Tumgik
#really i just wanted to draw his little peepers
cycat4077 · 3 months
Text
Gator's room: foreshadowing & clues
I went back to take a look at the scene of Gator in his room. While the "flag", girly posters, blaring heavy metal and handcuffs were an immediate stand out to all of us, I wanted to have a look to see if there were any other clues to who Gator is.
First up, here's his room:
Tumblr media Tumblr media
SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT FOR EPISODES 1-8
Let's look a little closer at the obvious foreshadowing.
Based on the previews and the Instagram post from the makeup artist (along with the subtle nods to Oedipus), it appears Ole Munch is going to torture Gator. We see him holding a knife to his eyes, and in the original trailer, Gator is bloody and blindfolded while being led by a noose.
Gator's own posters, decor, and drawings seem to depict this fate.
#1 The poster immediately behind his shoulder depicts a man with no eyes - potentially gouged out.
#2 The drawing below it has the eyes blocked out in colours that suggest necrotic (dead) tissue.
Tumblr media
#3 The animal skull on his wall obviously has no eyes.
Tumblr media
The Oedipus parallel and removal of his peepers were foreshadowed right in Gator's room from episode 3.
Linda's fate (mommy issues)
We learned in the last episode that Linda is dead. Roy tells Dot that he can burry Dot right next to Linda. When Dot confronts Gator and tries to win him over via his mother, Gator gets visibly emotional and shaken. We see hope and heartache run through him simultaneously. I think Gator knows instinctively that his mother is dead, but some small part of him hopes she is still out there.
I also think Gator's drawings depict his mother.
#1 This drawing not only depicts a person with eyes blacked out, but the drawing is clearly of a woman - possibly a corpse. She has breasts and long hair but is drawn in purples, reds, and blues; colours that represent bruises, blood, and dying flesh.
Tumblr media
#2 The other drawing with missing eyes is also of a woman. This drawing once again has long hair, but she is smiling.
Tumblr media
Perhaps Gator accidentally saw his mother's dead body. He has a drawing that represents a scary corpse (reality) and one that represents an almost comical one. Maybe the smile is how he tries to remember Linda - dead but somehow still smiling for him.
Other little things
#1 Robbed of childhood innocence. Gator's room is filled with "tough boy" items: swimsuit model photos, car photos, alcohol, heavy metal posters, etc. But he also has children's toy cars. The hot rod photos are in direct contrast to the toy cars on his shelf. The boy trapped inside the man. A boy robbed of his childhood by abuse and traumatic events.
Tumblr media
#2 Jack Skellington. I'm probably one of the only people on the planet who have not yet watched The Nightmare Before Christmas, but the Jack Skellington parallels go beyond just the mask Gator wore. To me, it looks like he also drew Jack - and yet another reference to death. The skull's mouth is sewn shut too, just like Gator is sworn to obey his father and not speak the truths about what Roy has done.
Tumblr media
#3 Red or Blue Pill? Again, I have failed to watch yet another classic film: the Matrix. But this poster seems to be a clear reference to it, I think.
According to Google, "The red pill and blue pill represent a choice between the willingness to learn a potentially unsettling or life-changing truth by taking the red pill or remaining in the contented experience of ordinary reality with the blue pill."
And if there's anyone with the last name of Tillman who will be forced to see reality (and potentially change), it is Gator. Gator will likely be forced this "red pill" by Ole Munch, either finally seeing the reality of his father's ways, or by becoming the next sin eater.
Whatever the outcome, the poster must have some sort of meaning!
Tumblr media
That's all for now 😊 But I really love all the subtleties in this show! It's fantastically written and acted, and Joe is doing such an exceptional job playing this mutli-layered and morally ambiguous character of Gator!
***EDIT***
A post by @familyfriendlyhoho got me thinking about the drawing on Gator's wall. I was thinking that his drawings represent his dead mother, Linda and that he may have accidentally seen her corpse. The post theorizes that:
"I feel like Gator knew Linda was dead. but worst, I feel like Roy showed it to him."
And I think that this is the most-likely scenario. Roy is sinister enough to do something like that to his own son. I can imaging Roy telling Gator to stop being a loser and become a winner and, to drive the point home, he could have led Gator to Linda's corpse warning "this is what happens to losers".
If so, Gator's drawings would depict the corpse he witnessed. Even here, before Gator gives himself the "I'm a winner" pep talk, we see him glance towards the drawing - a reminder of what happens to losers. He then feels the need to convince himself that he is not one, despite what his father says.
