too angry with Dean to let another man stand in your way, so when you and Tim arrived to lab 10 seconds before the clock struck 6, you shoved your boot in the door before Dr. Welsh could shut it. And by some miracle he let you in. Maybe it was the murder in your eyes.

Tim had been stunned, you were usually more reserved, not quick tempered. But everything that happened with Dean rubbed you the wrong way.

You couldn’t decide if you liked him or hated him. Right now the hate was winning.

How dare he? You thought to yourself, hand clenching on the scalpel so tightly that Tim backed up. How dare he just show up again after I told him not to?

“Y/n, are you okay?” Tim had asked.

“I’m fine. Don’t I look fine?” You’d snapped at him.

Even Dr. Welsh had given you a wide berth through lab.

 After you cleaned up everything it was 10:26 pm, which meant you had a little time before your late shift in the library.

“Did you want to go see if that shawarma food truck is still parked around the corner?” Tim asks hesitantly.

“No. I’m just gonna go to the library and study before my shift.” You mumble, shouldering your backpack and ignoring the urge to think about Dean.

Hopefully he took the hint and he’s gone. The thought brought a prick of guilt. Would that be the last time I ever saw him? Would those be the last words I ever said to him? You fight the urge to call him, to apologize, because the one thing you had wanted to say was that you liked him and you didn’t want him to go, you wanted him to stay in your life permanently. Sure long distance was hard, but for him it would be worth it.

“Oh.” Tim pauses for a minute. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Huh?”

“Well that Dean guy. You seemed kinda upset.”

“I was- am. But it’s okay, give me a few hours I’ll be over it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

“Make sure to send the link to that Timelapse of metal rusting.” You try to smile, but the joke falls flat.

“Okay.” Tim watches you go.

The library was only a 9 minute walk from the science building, but it still felt too long. You longed to be lost in your notes, to think of anything else other than Dean, but you couldn’t.

Why did he have to come back? Why couldn’t he have just let it lie? I was doing better-

You think about the weeks that followed his last visit, a haze of homework, tests, and work.

Well, I was doing okay.

The thrum of music is still in the air, but now less people pass you as you walk down the sidewalk, and the ones that do are holding hands and laughing. Your thoughts shift to Dean again.

I like him, but I have to get over him because it’s not going anywhere. You think about the first time you slept together. Maybe this is my fault, maybe I should have defined this from the beginning. I mean, I know the kind of person he is…

That thought makes you pause. Sure the first few times you’d patched his wounds Dean was sexy and flirty, but all the times that followed he seemed, sweet, charming. It wasn’t that you spent every moment in bed, he had taken you out to dinner at the diner down the street, fought with you over the last slice of pie, took you to a bar for drinks  where he shamelessly beat you at pool, other times he waited for you to be done with your classes to make sure that you didn't have to walk home alone at night. You remember how mad he had been when you told him you did that, but gas was so expensive and it was easier to walk the four blocks.

Someone grabs your arm from behind, pulling you out of your memories, and you finally snap. Using the only self defense move you knew, besides S-I-N-G from Miss Congeniality, you knock off the hand and flip the offender over your shoulder prepared to spray them in the face with the mace in your pocket.

But then you realize who it is.

Dean frowns up at you from the ground. “When I taught you that, I didn’t expect you to use it on me.”

“Just be happy that I didn’t pepper spray you.” Your eyes narrow.

 Maybe I should. It would make me feel better.

“Would have been the highlight of my night.” He stands up from the ground brushing off the front of his clothes with a pointed look.

“Dean what are you still doing here?”

“I want to talk.”

“I’ve said all I need to.”

“But I haven’t.”

“I don’t care. You’ve heard what I need to say and I’m sick of you not listening.”

“Y/n-“

“Fine, I’ll say it one more time, but listen this time.  I've never, never depended on anyone else in my life. It's been me, me for a long time.” You poke your finger into his chest to emphasize your point. “Then you just sauntered in and changed everything. You made me care about you, worry about you, and you made me depend on you showing up in my life. Every time you leave it breaks me. Every time I’m in a funk for days. The last time you left, I cried for two days and I didn’t go to any of my classes! I'm trying to be serious about my life. And I can't do that if you show up every few weeks and make me expect something and then leave a few days later and I'm devastated.”

Dean’s eyes widen in surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

“I have to get over you Dean, and I can't do that if you keep showing up. So please just go.” You turn away from him.

His hand comes down on your arm again to turn you back to him. “I don’t want you to get over me.”

“What?”

“Do you think I like leaving you? Do you really think it’s that easy for me?” He looks hurt.

“It certainly seems to be when you walk out after a few days with a smile like it means nothing! Like I mean nothing-“ You fight the tears that burn against your eyes. You wanted to be something for him just as much as he was something for you, but you were afraid. You hadn’t depended on anyone since you graduated and moved away from home. You weren’t used to needing someone in your life this much.

"You mean everything!” Dean shouts grabbing your shoulders. “It’s me that means nothing."

You blink your eyes for a second, not comprehending what he’s trying to say. "Dean what are you talking about?"

"I didn't think you wanted that-" He looks down.

Your eyes trace the slump in his shoulders, the frown on his handsome face, and the way he won’t meet your gaze.

What is he talking about?

You try to think of a time that you’d seen him look so vulnerable, but the only time you imagine was the night you met.

"Wanted what?"

"Me.” Dean’s voice is a whisper.

"I'm confused."

His eyebrows are furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line. “I’m nothing like you.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re a little younger than me and you’re smart and you’ve got this bright future ahead of you. You don’t need someone like me dragging you down-“

“Someone like you? Dragging me down? Dean what are you talking about?" You can't comprehend what he's saying. You reach up to cup his cheeks, but Dean pulls back from you, glancing away.

“I didn’t go to a fancy college, I barely finished high school. I’ve spent most of my life in motel rooms  committing credit card fraud and trying not to die.  And then I met you. You’re funny and caring and so smart, and  I just thought that you would like it more if I came by every once in a while to relieve some tension. I didn’t think that you would want me to stay.”

He didn’t think that I would want him? That can't be right. Dean is so confident usually. You search his face and see the genuine vulnerability behind his green eyes.

“Are you serious?” You ask him.

He doesn’t say anything.

“Dean, you are smart-“

“Not the same way you are”

“Dean.” You can’t help but take his hand. Dean’s green eyes focus on yours for a second, wide and open. “You don’t have to go to college to be smart. You’re resourceful and you know more about supernatural creatures than anyone else. Even the top scientists and doctors in the world don’t believe in them and they went to stuffy old colleges and fight with one another over who’s smarter. I don’t care that you didn’t go to a fancy college. What you do is important, probably more important than what I’m going to do. You protect people, you’ve saved the world more than once, and sure maybe it’s not glamorous to some people but it is to me.”

His eyes widen in surprise.

“Have you thought that maybe I like spending time with you because you’re so different than the people I see everyday?” You ask him softly, squeezing his hand.

“No.” Dean mutters.

“I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I don’t have lavish wealthy parents bankrolling me. My dad is a mechanic. I work two jobs and send him money so I don’t have to worry about him. Sometimes I feel like a fraud. But when you show up I don’t feel like a freak. With you I feel like I don’t have to pretend, I can just be me. And I like you, a lot. This has never just been about relieving tension or sex for me. Ever. I mean it’s nice-“

“Just nice?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

You flush bright red. “I like spending time with you without that too. All the times we spent laying in bed or went to a bar or went to get food, and we talked were equally as wonderful for me. I like talking with you. I like hearing about your life. I just assumed that you had someone in every state that you visit when you’re feeling restless and that you didn’t want a relationship.”

“There’s no one else. Hasn’t been since I met you.”

Deans eyes lock with yours as you comprehend what he just confessed.

“Really?” Your voice is only a whisper.

“Fuck I’m not good at this romantic comedy shit-“ He mutters to himself shaking his head. “I like you too. I wish that I could be here all the time. I hate leaving you. It’s too quiet. When I’m not here all I do is think about you, what you’re doing, how your day was.”

Your entire body explodes with his words, heart beating so fast you think it’ll grow wings and take flight.

“When I was younger I used to laugh at Sam because he wanted a normal life, but with you I understand.  You’re so different than anyone I’ve ever met and it hurts me when I’m away from you.” Dean continues with a soft smile that makes you lose all feeling in your legs.

He takes your other hand. “I understand that what you’re doing is important and I’m not asking you to quit school. All I’m asking is that you give me a chance. I want to make this work. I know that long distance isn’t easy, but I want to try.” His eyes search yours, begging for a answer, but you can barely breathe let alone speak. You watch his face fall as he takes your silence as your answer. “But I understand if you don’t want to, because you are worth more. You’re worth more than a few days, than a phone call or a text. You deserve someone who can be here with you all the time. You’re worth more than what I can give you. And you shouldn’t have to settle-“

You grab the front of his flannel because you can’t think of anything to say and pull him down to you for a kiss. Pins and needles trace down your spine as his soft lips move against yours. He smiles against your mouth, folding you into him, his large hand on the small of your back just under your backpack causing warmth to shoot down your spine. You lose yourself in the way his body fits around yours

“I’m not settling.” Your hands cup his cheeks as you look deep into his eyes. “I never want you to feel that way, because you are worth a hundred of any man I have ever met in my life. And if it’s my cross to bear to make you understand that every day of my life, then so be it. Because I would be lucky to spend any amount of time with you. I don’t want anyone else. I just want you, Dean. I’ve wanted you since the day we met and every day after. And I’m yours as long as you want me.”

Dean’s smile breaks open something in the pit of your stomach and goosebumps scorch across your skin. “I can’t imagine not wanting you.” He presses his forehead against yours.

You stand there with his warm hand pressed into your back trying to think of another time that you felt even a fraction of what you feel for him. You think about your high school boyfriend, about a few of the guys you dated in during your undergrad years, but you come up with nothing. Because you can’t compare him to anyone else you’ve ever met. And it hurt you to think that Dean thought so little of himself in the grand scheme of things.

He leans down to kiss you again, pulling you against his chest so tight that everything blissfully falls away.

“Are you hungry?” He whispers against your lips after a minute.

“Yes, but my shift at the library starts soon. I’m there til 2.” You tighten your hands at the back of his neck, not wanting to let him go.

“Okay. I’ll go with you.”

“Dean it’s okay if you just want to go back to my apartment and sleep. I can give you the key-“ You notice the dark circles under his eyes, but you know that Dean wasn’t one to complain about being tired.

“It’s worth being tired if I get to see you.” Dean smiles. “But I’ll go get us some food, because I’m hungry too.”

“Don’t forget the pie.”

“Have I ever?” He brushes his lips to yours one more time, but you don’t remove your arms from around his neck. “You’re going to have to let me go doll.”

“Just 5 more minutes.”

You spend the weekend together in your apartment. All those blissful moments together solidify the thought that this is real, that this time it’s going to be different. Every night going to bed with Dean tucking you against him and waking up every morning with your head on his chest feels like a dream, and you never want to wake. Every kiss and intimate moment between you feels like more, and you have to keep reminding yourself that it isn’t just sex, hasn’t ever been just sex. Dean wants to be there with you all the time, hold you close to him and share things with you. And this time you finally understand that you do help him forget and know that you do bring him as much comfort as he brings you.

When Monday comes and Dean has to go, you try not to think of it as the end.

Dean leans back against the door of the Impala, his hands on your hips, green eyes blazing in the sun, but it’s his eyes that warm you more than the sun’s rays.

"Sweetheart-" Dean begins, sensing what you’re thinking. His thumbs rub smooth circles against waist where your t-shirt rests.

"I know." You press your face into his flannel, inhaling the scent you ascribe to Dean. He smells like oil, leather, and the spicy scent of the soap he uses that tickles your nose.

"Hey." His free hand comes under your chin to raise your gaze back to his. "I promise I'm gonna come back. I promise that we're going to make this work. It’s going to be different.” He cups your cheek, eyes soft and understanding.

“I know, but you’re still leaving.” Your tighten your arms around his chest.

“I wish I didn’t have to. But Sam called, he needs me-“

“I know.” You breathe.

You don’t want Dean to feel any worse than he does about leaving, especially when you remember what he said to you a few days ago, about you deserving more and about how he wished he could be more for you. Deep down you know that both of you are determined to make this work, so you put on a smile.

 “It’s okay.” You gently rub his back.   “You’ll be back in 2 weeks and I’ll be on spring break in a month.”

“Does that mean I’ll get to see you in a bikini?” Dean grins.

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Hmm. Well until I see you-“ He raises his right hand from where it rests on your hip to remove the large silver ring from his finger. "Don't panic, it's not an engagement ring." Dean's smile breaks you a little.  "Just me promising that I'll come back, that I'll call and text you so much that you'll be sick of me." He slides the ring onto your thumb, the weight comforting.

"I could never be sick of you."

“Just you wait.” He winks, holding your hand to his chest. “I bet I can prove you wrong.”

“I welcome the challenge.”

The kiss goodbye is bittersweet, but you hold yourself together, refusing to cry as Dean gets into his car and leaves. You watch the Impala disappear around the corner, taking your heart with it, but just as it does your phone rings.

“Hello?”

“I miss you.” Dean’s voice fills the line and this time you can’t stop the tears.

“I miss you too.”

“I promise I’ll be back in two weeks.”

“Okay. Please be careful.” You remember all the stories he's told you over the time you’ve known him, all the horrible things that happened to him and Sam. Sometimes you wish he hadn’t, because you can’t help but worry.

“I’m always careful.” You can hear him rolling his eyes.

“As the person who has spent the past 2 years patching you up, I can say with certainty that you are not always careful.”

“Then I promise to be more careful than usual.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” The wind picks up, pulling your hair from the ponytail at the back of your head.

“I’ll call you when I make it back to the bunker.”

“Good.”

“Bye Sweetheart.”

“Bye Dean.”

Your gaze drops to the heavy ring on your thumb and you hold tight to the hope and belief that this time is different, allowing the memories of the past few days to brush away any doubts that threaten the thought of what the future will bring.

Thank you so much for reading!  If you'd like to be added to the taglist for future fics in this universe please let me know! :)

[agaypanic]

Can you do a Rodrick fic where his band and the readers band are kinda like rivals but they end up falling for each other yknow? Sorry I’m so bad at detail lmao 💀

Battle of the Bands (Rodrick Heffley X Pop Singer!Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: While wandering around during lunch, Rodrick sees a giant poster for Battle of the Bands, which immediately piques his interest. But while signing up, he meets the leader of a pop band.

A/N: lowkey famous au, reader is in a pop band based off of Citizen Queen (by based off of, i mean the band name is citizen queen and they sing a citizen queen song, but i just made up the other band members lol) (side note: just found out (writing this 6/6) that citizen queen is a three piece now AND grouptherapy is a duo?? Why was i not informed on this omg). Kinda inspired by some of the pop!reader x rocker!rodrick asks ive answered, also kinda inspired by metal lords 

***

Rodrick had a routine of wandering around the school during lunch. He didn’t really like the cafeteria. It was loud, not in a cool rock way, and was filled with his annoying peers. So he grabbed whatever sandwich his mom packed for him that morning and ate it as he walked around campus. Sure, he could just eat in his van. But knowing him, he would probably miss class if he went anywhere outside the building. He didn’t mind that much, but his parents were way more on his ass about grades and attendance than usual.

While walking down one of the hallways, a giant poster caught Rodrick’s attention. “Battle of the Bands.” He read, eyes soon widening as he registered what it meant. This wasn’t just some poster advertising the event; it was also a sign-up sheet. Shoving his half-eaten sandwich into his mouth, Rodrick ran to the poster while trying to pull a pen out of his backpack.

The sign-up sheet was blank, so the poster must have just been put up. This felt like fate to Rodrick, seeing this before anyone else. He wrote his band’s name quickly, taking up two entry lines in his excitement. 

He stared at the poster a bit longer before someone appeared behind him. “Excuse me?” Rodrick whipped his head around to see a pretty girl with a lopsided smile.

“Hi.” Rodrick didn’t know why you had approached him, but he wasn’t about to stop you.

“Hey.” You pointed to the poster behind him. “Are you done with this?”

“Huh?” He suddenly remembered that he was in your way. “Oh! Yeah, sorry.”

Rodrick stepped to the side, watching you laugh lightly and take out a pen. “It’s okay.” He watched as you wrote a name below his, only taking up one line instead of two like him. You read his band’s name. “Loded… Dipper?”

“It’s pronounced ‘diaper.’” He corrected proudly, missing your muffled laughter. “We’re a rock band. I’m the drummer and the founder, Rodrick.”

He thrust out his hand for you to shake. “Cool.” You said. “I’m Y/n, singer and founder of Citizen Queen.” You pointed to the name you had written down. “We’re a pop band.”

Rodrick didn’t have the same decency as you to hide his laugh. “Pop? That’s like, so overdone.” You raised your brows at him in surprise.

“Well, you know what they say. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” You retorted, giving the sign-up sheet and then giving him a once-over. “Why’s your band called ‘Löded Diper’? Is it because you guys are full of crap?���

Rodrick gasped dramatically, dropping your hand. He narrowed his eyes at you. “Toosh.”

“It’s touche.”

“Touche.”

“I guess we’ll see you at auditions.” You say, giving Rodrick a sickly sweet smile. “Let’s hope you don’t stink as much as your name would suggest.”

Rodrick opened his mouth to say something but couldn’t think of anything. He groaned in frustration and pointed his finger at you. “I’ll think of a comeback to that.” You laughed, starting to walk away.

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking of one!”

***

Rodrick saw you at auditions before you saw him. You were with your friends, joking around and doing warmups. 

“Hey, who’s the hottie you’re staring at, Rodrick?” Chris hit his friend’s shoulder, following his eye line to see you do some half-hearted dance practice with the rest of your band.

“Don’t…” Rodrick trailed off, knowing he would call you the exact same thing. But he needed to focus. He looked at Chris with a stern look. “Don’t call her hot. She’s the enemy, Chris, she’s competition.”

“Chill, man.” Drew laughed.

Rodrick whipped around to look at his band. “No. We gotta focus if we’re gonna win this thing. You can start thinking about hot chicks when we need groupies on our big sold-out world tour.” His bandmates thought about it for a moment, before nodding in understanding. “Good, now start setting up. We go on first.”

The rock band moved their equipment to the auditorium stage to set up. Seeing that the first band was about to audition, everyone settled into seats.

Löded Diper’s performance was… interesting, to say the least. The music wasn’t exactly your taste, mainly the lyrics. And they were very… energetic. That was the nicest way you could describe the somewhat cringey spectacle. As soon as the boys were finished, the two people conducting the auditions scribbled down some notes and yelled out for the next performers: you and your band.

While Löded Diper packed up their equipment, you decided to go up to talk to Rodrick. You figured that you might as well try to be civil with him. You had to admit that when he wasn’t talking, Rodrick Heffley was kinda cute.

“Nice job.” Rodrick looked up from one of his drum pieces, trying to decide whether or not you were being sarcastic. Maybe you were a little bit, but you wanted to keep that to yourself. 

“Thanks.” He said a bit skeptically. Then suddenly, the skepticism turned into cockiness. “Don’t hurt yourself trying to top it, baby.”

You rolled your eyes a bit playfully. “My name’s not ‘baby,’ don’t call me that.” Then you laughed a little. “And good comeback… I guess.”

“It only hurt a little to come up with.” 

“Two minutes until the next band comes up!” One of the adults called out, and Rodrick jumped to pack up the rest of his drum set.

You didn’t think he’d trust you to help him put his stuff away, and frankly, you didn’t exactly want to in the first place. “So… maybe we’ll see each other at Battle of the Bands?”

“Depends on how good you do.” He teased. Annie, one of your friends, called you over to where the rest of your band was grouped. You gave Rodrick one last look before starting to walk away. “Baby.”

You whipped around and saw Rodrick smirking at you. Shaking your head, you kept walking.

***

You shouldn’t have been surprised to hear that almost every group that auditioned got into Battle of the Bands. The auditions were probably just a formality, at the most, making sure no one was gonna perform anything too explicit. 

The high school auditorium was completely packed, making you a little nervous. This wasn’t your band’s first performance, but it was your biggest so far. You tried to stay positive, though. You and your friends have run through this song probably a hundred times with barely any problems. Now, all you had to do was do it one more time in front of your entire town.

“Citizen Queen,” the stage manager read the band name from his clipboard. “You’re up next, get ready.”

You were about to move closer to your friends, who were huddling together when you felt a tap on your shoulder. “Hey.” You turned around to see Rodrick. 

“Hi.” You responded, squinting at him because of the slight darkness backstage. “Nice eyeliner.”

“Thanks, I used my mom’s.” You giggled at the response, and Rodrick cracked a smile at the sound. “Good luck out there.”

“Thanks. Good luck to you guys, too.” You put your hand out. “May the best band win.”

Rodrick shook your hand, repeating your words. Before you could let go, he squeezed your hand and looked at you hopefully. “Maybe… whoever wins should get treated to dinner by the other?”

You smiled, slowly starting to nod. “That sounds nice.” You decided not to mention that other bands were competing, so the chances of Löded Diper or Citizen Queen winning were slim. You leaned close to Rodrick. “Better get your wallet ready.”

“We’ll see about that, baby.” Rodrick teased before finally letting go of your hand.

With one last look, you skipped over to your friends, who were giving each other pep talks. You all talked for a quick minute before the announcer called your name. The five of you ran out on stage and got in your positions, waiting for the music to start.

Rodrick watched the entire performance, eyes intently focused on you. You moved fluidly with the rest of your friends, not singing until the pre-chorus. Rodrick was immediately taken away by your voice. “Keep my head up, head up, and heels high. I might be in love, but I don’t rely on someone to make me feel alive.” While walking around the stage, you suddenly made eye contact with Rodrick. “You keep calling me baby. But that’s not what my name is.” You winked at him before you and the rest of your friends started singing the chorus.

It felt like an eternity to Rodrick before the song ended, and that was meant in the best way possible. He honestly didn’t want it to end, because your voice was so lovely and you were so energetic. 

When you ran off stage, you and your friends tightly hugged each other, filled with adrenaline. “That was so awesome!” Nora squealed.

“They’re cheering so loud.” Stella laughed. “We’re totally gonna win this thing!”

Everyone started to pull away from each other. “No one speak too soon.” You said, slightly out of breath. “You might jinx us.”

“Come on,” Annie said, starting to walk away. “Let’s get some water.”

Everyone eagerly followed, but you started to stagger. You called out to your friends, saying you’d be there in a minute, before walking over to Rodrick, who seemed to already be waiting for you.

“That was awesome.” He said as soon as you were in earshot. “You were awesome.”

“Thanks.” You grinned. “Glad it didn’t sound too overdone.”

Rodrick laughed sheepishly, remembering his comment about your band’s genre from a few weeks ago. “No, it was, uh… It sounded just right.” Rodrick looked around, ensuring he still had time to talk to you before he and his band had to go on. “So, even though my band is pretty awesome, I have a feeling that you guys will win. But even if you don’t… can I still take you out to dinner?”

It amused you a bit, seeing this rocker boy look so shy. You took a step towards Rodrick and went up on your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “I’d like that.”

“Löded Diper, you’re on in five minutes!” The stage manager called out.

Rodrick took a deep breath, reeling from your affection and the fact that he and his band had to perform soon. “Awesome.” You both chuckled at the slight waver in his voice. “So, I guess I’ll see you later. Queen.”

You laughed at the new nickname. “I guess you will.”

***

Rodrick Heffley Taglist: @tweedledipshit @screechingsandwichtriumph

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Never put a human in a zoo

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)    

The sudden extinction of the Dre people was as sudden as it was unexpected to the galactic community. They were one of the oldest and most technologically advanced races in the universe. Heavily isolationist by nature, coupled with their inherent self-sense of superiority they viewed much of the other space faring species as little more than savages by comparison as none of them presented a credible challenge their rule. Yet within a month they had lost nearly 99% of their population across multiple worlds.

The worst hit was their homeworld of Belnuck situated at the heart of their empire which became an empty husk of a world seemingly overnight. Ancient and powerful cities of technological wonder now were little more than ghost towns to be picked clean by scavengers.