Tumblr media
176 notes · View notes
starwrighter · 7 months
Text
I am not a baby!! (yes you are)
(Ao3) (Masterpost) (previous) (next)
(Chapter ten baby!!!!)
Danny isn't stupid. He knew Giga Fish was still here somewhere. Watching him... Hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, oxygen ticking lower and lower as he darted back into the semi-safety of his base.
A backpack full of peepers and bladderfish smelled awful. Getting the fishy smell out of his suit was going to take ages! Bladder fish are natural water filters. The fabricator draws out drinkable water from the fish's well...Bladder. Ancients, he hoped the fabricator sterilized this with its little lasers.
Non vegan water...
Sam would have a conniption fit, Tucker would love everything about it. He'd find a way to contact them soon if they didn't find him first. The earful he would get from Jazz might just be worse than his giant stalker. Getting lectured by Jazz would be preferred over sitting here with a gigantic fish a few dozen meters away. At least with Jazz, he knew she cared about him. He didn't know what the big guy wanted from him. Danny wasn't exactly a snack you'd travel through the sea for.
Whatever the guy wanted, Danny didn't care. As long as they both stuck to themselves, things would go just fine...
Peeking through the curtain, Danny saw the massive eel-like fish curled up, staring directly at his base.
Danny really wanted to study the guy. What were his eating habits? He didn't seem to be interested in eating any of the fish around him. Both the sharp teeth at the front of his maw and the shiny bioluminescent stripes that drew fish closer to him suggested a carnivore, but his complete disinterest conflicted with this.
Could a fish be vegetarian? A fish capable of sentience like this one probably could, but Danny didn't want to shove his head in the lion's mouth to test that.
Drawing on his PDA, Danny sketched out the blueprints for a table with a trash bin that slotted into the left side. Two air-tight cabinets were built into it. One smaller one underneath the trash bin and one larger, like a fridge on the right. In the middle was a collapsible set of stairs that'd allow him to reach the top of the table. Maybe making the table shorter would be more convenient, but giving up that extra storage space along with his dignity would be too much for him right now. The table top was a bit too empty for his liking, so he added small drawers at the back edge of the table. A perfect place to store small blades and silverware when he created the blueprints for them. Overall, it was much more like a workstation with built-in storage than a table, but Danny still planned to eat his meals here just as he planned to prepare them.
The fabricator would've been sufficient to cook his meals, but the lasers vaporized the shit out of the organs and bones of the fish. Anything nonedible in a fish's body turned to dust. The dusted ligaments and organs gave the meat a medical taste, like using hydrogen peroxide as mouthwash. Sure, the lasers were cool, but what was the point of cooking if your food tasted like high-tech sadness? It was bad enough that the only seasoning he had was salt. He didn't need his food to taste like it was made in a lab. Gutting his own fish was a necessity. Anything he couldn't eat could be tossed outside for the carnivores to snack on. They deserved a little treat for dealing with his stupidity.
Danny built his little table close to his fabrication station, ensuring it was anchored to the floor and wall. An unsteady piece of furniture could flatten him into an ugly pancake. If his friends were here, they'd agree he looked much cuter when he's only fifty percent dead.
Quickly stepping up to the table with his backpack full of fish, he unsheathed his survival knife... The knife would've been so much more effective than his teeth when he fought the big guy. Danny fought the urge to facepalm. What's done is done, he bit someone like a feral raccoon, but everything worked out!
Gutting fish was more difficult than he'd expected it to be. It was hard to tell if his lack of experience or now tiny hands were what made the task feel a thousand times harder. Peeper blood was yellow, but his own was still a vibrant red that dripped onto the table with every slip of the hand. It felt like a fishing trip with Dad, only without the forty-minute lecture on the dangers of ghost fish.
Running his hands over the now gutted Peepers, Danny used all the power he could muster, freezing them solid. Spots danced in his peripherals, the floor spinning underneath him like a carousel. It took a minute or two to regain his composure. Sitting on the ground with his frozen fish head pounding, face flushed red. Forcing his powers was like trying to drink scalding hot coffee through a toothpick-thin straw. It left him out of breath, fingertips burning with no evidence of damage.
There was an ecto dampener on this planet, he was certain of that. One stronger than any of the ones his parents had built. A radius that reached far past the planet's atmosphere yet still remained potent enough to prevent any significant power usage.