There were no signs of civil strife or unrest, no exterior threat from military forces, not even a record of natural disaster on their homeworld. Nothing was found that could give a clue as to what could have erased such a prominent power as the Dre, and so it was written off as a deadly unsolved mystery and the galactic community went on.

At least, that was what the public report stated.

It wasn’t until a group of Kreen scavengers came upon a set of personal journals that the shroud of uncertainty was lifted. Only to be then shortly locked away and sealed under the highest security restrictions to ensure the truth never saw the light of day.

These are those journal entries: ------------------------------- Personal Journal Entry J-757931 Head curator Migu

The benefactors are requesting we add new exhibits to the zoo again.

I thought they would have been content with the Draxic specimens we captured last month but it seems the general public no longer find giant lizards fascinating to observe. One of them suggested we allow the Draxic to mingle with other exhibits for inter species interactions for potential science research; but I could tell right away that what they really wanted from this was to have guests pay to see those lizard savages rip apart our other attractions like a Frong in a Skitch field.

I wish they could at least try to hide their greediness behind some semblance of rationality. At least then it would be easier to stomach.

I’ve scheduled a discussion with our head capture specialists to go out and find new attractions for the people later today. I don’t have much hope they can find anything as fascinating to revive interest but one never knows. End Log Entry. ---------------------------------- Personal Journal Entry J-757935 Head curator Migu

Capture team theta appears to have acquired something of value.

The specimens were caught will transitioning into real space at the edge of a system and were removed from their vessel shortly after.

Their technology was primitive in nature, but from the recordings the capture team sent back their esthetic design choices appear to be unique for such a low species. Accessing their data banks was a trivial matter and provided a wealth of history to them.

They appear to call themselves “Humons”, and have only recently begun intergalactic travel.

From the data we have gathered these humons are a highly warlike society repeating cycles of great conflict to great resurgence throughout their history. During war time they have fought with everything from sharpened wood stakes to low grade thermo nuclear devices.

While lacking the physical exciting traits like armored skin or shape shifting qualities, I believe their nature as a self-destructive race will make them a comedic addition to the zoo.

Theta team is on their way back now with them and I’ve already given instructions to create the new paddock for them in the east wing. With any luck the benefactors will find them as amusing as I do and calm down. End Log Entry. ------------------------------- Personal Journal Entry J-757940 Head curator Migu It could not have gone any better. The public loves the new attractions and the benefactors love the increase in profits. Theta team captured roughly a dozen of these humons and when coupled with their historical data we were able to depict several invigorating habitats. We injected them with the standard nano machines to provide feedback on each of them for both the caretakers and the guests. I do have some concerns about handing the medical needs of these humons as none of our handlers know how to treat them, but I have tasked them with dissecting the gathered data for any relevant medical information. They seem very energetic and many of them have not stopped trying to escape their exhibit since they woke up. A few of them have already begun crafting crude weapons to defend themselves while forming mini factions. The largest group has created a primitive wooden fortress by sharpening sticks and creating walls with them. The smaller group has kept their distance from the larger groups while the remaining few have decided to remain in isolation from both groups. Guests love it when they start banging on the windows and try to talk with them. The children in particular I overheard already picking out their favorites and rooting for them to survive should they begin fighting. We’ve not had this kind of engagement since we brought in Bengols with their psionic abilities. ------------------------------

Personal Journal Entry J-758021 Head curator Migu

It’s been several cycles since my last entry and we’ve had a few snags. Our lack of medical knowledge regarding our latest exhibits has proven costly. Despite our best efforts to decrypt the remaining data from their ships it appears medical information was damaged beyond recovery during the capture process. This has left us unable to properly care for them during medical emergencies; which have happened far sooner than expected.

After several days of captivity several of the humons began showing signs of rapidly deteriorating mental stability. They’ve displayed signs of paranoia, societal breakdown, and an increase in aggression levels to the point they murdered other humons in the enclosure.

We’ve never had this problem before with our other exhibits, at least within such a short timeframe, and now the benefactors are calling for my head. They are upset that their most prized money generators are murdering each other risking their profit margin.

I’ve suggested applying mild sedatives to calm them but was denied. They insist that curbing their more primitive tendencies would cause customers to lose interest in them.

The suggestion of capturing more of these humons was strongly advocated for but it was my turn to deny that request. Deploying a capture team was an expensive endeavor and if the humons continued killing each other the costs would overturn any increase in profits.

I’m putting together alternatives now for my next meeting with them. Hopefully something will come along and save our hides. ---------------------------------

Personal Journal Entry J-758043 Head curator Migu

The problem for the time being has resolved itself via an unexpected avenue.

One of the capture humons was seen treating the few remaining humans; providing basic medical treatment and care.

Ordinarily we would have written off such behavior but because of our current medical situation we decided to bend regulations and reach out to the subject directly.

A translator unit was acquired and we were able to speak directly with the humon. It took several minutes to calibrate, thankfully much of their speech was unrecognizable. They would not stop trying to speak with us while it was being adjusted and went on and on about wanting to be set free and demanding answers. Honestly you think these humons would be grateful that we are lowering ourselves to speak with them.

When they finally calmed down we explained the situation to them. In exchange for their cooperation they would be given special privileges to treats and comforts for the duration of their stay. They wanted to be let out and freed from the exhibit but I quickly shut that down as a non-starter.

It eventually dawned on them that this was going to be their new existence for the remainder of their life and could live in comfort or watch as their friends died one by one; and they accepted the offer. -------------------------

Personal Journal Entry J-758117 Head curator Migu

While unusual the negotiating tactic with the humon has resolved the issue for us and the benefactors are happy once more.

With the medical humons help they were able to stabilize the injured humons while also negotiate a form of agreement between the humon factions in the exhibit. They could still maim and injure each other while guests were present but would not kill and then would be treated afterwards before the next day’s opening.

Interestingly enough the medical humon has proved very useful. They’ve been able to communicate with the rest of the humons and get them to fall in line. What’s more they’ve been minimalistic in requests with the biggest being to be taught some of the basics of our medical equipment so he can use it himself.

Ordinarily we don’t allow this but it would have freed up some of the medical wing so we allowed it with extensive supervision.

I must admit I am rather proud of myself for resolving the situation, and with such little expenditure. Things now are running smoothly once more and the profits are seeing ever increasing margins. Maybe now the benefactors will get off my back. Though honestly I think it’ll only last one or two months before the humons are worn out and they want something new.

---------------------- Personal Journal Entry J-758135 Head curator Migu

Oh gods it burns!

Everyone at the zoo is screaming and clawing their own skin!

Gods damnit make it stop! MaKE IT Stop!!!!!!!!!!!

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

Emergency Transmission January 2873 Chief Medical Officer Maxwill Clemons

This is Chief Medical officer Maxwill Clemons of the ship “Hades Rest” calling out to any terran ships requesting immediate rescue.

I am not sure what planet or system we’re in, but hone in on this signal and you will find us. I will be repeating this message every hour on the hour for as long as this place has power.

I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been in this god forsaken hellhole. The automated day/night cycles have made my attempts at record keeping near impossible.

Maybe a month? Two? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.

We were kidnapped from our ship after exiting a jump and woke up to find ourselves in some sort of alien zoo. The aliens refused to speak to us at first, instead watching us from windows and laughing at us while we struggled to find out what was going on.

They’re all dead now. The aliens that is.

I never knew what they called themselves and I don’t really care.

They treated my friends like animals, so I took their precious tech and turned it on them. Made the nano machines they injected us with register the alien DNA as a deadly virus in need of immediate eradication.

First one I got was the one who was so smug about our capture and display. They changed their tune after I spat in their eye and their face started melting as the nano tech spread. Two others came in after the screaming started and they got infected as well before fleeing the room.

I stood up and went to my comrades “habitat’ and let them out as every alien around us began screaming and melting away. That was at least three days ago now and I haven’t seen one of them yet. Their whole planet now is like one massive ghost town.

We’ve enough provisions to last us and the other freed captives for some time, but please do hurry. I want off this fraking shit hole as soon as possible. --------------- Message repeats:

Emergency Transmission January 2873 Chief Medical Officer Maxwill Clemons

This is Chief Medical officer Maxwill Clemons of the ship “Hades Rest” calling out to any terran ships requesting immediate rescue. ------

[lazyneonrabbitt]

King of the cage

Daryl Dixon x reader | [Pt.2]

In the apocalypse, entertainment is hard to come by. Until you hear of underground groups fighting with anything nonhuman.. CW: Descriptive violence and murder.

Loud cheers rung through the basement hall. Rowdy folk rattling fences and screaming in excitement for the next round.

With the world ending, entertainment was hard to come by but slowly these underground events started making a comeback through word of mouth.

A loud bell rang that had the crowd go silent, its attention pulled back to the giant cage that sat in the middle of the hall.

A megaphone wielding man appeared in the middle of the cage. He got the crowd riled up as he introduced two new entries.

The two next fighters.

While he backed up he called out the first one by name, then its most ferocious features and then its species.

The crowd rumbled with anticipation as they waited for the creature to be released from its confinement.

Massive steel latches came undone as a heavy door slid open to reveal a satyr. Its legs plated with jagged steel as well as its tail. Its hooves hidden by heavy, sharp covers that clunked with every step it took. Its hornes were decked out in metal covers too, making a headbutt a lot more dangerous than it already was.

It circled the centre cage, dragging its tail across the blood splattered concrete and sending sparks flying off its tail end. The metal could cut anything in half with one good swing. Whoever caught this one knew what they were doing.

That was the first thought in your mind seeing the creature stalk the other door connected to the cage. Watch that tail.

You couldn't see the ones across from you, the ones who owned the beast. They too were decked out in armor like outfits and masks.

And then the announcer, now from his safe space on the third high spot above the cage, announced the second fighter.

Yours.

"Our next beast is a fan favorite! Brutal. Intelligent and oh so scary! A monster worn by countless battles!" He gestured grand towards the other door as it unlarched and slid open to reveal your most prized possession.

"Let's hear it for our angel of death!"

The crowd went wild as your beast lunged out of his enclosure into the cage and it sent a rush of adrenaline through your system.

"LETS HEAR IT FOR DIXON!"

Your monstrous wolf roared as he circled his opponent, snapping his jaw in aggression. The steel fang caps alsays catching the shitty lights perfectly, showing off its sharpness just right. The chains around his forearms dragged along the floor, creating a terrifying harmony with the drag of the other's metal tail.

His low stance showed off his branding marks to the crowd. Two giant wings over his back, scarred to the bone so no fur would grow back, no chance of healing.

To the crowd he looked like the perfect killing machine, equipped with metal claws and fangs, scars allover and a ferocious snarl that strikes fear into the crowd, but only soaks your underwear.

Inside the cage the creatures kept circling until the harsh bell rang through the hall, signaling the start.

Your sign to scream. "Watch the tail, baby!" But it seemed he had already caught on. As the satyr took a readying stance, your wolf had lunged straight at the creature, shoving it right in the chest with his head as his claws went to encase his spine.

A yelp sounded through the cage as the clawed gloves of his opponent dug into your wolf's ribs but he quickly retailated. Four thick claws dug between individual vertebrae close to the satyr's hips as the other claw grabbed, twisted and yanked hard. With a crunch of bone and a deafening scream the tail detatched and was thrown off to the side, pieces of metal plating scattered on the ground.

With its tail gone the creature let go and dropped to the ground but bouncing back almost immediately. On your beast's backstep it lunged at him hoof first and kicked him straight in the chest, tearing through skin and muscle. There was barely enough time to move with the kick and avoid getting ribs cut clean trough. That one was gonna leave a scar.

It was clear in his eyes he was done with this one already. No fun to be had with something that only sliced.

Your opponents were yelling command after command at their creature and it followed througg with each and every one. They trained it well, but forgot the other beast had the chance to steer crear of every single step as it was called out.

"Dee! Quit dodging, they're getting bored!" Your voice rang through the crowd that howled in agreement. "Go crazy, baby!"

His ears perked up at your command. He got booed for finishing matches with smaller opponents too quick and had to learn to play, like a dog.

The satyr lunged at him with a spinning kick aiming straight for his eyes but a quick turn away from it and a 'click' of his chain he snagged a leg and yanked the chain towards him, again dragging the creature onto its back over the floor. Those legs could kill easily and were protected by a thick steel so biting was no use. Clawing wasn't an option either so for now he'd have to immobilize them with the chains. A swift twirl had the chain wrap around tight. A large paw stomped onto them a couple of times, blood smearing the metal plates until the crack of bone could be heard.

The creature cried and whined out in pain as yours sported a wicked grin, opening his maw to show off his custom dental work before diving in and tearing off half of his opponent's ribcage.

With a spray of blood and a disgusting squelch of a steel tipped claw tearing out a heart the crowd howled along with your killer.

The round was over and the announcer congratulated you and your beast on the win, letting the crowd know not to move from their seats as the next round was about to begin.

"The hell?" When did they implement the back to back rounds? This wasn't discussed.

You were supposed to be looking after him now assessing his wounds and encourage hin to heal. He may have been your fighter in everyone else's eyes but under all those metal adornments made to fit his beast shape he was still your partner.

He was the one that saved your life only to have you for dinner himself, starved and desperate but he spared you because of the interest in your eyes instead of fear.

You two ended up sharing the leftovers in your bag that gave him enough strength to hunt down some game and feed you both. You made it through winter together and became dependant on each other. He was a nonhuman who was abused since childhood and never had a chance at success, not even when the world ended and skills like his were considered useful.

But now you had each other.

"Dee! You got this, baby! I right here withya, focus." Your voice drowned out the rowdy crowd as he backed up to his door and rested against it. Evening out his breathing and recalling your steps of making him heal in between matches wasn't working as well as he hoped, but his hindpaw could now hold his full weight again and his chest was at least partially knitted back together and no ribs were exposed anymore.

Just in time for the next round bell to ring and the opponent's door to open again.

With erratic movements two giant batlike creatures came from the opening. Their wings were clipped so they couldn't fly anymore but their screeching sounds were as killing as ever.

Behind the two jittery winged things something else stomped in. Heavy footfalls sounded through the hall as a large, grey wolf enters the cage. Its sheer size made yours look so small. The bats had thick plated armor covering their chests and upper backs, all around their ribcage.

Feral vampiric creatures. You had seen more sophisticated vampires in your life, they weren't uncommon. But these things were different. Not a single speck of humanity left in them, driven mad by hunger and bloodlust.

But the giant wolf was your biggest concern. He stood so tall he had to walk through the door on all fours.

"This is insane!" You were mad. Not even angry, just furious with this turn of events.

A noise came from the cage, one you recognized immediately. The sound of "I'm gonna be okay". And it came just in time as the round start rung through the hall and the crowd began to chant for a fight.

"Baby let's go! Show'em what you got!" He took in your words and focussed.

He went to work calculated, using the cage itself to climb up to the winged beasts, using his skill aquired in the woods to hop from side to side and snatch the bats off the cage walls and tear through their wings. He had to take them out fast to make sure their bites wouldn't poison him.

He took one by the wing and tossed it at the other one that jumped at him. Colliding mid-air with a crack they fell to the floor, the giant white beast sidestepping easily and keeping an eye on your fighter. The cheers from the crowd were fueling his fire as he jumped down after the bats and landed on all fours, paws all placed strategically and crushing skulls and spines before hopping off and focusing on the big guy now, who had surprisingly let him do his thing for now.

"Dee, he's observing! Go nuts!" He had fought so many different creatures he had built up quite the skillset.

The thing was huge, bulky and probably less quick. He had to be light on his feet, even with his massive weight and added metal.

They circled, snarling and snapping at each other before the big one lunged. His move was dodged with a jump, but claws still found their way into his leg, tearing the flesh. His other hindleg managed to make it up high enough to land a metal clawed kick to the back of the grey furred neck and grabbing onto the mane to stay on top of him and claw at the beast.

With a pained roar he was trashed off and sent to the ground, slamming into the side of the cage and taking a massive claw to the face, cracking his jaw.

With his uninjured leg he managed to shove himself out of the way and dodge the next hit that got caught by the cage. It gave your beast a moment to slash at the tendons in the leg and render it immobile for at least a little while.

He had to use this opening. His metal claw tips made easy work of other muscles in his limbs, taking them out one by one in swift, calculated moves.

The grey monster sat on its knees, snapping its jaw in any direction your wolf went in but made the mistake to let out an open mouthed growl.

Without a second thought two claws were grabbing each jaw, claws piercing the inside of the mouth and fangs digging deep into the delicate flesh of pawpads.

The beast thrashed but was no match anymore for the scarred wolf high on adrenaline. He felt like the king as he pulled at the jaws and tore his opponent's head in half with a loud howl that reverberated through the building. Cheers and howls from the crowd joined your killer's mighty roars as he took in the love from the crowd.

"He remains king of the cage! Dixon wins!"

The announcer's voice cut through the crowd as you made your way down to the entry corridors where your beast had retreated. The cloak you wore tossed ovwe the beast as he sat down against the wall.

"You did amazing, dear." Your hands went to rest on his cheeks. "Come back to me, Daryl."

With the call of his name it was like a switch was flipped. His eyes went back to their human shade with a few blinks and his body followed suit. As he turned his leg healed enough tonwalk back to your prep room, running him a bath to relax his muscles and worship him in any way he wished for.

"The hell were those three?" His voice was raspy from the fights. "Fuckin' crazy them folks."

You couldn't help but let out a laugh at his comment. "It was rude to not warn us. But you won!" You leaned in to kiss his head. "So, you want a reward?"

The bath was suddenly a lot less needed. Daryl stepped out and hauled you over his shoulder and threw you on the bed.

"Yeah, love me nice rewardin' night with ma woman."

Yeah, you'd collect your prize tomorrow.

A/N: This popped into my head this morning. The song prompted a full crazy idea so here we go I guess? Enjoy!!

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #3: Levinstrike

Prompt: tempest || Master Post || On AO3

A/N: Spoilers through the beginning of zone five. Mentions of someone throwing up, but said mention is non-graphic.

*stares contemplatively at this prompt fill* ...yeah, I'm gonna run cover.

*runs for cover*

--

There were a lot of reasons for why Rereha was finding herself very much not liking Yyasulani.

First and foremost, of course, was the giant purple dome of fucking doom that had engulfed the region, spat out murderous magitek automatons led by an equally murderous patricide with a chip on his shoulder, and resulted in the heartbreak and misery of a multitude of Turali, including her darling new not-so-little sister, Lamaty’i. (Lamaty’i had dibs on Zoraal Ja’s head, but Rereha would gladly do a live retelling of how she’d killed Zenos at the edge of the universe with her bow, using that warmongering asshole as her “assistant.”)

Second was the fact that Erenville, normally a bastion of cool-headedness and acerbic wit that rode herd on them all better than even Heron, Queen of the ‘I’m Not Mad Just Disappointed’ Face, was currently a spooked, jumpy, and generally upset young man. With every step they took, Erenville grew tenser and tenser, until he was practically vibrating with it, and unable to mask just how shaken he was to see his home so strangely aged and decrepit. Rereha did not like to see her friends (even the ones who refused to acknowledge they were, actually, friends) upset. Someone needed to be made miserable for this. (Probably Zoraal Ja.)

Third was all the gods-forsaken levin within the confines of the dome. Static snapped and crackled and popped (hah, that had a nice ring to it, actually) across all of them, and across every surface, and the only reason they likely weren’t shocking themselves was the sheer amount of levin aether soaking into everything, even making it difficult to breathe. Synnove had summoned Ipomoea, and the unaspected carbuncle was carefully perched on her person’s shoulder while maintaining a light shield around their group to lessen the pressure of so much fucking levin on them.

Fourth, and newest on the list, was the fact that little Roksana—not quite so little as she had once been like a bitty squishy Heavensturn mochi, the steady infusions of aether over the years ensuring she and her sister were now two-thirds the size of Galette—had just spontaneously manifested at Synnove’s feet.

Alone.

That is, by herself.

No Amandina.

Which had never, ever happened before.

Ever.

Synnove’s face was doing the kind of journey between expressions that would likely result in a pulled muscle and would, under any other circumstance, be funny to witness, but right now just made Rereha feel ill.

Mommy, Roksana warbled, eyes huge and teary, something’s wrong with Amandina.

“Oh, fuck this place in the ear,” Rereha said under her breath as the party dissolved into chaos.

--

They had hurriedly backtracked to Yyasulani Station and holed up in one of the decaying buildings. Synnove had folded herself onto the floor cross-legged, her bracelet of carbuncle foci cupped in her hands, and had spent a full bell coaxing Amandina into manifesting.

The black pearl carbuncle looked terrible as Synnove gently cuddled her. Her ears and tails were drooping, the aetheric glow of her coat was dim and dusty with no sign of the pretty purple among the black strands of her fur, and her eyes and nose were gummy and crusty and just gross. The poor baby looked like how Rereha felt after one of those stupid parties she used to attend as a dumbass socialite fuckwit in Ul’dah, and she resisted the urge to swipe at her own nose.

Mommy, I [have a tummy ache.]

Amandina’s harmonic had warped and rippled, ringing with multiple tones of trying to translate an untranslatable concept. Now Rereha wanted to reach into her own brain and scratch frantically to relieve the itchiness hearing that had left in her grey matter.

“What,” Lamaty’i whispered, arm raised up to rub her temple across the leather embossing on her collar as her ears twitched at high speed, “the fuck.”

“Your mind essentially force-translated Amandina’s aetheric harmonic into words you can understand,” Krile said, blinking rapidly and reaching up to rub at her eyes.

“At least into the closest approximation,” G’raha said, scritching frantically at the back of his neck until Alisaie swatted his hand away.

Amadina groaned, turning in Synnove’s arms and pulling herself up so she could burrow her face into her mama’s neck. Synnove carefully adjusted her grip on the carbunclet, one hand supporting her butt and the other stroking her head and ears, while Roksana, who had been draped atop Synnove’s head like a weird hat, practically oozed down on top of her twin. Ipomoea, perched on Synnove’s knee, wore an unfocused expression that meant she was still in the middle of running a full diagnostic scan.

“It’s all this fucking levin,” Synnove growled. “Her aspect means she’s already highly sensitive to levin aether, sure, but none of the carbuncles have ever been somewhere where they’ve been exposed to such dangerous levels of their respective aspected aethers.”

“Not even in Eureka?” G’raha said, ears perking. “I would have thought Anemos and Pyros would have posed some danger to Galette and Ivar.”

Synnove shook her head.

“The density of elemental aether was unprecedented at the concentrations encountered on Val,” Krile said, “but it does not compare to what has happened to Yyasulani. Despite each region of the island being warped to reflect their elemental aspects, they were also balancing one another, which allowed such diversity in wildlife to continue thriving. The amount of levin here has essentially rendered Yyasulani…”

“…ecologically dead,” Erenville finished, voice flat and eyes shuttered, even as a shudder briefly shook his frame. Lamaty’i pulled him into a one-armed hug and for once, Erenville didn’t fight it.

(Rere wondered if Lamaty’i was adding items to her mental tally of crimes for which to hold Zoraal Ja responsible. Rere certainly was.)

[Suggestion: Mistress Synnove,] Ipomoea said, her harmonic oddly distant as she continued her scan of Amandina, [a temporary ward on Junior Construct Amandina’s aetheric input sub-array may provide relief of symptoms. Estimation: effectiveness currently calculated at fifty-three point six five seven percent.]

“We’ll get started on mapping that once you’ve finished your diagnostic,” Synnove said, continuing to stroke Amandina’s ears down along her spine. “Amandina, do you want to de-manifest?”

Noooooooo, Amandina whined. Mommy cuddles feel good.

[Observation: physical contact has decreased hazardous levels of levin in Junior Construct Amandina by three point eight percent.]

“Hmm, might be actually be siphoning it off,” Synnove muttered, then sighed. “Carrying Amandina isn’t ideal as we’re reconning, but perhaps—”

Static SNAPPED through the room, causing them all to jump. Amandina whimpered.

Mommy, I think I’m gonna throw up.

There was a flurry of movement as Roksana scrambled off her sister and jumped into Rereha’s outstretched arms, Ipomoea leaped backwards, and Synnove scrambled to her knees, pulling Amandina off her shoulder as Heron dove forward with a pot yanked off Erenville’s gleaner pack. Heron got the pot beneath Amandina’s face just in time, and the poor carbunclet made an awful HRRK noise as levin aether so concentrated it was a liquid poured from her mouth.

Synnove twitched, jerking her head up to the stare at the ceiling even as she kept petting Amandina and making soothing noises in her throat. Heron had gone grey, and Rereha distantly noted similar expressions on Alakhai, Alisaie, and G’raha.

Who was she kidding, she was wearing it, too. Good to know she wasn’t the only one fighting back a bad flashback to certain events on the First.

Seriously, fuck this place in the ear. With something hard and sandpapery.

…I kinda feel a little better. Amandina’s harmonic very softly drifted through Rere’s mind. The carbunclet’s upper body was still mostly in the pot, until Synnove carefully picked her up and set to cleaning her face.

“Mages, on me,” Synnove snapped. Krile, G’raha, and Alisaie darted into motion, with Alisaie digging into Synnove’s pack and emerging with chalk, graphite sticks, and scrap paper as Krile and G’raha began clearing a spot on the floor. Synnove walked forward on her knees, then sat again with Amandina curling into a miserable, sniffling ball in her lap at the edge of the new workspace. “We’re making that ward now, and I’ve even got an idea on how to adapt it for non-aetheric individuals like ourselves to make this shithole less awful for us. Sorry, Erenville.”

“No, you’re right,” the Shetona said, forcing himself into motion to begin setting up a temporary camp for them all. “This is a shithole now.”

“I’ll give Zoraal Ja an extra punch for you,” Lamaty’i said solemnly.

“I actually appreciate that,” Erenville said wrily. “Rereha, could you dispose of the pot? I’ve got another and I’d rather not try to salvage that one.”

“Can do,” Rere said, tucking Roksana under her arm and darting forward to grab the ruined pot by the handle. “Come on, kiddo, let’s go dig a hole.”

Oooooh, digging, yay!

Awww, the sound of Amandina’s grumbling followed them out the door. Being sick stinks.

[noturlondonboy]

Touches game, Hugs, 3

Please?

Hugs #3- hugging while twirling around

This one definitely got away from me but I think it’s freaking adorable

——

The day of Kate’s Bishop’s graduation, Yelena was a restless mess. Everything had to be perfect, because her Hawkeye was perfect, and therefore deserved nothing but the best. She paced circles into the floor the minutes her girlfriend had left their home to get ready for the ceremony itself, her cheeks flushed from Yelena’s lips on her cheeks and hand between her legs. A proper send off, if you will. But now that Kate was doing her part on her big day, it was Yelena’s turn.

No pressure, suka.

She starts with cleaning the apartment- easy enough, unless you factor in the two large, energetic dogs that liked to try to help. Their assistance usually looked like chewing on the decorations she was trying to put up, or just causing general chaos. Normally, Yelena would be patient with them and use it as a training opportunity, but today was not that. Fanny and Lucky ended up in their crates, and that was that.

Balloons were scattered, streamers were placed over the entry ways, and a banner spelling out GRADUATE in big purple block letters was hung on the back wall. Among other decorations, Yelena stood back and dusted her hands off, feeling satisfied with herself.

While she was happy with the main room of the apartment, most of her pride was in her work on her and Kate’s bedroom. But that was for the archer to discover later, in the privacy of each other’s company.

——

The stadium is beyond loud, the roar of people here to see their own graduates practically deafening. Yelena had initially flinched and huddled away from it all, but Natasha had dug out her noise cancelling headphones and settled them over Yelena’s ears before it could completely overwhelm her. She shot her sister a grateful smile, nudging their shoulders together before scooting over to make room for Clint and his family. Nathanial wiggled into her lap right away, and the blonde giggled, holding the little boy close.

“How are you, kiddo?” Clint signs to her, his smile easy and tired.

Yelena returns the gentle look and takes her hand from Nate’s hair. “Excited to see our Hawkeye,” she signs back, leaning into Clint’s steady warmth as he wraps an arm around her shoulders and hugs her close.

Bucky is settled in the row behind her, exchanging low words with Natasha and a soft kiss to her brow before he notices that Yelena isn’t focused on Clint anymore. He leans forward and loops his flesh arm gently around her front to hug her swiftly, a kiss pressed into her hair. She smiles brightly and leans back into him, their eyes meeting. The corners of his crinkle in happiness.

“Love you, little bear,” he mouths to her, and Yelena’s smile only grows, her chest warm and heart swelling.

The ceremony officially starts a few minutes later, and Yelena is laser focused on the crowd of graduates as their names are read off one by one. Kate is up relatively quickly, and Yelena takes her headphones off, wanting to hear her girlfriend’s name over the speaker.

“Katherine Elizabeth Bishop!”

Yelena lets out a roar and jumps to her feet, holding Nate on her shoulders as she screams and shouts and cheers, her voice rising above even the giant crowd. Kate’s eyes find hers, so bright and so happy that Yelena finds herself crying. Her Kate Bishop. That was her girl. She was so proud.

The entire rest of the ceremony, Yelena’s gaze is solely fixed on Kate. The archer periodically turns her head to catch Yelena’s eye, exchanging looks and secret smiles meant only for each other. When the last student’s name has been called out and every graduate is once again seated, the Dean stands from her chair and walks to the podium, her smile blinding.

“It is so wonderful to have you all here today, graduates. This day means so much to me, for you. We’ve had such a successful year.”

She talks for a few minutes before Kate’s name catches Yelena’s attention.

”Please welcome our very our graduating class Valedictorian, Katherine Bishop.”

“What!?” Yelena’s jaw drops, her eyes wide as she watches Kate stand yet again and stride to the stage, her stance tall and stride powerful. Yelena is effortlessly turned on. Valedictorian? When did this happen? Surely Kate would have told her about such an important thing?

”She wanted to surprise you,” Natasha tells her quietly after Yelena takes her headphones off.

Yelena scoffs, but her cheeks are glowing and her smile is bright. “Of course she did.”

The blonde listens with rapt attention as Kate speaks, her eyes laser focused on the woman that she loved. Kate was grinning, unable to contain her joy as she stood up there in front of her peers, her cheeks flushed. Towards the end of her speech, she mentions her family and friends, her eyes on all the people that Yelena is surrounded by, and her two closest friends in the crowd of graduates with her.

”And to my darling, my beautiful girlfriend, Yelena.”

Yelena’s breath catches in her throat. Kate’s eyes are right on her, shining a mesmerizing sky blue.

”Without you, I’m not sure I would have made it this far,” Kate says softly into the mic, her smile lovestruck. “You have been the tallest lighthouse for me in the storm that is college. You’ve helped me find who I am, and what it means to love myself. With every late night spent with you, every early morning run in the softness of dawn, every cram session where you made sure I was fed, and hydrated, and helped me study, I have fallen more and more in love with you. You are my world. I can never thank you enough for loving me with the intensity that you do, or for being my partner in the challenges that we face together.”

There are tears in Yelena’s eyes, my jaw slack as she holds Kate’s gaze, her entire body on fire.

Kate suddenly swallows and turns to look at the Dean behind her, and the woman nods, smiling softly. The archer’s shoulders relax, her smile nervous when she turns back to the mic. “Yelena, my love- will you please come join me on stage?”

Yelena blinks hard, sitting up a little straighter. The stage? Her?

Clint and Natasha are both chuckling softly on either side of her, and when they rest their hands on her back to encourage her up, she can’t help but feel that they’ve been in on something she isn’t aware of this whole time.

Kate’s smile is nearly blinding as she watches Yelena maneuver her way to the stairs and walk down to the floor. Is this why they had been sitting so close to the front? When she reaches the stairs to the stage, her steps are wobbly, and Kate meets her halfway, offering an arm to help her up. Yelena holds onto her gratefully, looking up at her archer with a furrowed brow. The brunette only smiles reassuringly at her.

When they get back to the podium, Kate clips a smaller mic onto her collar and turns to Yelena, taking her hands and pressing her lips to each knuckle. Yelena can only stare, her lips parted and eyes wide as her heart flutters and her stomach fills with nerves.

”Kate Bishop…?” she whisper softly in question, only for her darling to hear.

Kate kisses her hand one more time before clearing her throat, her fave nervous but loving. “Yelena Belova, you complete me.”

Oh. Oh. Was she- was Kate…?

”I want to spend every day of my life with you.” The archer swallowed thickly. “There are so many things that I can’t properly put into words, but I hope to be given the chance to try to voice how much I love and admire you every day for the rest of our lives. But to get that chance, I need to start with this.”

Yelena watches Kate sink to one knee. She watches her take off her grad cap and pull a small velvet box from somewhere inside it. She is distantly aware of the dull roar of the crowd screaming their heads off, but all she sees and hears and breathes is Kate Bishop.

Her archer opens the small box to reveal a beautiful obsidian ring, and Yelena feels the tears burning down her face.

”Yelena Belova,” Kate says, her voice strong and sure despite the nerves in her gut, “will you be my wife?”

”Kate Bishop,” Yelena sobs out softly, her voice thick and catching on her tongue as she covers her mouth with her hands. “Oh my god, Kate Bishop.”

She is so beautiful, and she is everything Yelena has ever wanted.

Yelena pulls Kate up onto her feet so that she can kiss her, cupping the archer’s face and slamming their lips together in a breathless tangle. “Yes, yes, always yes,” she sobs into Kate’s sweet mouth, kissing her hard and holding her close.

Kate is crying too at this point, and they can’t hear the roar of the crowd in their own little pocket when Kate pulls back in order to slip the ring on Yelena’s finger. The blonde stares at it in awe for a moment before looking up to meet Kate’s gaze, and the sheer abundance of love she finds there nearly sends her to her knees.

But Kate scoops her up into her arms before she can fall, as she always does, holding her close in a bone crushing hug as she lifts the blonde from her feet and twirls them around. She spins her, and spins her, and spins her, and Yelena never wants it to stop.

[the-star-and-the-smols]

Sean McCool

Chapter 1: A Big Day For The Irish

Word count: like 3600

Rating: Teen

Warnings: fearplay, injury

Arthur is startled awake by the most unusual of sounds in the night. Thunderous booms, the deafening sound of shuffling against grass and dirt, the horses crying. His first thought is a strong storm, but opening his eyes to a starry morning sky peppered with small white clouds dismisses this possibility. As he forces himself awake, a number of awful scenarios run through his mind: bounty hunters, Pinkertons, O'Driscolls, common thieves. He draws his pistol as he blinks, scanning through the blur of his sleep.

"Who goes there?"

Not a word or sound save from the panic of the horses hitched on a nearby tree. However, something else immediately captures his interest. Something very large, taller than he is, and spanning an impressive distance, like a long wall. Different colors, too, as it goes along. Browns, a deep blue, a light patterned blue, some soft reds and greens, softly glowing in the moonlight.

"Arthur?"

From behind him, Hosea rises to his feet and comes to stand beside him.

"Hosea.... Do you know what the hell I'm lookin' at here? I can't make heads or tails o’ this thing right now."

"Might've been what spooked the horses.... I don't know. Give me a minute, will you?"

Hosea makes his way toward the wall, studying it with an intense curiosity. "Looks... strangely familiar, though I can't put my finger on why."

"All I see is a wall. ‘Course, that don't make much sense. Got an interestin’ shape to it, that's for sure."

Hosea backs up cautiously as the wall seems to move upward and downward with a sound that can only be described as a low, deep sigh.

"I don't think this is a wall, son," he croaks deeply, his gaze shifting back and forth between different ends of the so-called wall.

"Then what the hell do you think it is?"

"I-I think it's a giant!" Hosea wheezes.

"A giant?! Hosea, you must'a drank more than you thought you did. Giants ain't real, now I know you of all people got sense enough to know that," he barks at the older man with a confused look.

"Shh, not so loud," he whispers, "You'll wake it. And-and it don't make a lick of sense to me either, but-but look." He points shakily to a light-colored, oddly shaped section of the wall that seems to jut out from a strange tunnel of cloth. "That's a hand."

Arthur's brow furrows curiously as he takes a few steps toward the appendage, holstering his gun but keeping his hand on it.

"Don't touch it, Arthur."

Arthur nods as he continues to inspect the thing, looking down at his hand then back up again at the towering object, curled up and still taller than himself. Up, down, up, down again. He stumbles back, his mouth becoming an entry point for any flying insect that dares to become breakfast.

"What. The. Hell?!"

"See, I told you. What else could it be?"

"I see yer point," Arthur surrenders, continuing to back away until he's behind Hosea. With the realization, the wall seems to morph into something a lot less wall-like and a lot more human-like. It rises and falls rhythmically with a low gust of air. Arthur watches as Hosea makes his way to the other end of the giant, the part with red and green.

"We need to wake Sean and get the hell outta here!!!!" Arthur scans the environment for any sign of his friend. "Hey, where is that little Irish weasel anyway? He was right-"

Arthur freezes in place, an icy chill running through his veins as his mind starts putting two and two together.

"There.... OH MY-"

"-I'm afraid we're looking at him," Hosea interjects, his voice wavering with emotion. "His head is up this way." He motions for Arthur to come closer.

Arthur doesn't believe it. He doesn't want to believe it; it all seems so absurd. He has to prove it for himself, as gut-wrenching as that may be, if only to convince himself he hasn't gone completely nuts, or had too much to drink, so he walks toward Hosea's position, his light step on the dirt feeling like a trudge through mud. He approaches the patch of soft orangey reds that starts to make a lot more sense, running the strands through his fingers like long, thin cables. He recognizes Sean's ear, what must easily be the height of his own body. Maybe even more.

"Goddamn..." He mutters in utter disbelief. Blue eyes widen, his chest tightening uncomfortably.

Just then, a deep, loud, Sean-like grumble is heard and felt in the ground. The curtain of hair begins to shift, moving toward the two at an alarming pace.

"We gotta MOVE!" Arthur bleats, turning tail toward the woods. Hosea follows him as quickly as he can, soon falling into a coughing fit and forced to stop in his tracks. Arthur sees this, but before he has the chance to run and assist him, his father figure is halfway pinned underneath Sean's massive cheek, his legs almost completely buried. The giant grumbles in his sleep as he settles on his side, completely unaware of the mess unfolding before him.

"Hosea!" Arthur runs to his aid. Sean's breath washes over his whole body in warm, damp gusts as his face is now turned toward the pair, yet it chills the surface of his skin. It's an eerie, disturbing feeling he tries his best to disregard; there are more pressing matters at the moment.

Shit, that’s still pretty hard to ignore.

"Well, at least he was considerate enough to spare my head and torso," Hosea croaks, trying to make light of the situation. He pulls at his legs with his hands to free them, but they only barely budge.

"You alright, Hosea?" Arthur kneels down next to him, searching his features for any trace of discomfort.

"Not too bad right now," he grunts in a pained voice, "but I need to get the pressure off these legs, quick. Give me a hand here."

"Mhm." Arthur pulls at one of Hosea's thighs with the weight of his arms and upper body. It budges a little, but still remains wedged under Sean's cheek.

"Shoot. No luck," Hosea mutters, eyes welling with tears.

"Lemme try somethin' else here." Arthur gets down in a seated position next to Hosea, pressing his boots against the cheek. He tugs the skin and fat of Sean's cheek upward with his boots, the friction with his stubble emitting a sound akin to a shave, then once again using the force of his upper body strength to pry Hosea's leg free. This time, the limb easily slides outward, giving Hosea a bit of relief.

"Great, now the other one."

Arthur moves to Hosea's other side, doing the same for his right leg. The prodding of Sean's cheek makes his nose and mouth twitch, drawing the pair's attention to it briefly before focusing back on the task at hand. "Alright, this one's in there pretty deep, so, try and pull with me, okay?"

Hosea nods as the two pull, heaving and grunting before finally freeing his foot of their friend's face, as well as his boot.

"You okay?" Arthur asks, inspecting the leg and foot for any sign of injury.

"Somewhat." He flexes the limb, wincing and groaning with pain. "I think it got pretty banged up. Still, I don't think it's broken."

"Sorry to hear. You don't look so good. Hopefully it ain't broken, at least. " Arthur sighs, taking in the sight of his gang brother's massive head. He chuckles at the sight, then turns back to the older man. "Good lord, he's enormous... Can't even imagine what kinda shit he'd get into when he wakes up. His ego was already big enough before." The thought gives Arthur a headache.

Hosea's eyes are still set on the giant's features in front of them, concerned. "Looks like we're about to find out."

Sean's eyelids peel open only very slightly, and he rubs his eyes with massive fingers. He grumbles, vibrating the ground underneath him in a pained voice.

"Oh, me head... Feels like… egh, shite…"

Sean's voice is startlingly loud and deep, and the two back away to give him some space, with Hosea forced to shuffle back on his rear due to his injured leg.

"Ugh..."

Sean sits up, casting the two in shadow. His hat remains on the ground, his eyes opening further.

"Where the hell am I?"

He scans the environment, the rays of the morning sun creeping over the trees and blinding him. Holding his hand in front of him, he turns his gaze downward to avoid the sun's glare, trying to make sense of the two little blobs he notices on the ground. He blinks.

"What's this now?"

He picks one of them up, Arthur, who is unpleasantly surprised by the fingers that effortlessly wrap around him almost painfully, pinning his arms to his sides and restricting his mobility. As he's whisked dozens of feet in the air in seconds, his stomach seems to want to linger on the ground for a few moments, and Sean certainly doesn't give it the opportunity to catch up. His surroundings are a blur until the movement slows and halts at his friend's face. He knows it's Sean, he's known him for years. The young redhead's always been like an annoying little brother to him, but that closeness and friendship was left at the ground below. As he’s enveloped in the massive hand of a familiar stranger, a frigid heat crawls over his skin, up his spine. He can hear nothing but the throb of his own heartbeat in his ears, his head thick.

Little brother? Not so little now.

Now, Arthur is constricted by an enormous hand, and his entire field of vision is filled with nothing but Sean. Green irises like serving plates pierce through Arthur's invisible armor, making him feel unusually vulnerable under his gaze. Here he was, at the complete mercy of a powerful fool. If it had been a total stranger, he manages to think, it would be less scary right now. He knows this behemoth, impulsive and reckless, and it leaves Arthur petrified, hardly able to breathe.

The brow furrows, eyes and pupils expanding, and as he speaks, Arthur can feel a gentle buzz through his fingers.

"..Arthur?!?"

Sean’s expression becomes warmer as he recognizes his friend, so teeny in his hand. Creases form around his eyes, a sign that he's smiling; there's just so much of Sean to take in that Arthur is really only able to focus on those massive jade irises, burning so intensely with curiosity it becomes impossible to tear his gaze away, no matter how desperately he wants to.

And Arthur knows better than most, there's a lot you can tell about what a feller is thinking through eyes and eyes alone. The sense of wonder and amusement in the younger man's gaze is palpable, and although familiar, is so much bigger and brighter than he’s ever witnessed. He can feel Sean's pulse through his fingers, and the grip finally loosens enough to not be uncomfortable, allowing for Arthur to move his arms finally. Not that that's much help, since he really only has Sean's thumb to grab onto.

"Wh- what the fuck? How-how'd ya get so- uh... little?!"

He stammers in disbelief.

Sean's breath rustles Arthur's hair as he speaks, the scent of whiskey and cigarettes. His rough voice is painfully loud and detailed in his ear, and slightly deeper than he's used to. Arthur can't help but chuckle awkwardly at the unusual situation; it's really the only response he can muster other than the scream lingering in his throat.

"I-I ain't little, Sean. Just.. take a look around ya!"

Arthur is momentarily relieved of the intensity of his gaze as Sean looks around, noticing the ends of his hair brushing against his blazer like an enormous broom. It's easier for Arthur to take everything in when he's not being stared down by a pair of humongous eyes. A breath of fresh air.

The Irishman looks upon the landscape surrounding him, noticing how he easily dwarfs the trees, even from his seated position.

"Jeeeeesus..."

He lets out a low, piercing whistle, then turns back to Arthur, a smug grin stretching out further than Arthur is tall.

"Y'know, Arthur Morgan, you aren't nearly as ugly from this point of view. Dare I say it, yer almost adorable."

"Oh, please-" Arthur can feel the wall of fingers constricting his limbs once more, and Sean becomes giddier than ever as he seems to get further away, moving Arthur back a bit to inspect him with better focus. The sensation is dizzying.

"I mean it! Yer like a tiny little doll in my hand. A grumpy one at that~!!! It's endearing! Y'know, I've always liked the idea of bein' bigger and stronger, but this is somethin' else! A right fantasy, this is!!! A dream!!! Am I dreamin'?!"

"SEAN!" A voice barks from below them.

Sean’s gaze turns downward toward Hosea, who sits with his legs stretched out on the grass.

"Put him down, son! Right now! You're hurting him!" Hosea commands.

He looks back at Arthur, who seems quite a bit more purple than usual at the moment. The younger man's features immediately soften with concern, and he loosens his grip on the outlaw as he lowers him to the ground, much more slowly than his startling ascent moments ago.

"O-of course, Mr. Matthews!"

A disoriented Arthur slides off of Sean's fingers and onto the ground, landing in a heap with a soft "oof."

"Sorry, English. Y'okay?"

Arthur lets out a muffled "yep" from his crumpled position before righting himself, sitting with his legs sprawled out like Hosea.

A small smile tugs at the corner of Sean's mouth from the affirmation. There is a moment of stunned silence between the three of them, the gangster-turned-giant running his fingers through the grass, his eyes glued to the two on the ground as he orients himself to this reality. His fingers suddenly brush up against a solid object, which he lifts up to eye level. A boot. Realizing Hosea's sock is exposed, he lowers the boot pinched between two fingers to Hosea, receiving a soft "thank you."

"No problem."

He yawns, rubbing his temple.

"Could surely use a cup of coffee right now, though. What a way to wake up."

"I don't think they make coffee cups that big," Arthur laughs. "I'm afraid you're outta luck."

"What the hell happened anyways?! Last thing I remember, I was celebratin', havin' a few drinks with the pair o' yous. Now this!"

"I don't know," Arthur replies. "Maybe it was that special shine you got all excited about. 'Course, moonshine can do a lot, but I ain't ever heard about it makin' men grow into giants.”

Hosea chimes in. "No, you got a point, Arthur. Don't make sense to me that it happened in the first place, strange as it is, but, as you said, so was that vendor."

Arthur groans. "I never shoulda bought that shit for him. Why couldn't I have just got him a new shirt, or a holster, or somethin' for Ennis-"

"-You serious, Morgan? My birthday, and you're giftin' a horse-"

"-or a muzzle, for that goddamn mouth of his!!"

"Well, as they say, never look a gift horse in the mouth! Hahahahaha!"

Sean retorts playfully.

"Shut up," Arthur growls. "This ain't no joke!"

"You just findin’ that out, Englishman?! This is bloody remarkable! Just look at me!"

He gestures to himself, his arm span the length of a baseball field, eyes wide beyond belief.

"I gotta test somethin' for meself here!"

The pair watch as Sean reaches for the trunk of a nearby cedar, the length of half his arm. He wraps a hand around it near the bottom, and twists it free almost effortlessly, shaking the dirt from the roots.

"HAHAHAHA! Look at this, boys! I'm the strongest man on Earth!"

He brags, his tone livelier than ever, booming and echoing in the mountains with a bassy tone. He lifts his arms above his head in a strongman pose, fist still clenched around the tree he so easily uprooted.

"Just wait 'til them girls see me! I'll be havin’ to fight ‘em off me-"

"Will you quit mouthin' for ten goddamn seconds and LISTEN?!" Arthur barks up at Sean, clenching his fists. When Sean lowers his arms, he continues. "We gotta get Hosea to a doctor."

Sean's smile fades.

"..Doctor? What for? You alright, Hosea?"

He leans in closer, inspecting the older man.

Hosea hums, pain apparent in his speech. "Not particularly. Leg got busted up pretty bad. But I'll make it."

"... How'd that happen?"

Arthur and Hosea exchange glances, unsure of how to respond.

"D-did I..?"

Sean points to his chest with tightening fingers.

Hosea purses his lips, sighing. "I'm afraid so, Sean."

The redhead shuffles back slightly, sending slight shockwaves through the earth below him.

"Shit, I-I-I'm sorry!"

"Accidents happen, Sean," Hosea assures him. "It's okay. It could have happened with anyone."

"Could it, really?" Arthur remarks skeptically.

Hosea pulls out a mortar and pestle from his bag, beginning to grind some herbs. "Let's just get ready. We've got a long journey ahead of us. Would you mind brewing us some coffee, Arthur?"

"Sure." Arthur takes the pot and grounds from his bag.

"Anything I can help with?"

Sean asks, his eyes darting between the two as he sets the tree down near the forest with a crash.

"Now you mention it," Hosea responds, "the horses seem awful spooked. Maybe now's a good time to get 'em used to ya. Wouldn't want 'em,” he grunts, “runnin' away soon as they got untethered."

"Will do. Though I don't suppose I'll be ridin' Ennis back to camp,"

he chuckles half-heartedly, getting down on his belly, the tremors in the earth from his movements making the horses whinny and cry.

"Shh, it's okay, now, it's only me."

He reaches his hand out toward the horses, uncertain.

"I won't hurt ya..."

No luck. The horses buck, trying to break free.

“Woah, easy there!”

He pulls his hand back slowly to avoid startling them further.

"Y'know, Sean, I've been thinking," Hosea adds, "Somehow it seems whatever you were wearing when you slept grew with you overnight-"

"Thank God for that," Arthur mutters, getting a scoop of coffee grounds.

"-So, what did you have in your bag? Edible, I mean?"

Sean looks to his satchel, still draped over his shoulder from the night before. He shuffles through it.

"Tin o' crackers, peaches, a carrot-"

"Perfect! Feed that to the horses!" Hosea yells out excitedly.

Sean grins, finally catching on.

"Ohoho, they're gonna love this one!"

He pulls out a fresh carrot, the height of a two-story building.

"Damn," Arthur remarks, "Sure don't see that every day." The two smaller men share a chuckle.

"Hey beauties, ya like carrots? Well I've got a real whopper for ya!"

Sean experimentally holds the carrot out, wiggling it slightly to entice the horses, which still buck and neigh at Sean's movements, but less so.

"C'mon, horses. Sean's got a real treat for ya!"

The first horse to seem interested is Ennis, who nudges his snout in Sean's direction hungrily.

"That's it! That's my boy!"

Sean pinches a small piece off the end of the carrot with his finger, very slowly reaching out toward Ennis, the bit of carrot pinched between his fingers. Ennis whinnies, and Sean shushes him, speaking in an almost whisper.

"It's okay! You know me!"

Ennis seems calmer, eager to bite the carrot. Sean opens his fingers, the chunk of enormous vegetable sitting on the tip of his middle digit. The horse approaches him warily, finally taking a bite.

"Yes, that's it! Good boy! Tasty, innit? Hehehe."

Seeing Ennis enjoying the carrot piques the other horses' interests, and they begin to point their snouts toward him.

Arthur pours Hosea’s coffee, handing it to him and receiving a quiet ‘thanks.’ The two watch Sean with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"Hosea, what in the hell are we gonna do about this?" Arthur whispers, trying to maintain enough volume to be heard over Sean’s re-taming of the horses.

"I don't rightly know myself. I’ve seen a lot in my day, but this sure as shit beats all!"

“Well the way I see it, it looks like we got a mighty big problem on our hands.”

“The biggest yet.” Hosea empties the ground herbs into his coffee cup, swirling it around. “We’ll find a way to get him back to normal. Sean's a good kid, got a lotta heart. He just needs some direction, and discipline.”

“I ain't so sure discipline is gonna cut it now, Hosea. He could overpower all of us, easy! Hell, he don’t listen to me half the time at normal size; I can only imagine he'll laugh in my face now if I so much as disagree with him on how we should go about things.”

Hosea lets out a light chuckle. “Let's… hope not.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “He may be young and foolish, but he cares about this gang. And if he cares, he’ll listen.”

“Maybe. I just hope you're right. I guess we’ll just… take it as it comes.” Arthur shrugs.

“That’s seemed to work for us so far.” Hosea smiles a little as he watches the horses, now all happily eating chunks of carrot out of Sean’s palm.

[thewankbankuk]

Lieutenant Commander Neal Bailey watched in horror as a forcefield materialized between him and the rest of his strike team. How the collective had managed to adapt to their saboteur efforts, he didn’t know. All Lt. Bailey knew was that the Borg had cut off his teammates’ only chance for escape.

“They must have rerouted power through to this section somehow!” Ensign Dan Korowsky exclaimed in dismay from the other side of the forcefield.

Standing next to him, Lieutenant Joe Cavalli, technician and resident Starfleet expert on the Borg, looked incredulous. “But we knocked out all the power generators routed through this section—and the regeneration nodes…” He lowered his phaser rifle and began scanning with his tricorder.

“We don’t have much time. Cavalli, can you run a bypass on this forcefield generator?” Commander Patrick Evans asked urgently. Cmdr. Evans, a decorated Starfleet Marine and the mission leader, looked around urgently for signs of pursuit. The mission had been going well—until now. Starfleet’s plan: insert a stealth team on frontier colony Ivor II, on the edge of the Klingon frontier. Objective: to determine if the Borg have destroyed the colony and its defense research facilities. Collect data, and if possible, neutralize any remaining cybernetic threat on the planet surface.

Within hours following their orbital drop, Cmdr. Evans’ team of five had successfully penetrated the former colony’s infrastructure. They found it almost completely assimilated by the Borg. Where once stood a joint human-Klingon venture in tactical cooperation, there was now instead a giant cube-shaped mass. Evans’ team penetrated the damp, humid structure, making selective use of explosives and computer overrides on entry. Now they were on their way out, having successfully downloaded data from several Borg distribution nodes. Oddly enough, at no time had they encountered any significant resistance.

“Let’s detonate it.” Ensign Mike Hunter, demolitionist and the youngest of their group, displayed his brashness yet again. But this time it seemed necessary.

“Fine…do it.” Cmdr. Evans agreed impatiently, wiping the sweat from his face. Ensign Hunter moved forward to attach photon charges around the corners of the forcefield projector frame. He had scarcely placed one charge on the floor when a whirring sound emanated from his immediate surroundings. The others heard it, but it was too late. Twin tubules, secreted within the framework of the forcefield, lanced out and plunged themselves into the young ensign’s neck, paralyzing him instantly. Ensign Hunter screamed in agony, falling to the floor. Lt. Cavalli fired at the Borg assimilation device, vaporizing it.

“Ensign!!!” Cmdr. Evans yelled in shock. Korowsky brought out his medkit and knelt beside his fallen teammate. Suddenly, klaxons sounded.

The team knew that the collective was afoot. In desperation, Bailey and Cavalli began firing at the forcefield from opposite sides. But it was no use. The Borg had awakened.

Drones materialized behind Evans and his team, and began advancing. Lt. Bailey could only watch as his teammates abandoned Ensign Hunter and began firing at the approaching Borg. One-by-one, drones fell. The team was at its best, wasting no shots. Within seconds, the Borg had adapted, but Evans’ team was prepared for this.

“Remodulate!” he ordered.

The team paused to activate their weapons controls, and resumed firing. Their weapons were effective once again, and the remaining Borg were mowed down. The complex was filled with an eerie silence. Evans, feeling relieved, turned to the still-active forcefield and the fallen Ensign Hunter beside it. The nanoprobes had done their work--the Ensign’s face had turned a pale shade of gray, and the telltale sign of Borg-colored veins and emerging implants were visible.

But before Evans could say a word, the sound of heavy metallic footsteps echoed again through the complex. The team braced itself for more drone beam-ins…but this time the Borg had a different strategy. In unison, two rows of Borg emerged from the corridor walls, forming two perfect flanks in front of the Starfleet team. They marched forward with incredible speed.

These were no ordinary Borg. Once, they had been the fittest of the humans and Klingons assigned to the base. Now, they were enhanced cybernetic warriors. Their already-impressive biological musculature had been enhanced beyond the ability of any other galactic power. These tactical drones did not carry conventional maintenance or surgical implements. Instead, they were built solely for combat assimilation. Sculpted armored plates conforming to their anatomically perfect cyborg bodies, made of Borg platinum and other enhanced synthetic alloys, moved with harmonious symmetry to their muscles. Interlocking plates across their thoracic sections provided an impenetrable barrier.

Ensign Cavalli was the closest and had the first shot. It glanced harmlessly off the Borg shielding. Cavalli remodulated, and fired again. The shot made a glancing blow off the lead Borg’s chest, leaving a cloud of plasma smoke. The rest of the team remodulated, and began firing.

But this time, the tactical drones emerged from the smoke, utterly unharmed. Their chest armor had absorbed the weapon impacts, and had in fact dispersed their energies back into their Borg power systems.

Evans watched in horror as his team’s weaponry was rendered utterly useless. Shot by shot, the Borg remained undeterred. The team switched to photon grenades. The first exploded in the center of the corridor, throwing the tactical drones to the sides. But it was not enough to destroy them. The Borg simply got back on their feet and marched forward.

The team had rehearsed what would happen if they were in a no-win situation. It was standard operating procedure for Starfleet’s elite strike forces. As the Borg drones reached within an arm’s distance, Evans dropped his weapon and reached for his belt where the emergency quantum grenade was stored. Better dead than assimilated!

“Lt. Bailey, save yourself!!” Evans ordered. On the other side of the forcefield, Bailey hesitated for a moment, then ran. The desperate but resolute look on his commander’s face was burned into his mind as he fled. Lt. Bailey ran down the corridor, and turned to see the explosion.

But it never happened…

The collective had learned all it needed. By accessing the mind of the drone formerly known as Ensign Mike Hunter, they knew the team’s plans. As Evans pulled out the quantum grenade, the prone form of Ensign Hunter suddenly came alive, and the newly assimilated Starfleet Marine charged into his former commanding officer, wrenching the device from his grip. With enhanced cybernetic strength, Hunter knocked Evans down with ease.

Before Lt. Cavalli or Ensign Korowsky had a chance to activate their self-destruct grenades, the tactical drones had surrounded them. Lt. Bailey watched from afar as they attempted to fight their way out, hand-to-hand. Their resistance was utterly futile. The Marines were knocked down, one-by-one. One drone took particular pleasure in testing his growing cybernetic strength against the humans. This newest Borg drone had gone from the archaic designation of Ensign Michael J. Hunter, Starfleet service #11283-5496 Alpha, to the efficient label of One of Five, primary subunit of Tactical Trimatrix 315. Resistance was utterly futile.

Ensign Korowsky found himself separated from the others. He’d been knocked unconscious in the scuffle, and now found himself attached to an assimilation table. A tall, muscular six feet and 200 lbs. of muscle, Korowsky prided himself on being able to master the machinery around him—and to use strength to win any situation. It was an attitude which had gotten him very far in the Starfleet Marines. But now his human strength was no match for the assimilation table’s restraints.

Korowsky wondered why they hadn’t assimilated him already. He felt no different, aside from a splitting headache from when the drones had struck him down. He felt no burning sensation in his bloodstream or puncture wounds on his neck or elsewhere. Korowsky realized, with a sinking feeling, that he was only waiting for the inevitable.

A soft breeze wafted through the assimilation chamber, making the Ensign’s body hair stand on end. It was then that Korowsky realized that he was completely stripped of clothing. In the incredible humidity of the Borg complex, he hadn’t noticed. Could it be that the assimilation chamber was even hotter? Around Korowsky, the cacophony of power conduits and throbbing regeneration alcoves echoed.

The walls in front of him shifted. A Borg drone approached. This tactical drone was of the same unique configuration that the team had encountered moments before they were captured. It was apparent that this particular unit had once been a very young, attractive-looking human male. He was tall, and muscular, with handsome features that were augmented by cranial tubing and implants but no ocular eyepiece. The drone had large, piercing green eyes, and his face bore the expression of a slight superior sneer. His body was covered from the neck down with thick Borg platinum armor which wrapped tightly around his bodybuilder physique. Was this one of the former colonists?

“We are the Borg. Your biological distinctiveness will adapt to service us. Resistance is Futile,” the drone intoned in a deep, synthetic voice. As the drone approached, Korowsky closed his eyes and clenched his square jaw in anticipation of the pain.

The drone reached out with one arm for Korowsky ’s crotch. Assimilation tubules shot out from his fingers, and plunged deep into the base of Korowsky’s penile shaft. The Starfleet Marine screamed in pain…

Seconds later, breathless, Korowsky opened his eyes in bewilderment. He felt a change—but it was not the assimilation that he had steeled himself for. Instead, he had felt himself get incredibly aroused. He was powerless to stop it—his cock lifted up, up into a raging erection. He was harder than he had ever been in his life. Korowsky arched his back as far as the assimilation table would allow and gasped in surprise and pleasure as his cock swelled with blood and stretched to its limit.

The assimilation table began to swivel, and brought Korowsky up to a vertical position. Then, with the drone standing behind him, the restraints released, leaving Korowsky standing with a massive erection.

“You represent a team which Starfleet selected to be on the front lines and infiltrate the Borg. Your combat skills and physical ability indicate that you are an excellent specimen of your species. Your genetic distinctiveness will become our own.”

Korowsky was unrestrained, and seemingly free to go. But the force of his erection was too much. The Ensign groaned as he felt his tool begin a change. The nanoprobes in his bloodstream were designed for assimilation, but they could also provide simply augmentation. That was exactly what Korowsky was experiencing as his testicles began to swell and grow heavy. He could feel the semen flooding through his reproductive tract at an alarming rate. He felt his body tighten up as the fluid rushed forth in a torrent up his shaft, and yet he did not ejaculate.

Instead, Korowsky stood there, his brain functions overcome with the hardness, the tension. The air around his naked body seemed electrified with sexual possibility. His whole being was collecting around his cock. It was unbearable; he felt primed to explode.

Korowsky groaned with pleasure as he felt his cock stretch even further. The cybernetic augmentations had grown his tool to massive proportions!

In the humid heat, with wave upon wave of energy seemingly directed at his mind, Korowsky felt the collective speak to him. The drone seemed to whisper…

Service the collective. Provide your biological distinctiveness to us.

The space ahead of him was dominated by a column-shaped alcove which reached through the ceiling. Korowsky felt compelled to move toward it, and he did. As he walked, his shaft began dripping pre-ejaculate; his cock was filled to bursting with cum.

When he finally stood in the alcove, his mind awash with the burning sensation of pre-orgasm, Korowsky thrust his hips forward into the orifice, which resembled a power socket. As he did, he felt a sense of relief. The regenerative Borg technology molded itself around his cock, gripping it tightly. Then, the alcove sprang to life, with power flowing through conduits and into Korowsky ’s body. The Starfleet ensign felt the sensation of a thousand fingers stroking his cock, licking it, sucking it—all synthetically, of course. He gasped, and his cock finally exploded.

Korowsky shuddered as his cock began releasing its juice into the alcove. He was in ecstasy, and it was never-ending. The alcove continued accepting his seed, and Korowsky, plugged in and nanoprobe-enhanced, kept pumping away. Sparks of electricity raced up and down the alcove and through the Marine’s body, overwhelming his senses.

As the minutes and hours passed by, Korowsky’s face assumed an expression of delightful agony, his jaw clenched in instinctive seriousness as his body shot its seed repeatedly. The torrent of cum was never-ending, as the alcove continually fed nutrients to sped up bioproduction in Korowsky’s body. As time went on, more and more nanoprobes entered Korowsky ’s system, slowly assimilating him, yet leaving his genitals enhanced but unassimilated—for now.

No human was ever made to have an interminable orgasm. But the Borg could do what evolution could not. Korowsky was the first, but certainly not the last to undergo this enhancement. As one orgasmic cycle ended, leaving the alcove full of liters of ejaculate, Korowsky gasped for breath, his hips relaxing for a moment.

Within seconds, the alcove socket clenched Korowsky’s rock-hard cock again, and he shuddered. The Starfleet marine could only grab both sides of the alcove and hold on for dear life as his permanently hard cock continued pumping away.

Behind Korowsky, the tactical drone watched impassively. But as the first Borg implants emerged on Korowsky’s skull, the drone seemed to smile. Or was it envy?

The pleasure seemed to last an eternity. But as the collective’s appetite for Korowsky’s seed was sated, it was replaced with their need to add individual distinctiveness to their hive. Organ by organ, inch by inch, the nanoprobes assimilated their way through the Marine’s body, eventually reaching his head and finally activating their assimilation programming in his cock. The last of the human personality known as Dan Korowsky faded into an orgasmic howl as Two of Five, secondary subunit of Tactical Trimatrix 315, was born.

Lieutenant Joe Cavalli awoke in another assimilation chamber. He was also bound, naked, to an assimilation table. Cavalli felt his heart pounding—he’d gone over this situation countless times in his years of research into the Borg collective. And yet he still did not fully understand the exact nature of the assimilation experience. After all, few eyewitness accounts existed. Nearly all who had seen the process were either dead or members of the collective themselves. Cavalli expected the same fate.

Yet he would not have expected the appearance of another tactical drone before him. Starfleet had no records of this type of drone—there was truly so much that they did not know about the collective. The drone had large, piercing green eyes, and it spoke to him in a synthetic yet masculine tone.

“You will provide your knowledge and expertise of Starfleet tactics against the collective to us.”

Before Cavalli had a chance to answer, the drone had leapt up onto the assimilation table, displaying impressive agility, and was straddling his body. Cavalli felt the incredible heat emanating from the drone’s body as it slid across his body, finding his cock. The drone looked into Cavalli’s eyes and gave a seeming half-smile, then grasped at Cavalli’s cock.

Part of the Starfleet Marine was repulsed and yet at the same time he felt strangely aroused. Perhaps it was pheromone-induced? As Cavalli pondered this fact, his mind struggled to resist the sensations but his body betrayed him. Cavalli felt his cock stiffen and almost immediately the moist warmth of the tactical drone’s mouth slipped around his cock and began sucking expertly. Cavalli felt a wave of pleasure come over him.

It was unlike any sexual experience he’d ever had. The instant his cock entered the drone’s mouth, he could hear sounds of the collective. A massive, synchronous voice filled his head. Cavalli gasped as hive mind commanded him to obey.

He struggled to break free of the control but the power of one mind was insignificant compared to the might of the collective.

"No…I…my duty is to Starfleet, the Federation…I am a Starfleet officer—

"I…will resist!!!!" This mental assimilation quickly became a war of wills, of biology versus technology.

"I will resist….my duty is to…." then Cavalli gasped as the drone released him. The withdrawal of the voice drained him greatly—it was like a narcotic. The collective was massive, powerful, dominating…Cavalli felt himself long to surrender to it.

The drone looked at Cavalli as if assessing his worth, then continued the process. He moved forward, sitting on Cavalli’s chest, and let his massive Borg cock rest on the Starfleet Marine’s face. With a firm but gentle push, Cavalli’s mouth was opened and the cybernetic shaft entered into him. The Borg cock was completely rigid, and coated with metal. Yet it was surprisingly warm.

When the cock entered Cavalli’s mouth, his whole awareness was transformed. He felt the collective in him and around him.

"I am the---I—I will resist…must resist…must----Resistance is Futile. My duty is to Star—My duty is to the collective. I am Joe Cavalli…of Borg. My designation is Three of Five, secondary processor of Unimatrix 315. I will—we will provide all tactical knowledge to the collective. This unit will service the collective."

By now, the primary programming was complete. This human would not resist any further mental extraction efforts. His mind was open and part of the collective. Before the Borg had integrated Cavalli’s biological distinctiveness into their own, they had already converted his psychological distinctiveness into the beginnings of Borg algorithms. Phase one of assimilation was complete.

Cavalli did not resist as the tactical drone impaled him with his cock, and simultaneously plunged his assimilation tubules into his neck. Phase two of assimilation had begun.

Lieutenant Commander Neal Bailey had endured a most painful two hours alone on the outskirts of the former colony. He’d witnessed all of his teammates being captured by the Borg. He could only assume that they’d been assimilated or killed. He hoped it was the latter.

The mission had failed miserably. With Lt. Cavalli’s capture and Ensign Hunter’s assimilation, all their reconnaissance data had been lost. Their remodulated weapons, which ordinary Borg couldn’t adapt to, had no effect on these new tactical drones. Now Lt. Cmdr. Bailey found himself alone.

But he just couldn’t accept the loss of his teammates. They’d been together on more missions than he could count. Each team member had saved the others on numerous occasions. Bailey owed it to each man to do everything possible to rescue them.

For the past two hours, Bailey had searched the Borg complex's walls, trying to find a way in. When the team first arrived, the colony had numerous entrances. Now every last one was sealed by a forcefield. After seemingly endless searching, the Starfleet Marine had resigned himself to returning to his exit point and resorting to tricorder scans. Meanwhile, the Borg complex stood impassively, glowing with the power of alcoves, conduits, and power systems coming online, one-by-one.

With a brief flicker, the forcefield closest to Bailey went down. The Marine stood up. Did the Borg consider the threat over? Grabbing his weapon, Bailey walked into the complex, scanning all the way.

As he entered the Borg facility, Bailey saw maintenance drones working alone or in pairs at various stations throughout. They seemed to be engaged in construction activities which served to expand the Borg facility. There was no opposition of any kind, and no Borg tactical drones to deal with. As Bailey moved deeper into the complex, retracing his steps, he found several forcefields down and not others. Scanning the layout, Bailey was confounded by the seemingly random placement of chambers and equipment. Was he being led somewhere?

Ahead, Bailey saw a Borg chamber with a series of tall columns on aligned near the walls. In the center was an assimilation table. And on it--one of his teammates. Bailey rushed forward, and saw who it was.

“Commander?” he asked breathlessly. Aside from some bruises on his face and neck, the team leader looked unscathed. Bailey leaned over the assimilation table, searching for signs of life.

The Commander’s eyes opened.

“You came…just in time,” Cmdr. Evans said.

“Sir, I’ll get you out of here!” Bailey responded, and began looking frantically for the table’s controls.

“There’s no need,” Evans replied. And Bailey froze to look at his former Commander. The bruises on his neck reformed, and the telltale signs of assimilation became visible. Evans had been assimilated just moments before. Bailey turned in horror, but Evans reached up and grabbed his neck.

“Resistance is futile, Bailey…once you’re with us, you’ll understand.”

“Never!!!” Bailey replied, turning to escape. But out of the shadows, four tactical drones emerged. One was the former Joe Cavalli, another used to be Mike Hunter, the third was once Dan Kawalsky, and the last, with piercing green eyes, he’d never seen before. Only his comrade's faces were recognizable now, behind the Borg flesh and tubules; their bodies were taller and stronger, with massive, rippling muscles and thick armor.

Resistance is Futile, the tactical drones intoned in unison, and began moving forward. Bailey lifted his rifle and opened fire at point-blank range. This time, Borg energy shielding protected the drones from any damage.

Just as the drones closed around him, Bailey saw out of the corner of his eye Cavalli’s armored suit and rifle placed on a Borg examination table. The collective had added the Marines' technological distinctiveness already…

The drones pushed Bailey to the ground and were on top of him instantly. Bailey felt the crushing weight of the massive, newly-born tactical drones as they grabbed at his body and tore off his suit. The Marine struggled in vain. Even his most violent thrashing was unable to prevent an assimilation tubule pinprick, precisely positioned at the base of his crotch. Within seconds Bailey was fully aroused. Two of Five instantly took Bailey’s tool into his mouth; Three of Five inserted his cybernetically-enhanced rod into Bailey’s mouth, and the other two drones were lifting Bailey on to the assimilation table…

Bailey surrendered to cybernetic bliss…within 55 minutes the last member of the Starfleet strike team was gone, and Five of Five, tertiary subunit of Tactical Trimatrix 315, was born…

Hours later, a tactical drone led five new assimilation warriors to a newly-completed regeneration chamber. There, Tactical Trimatrix 315 entered Borg alcoves for the first time. The hive was now fully satisfied. All targeted assimilation…complete.