Unfortunately for whoever put the field up, it didn't cancel out his powers completely. Maybe if it did, he would have died completely, saving the culprit or culprits from being mauled. If Danny was anything, he was a stubborn bastard, and there was no amount of dampening that would stop him from clawing the faces of whatever had the audacity to do this! If he had access to his powers he could've saved everyone!
Over a hundred people died because he wasn't strong enough to save them! Because he was prevented from saving them. Ships like the Aurora don't just crash and burn for no reason. Alterra might skimp out a bit on employee safety, but the engineers they hired for serious maintenance were top-of-the-line. Underpaid, but top of the line, they wouldn't make a mistake that could cause that much damage. The way the ship shook, it felt like something had hit them. Everything about this seemed more and more suspicious the more thought he put into it.
For now all he could do was survive in hopes of finding some kind of lead. Finding and stopping whatever was stifling his powers was number three on his to-do list. Just above studying the wildlife but below finding other survivors and surviving himself.
First things first was rations! Both he and any other survivor would need food and water. While he was set with his... questionably hygienic water, fabricating more was a necessity. Giga fish was still out there, Danny could feel eyes on him whenever he passed the glass. All it would take was a split decision to plop his tail in front of the hatch, and Danny was trapped in here to either starve or dry out like a sponge under a sunlamp.
Coral samples and crumbling chunks of salt were taken by the fabricator, turned into bleach within the blink of an eye. The PDA screamed at him, a pitch that could've made his ears bleed. Warnings flashed on screen, the AI desperately pleading with him not to put the substance anywhere near his face. A wild contradiction to the PDA entrance that recommended using it to disinfect his wounds.
Only when he used the bleach to fabricate more water did the tablet stop screaming. The water smelt chemical, and it tasted vaguely of metal coins. Like the overpriced bottled waters, you'd find at an airport vending machine. Laying the bottles on their sides, he stashed them away in the cabinet, placing frozen peepers between each layer. Cold water wasn't a luxury he'd be willing to give up, nor was it something he'd give himself a mind-splitting headache over. So the obvious solution was to turn the cabinet into a disturbing refrigerator with dead fish eyes that stared into the deepest depths of his soul!
Nobody ever said survival was aesthetically pleasing.
Walking back to the window, Danny stares flatly at the curtain. Apparently, the whole "You can't see me, therefore I no longer exist," rule didn't work on this guy, so the curtain was completely useless. Peeking past the cloth, he could see the fish staring at him. Didn't even bother to hide, just sat there like he didn't belong hundreds of meters down doing anything else.
If watching him gave this guy joy, he's going to do something nobody could be entertained by. No longer should he be the comedian for giga fish! He was going to do something so drastic, something he'd only done sparely over the past year! He was going to...
Sleep!
He collapsed down onto the floor, curling himself up with the low-hanging curtains. Spite made it all the easier for him to fall asleep.
@ashoutinthedarkness @avelnfear @meira-3919 @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @hugsandchaos @blep-23 @zeldomnyo @bytheoldwillowtree @justwannabecat @shepherdsheart @starlightcat04 @stargazing-bookwyrm @pupstim @dragongoblet
172 notes · View notes
ms-scarletwings · 4 months
Text
Irken senses, and other ponderings
You know, every time I start to wonder if I’ve finally run out of things to coherently say on the whole “speculating about irken biology” matter, a whole something more is induced to hatch out of the dehydrated floam inside my skull. Between you and me, I think the eggs are triggered by ironic timing.
Anywho, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the world hypothetically through Irken eyes, and other sensory organs. Think I’ll go down them piece by piece, and to follow the pattern I’ve kept through my other Irken brain dumps, I will be drawing a huge amount of inspiration from real life arthropods. Yes, I’m very aware that realistically, any resemblance to earth insects would be coincidental from an alien species, and there’s plenty of room to make up whatever somewhat plausible explanation you can for any faucet of their anatomy. Personally, I like to run from the convergent evolution angle, since I find it no less grounded, full of potential connections the show itself all but begs me to draw, and just plain fun. Let’s get into it.
Also like towards the end there’s a whole section on the hypothetical edibility of Irkens because why not
Tumblr media
Prelude: If you want to hear a little more behind my theory about the Irken diet revolving around sugar and a small portion of minerals, you can zip onto this analysis I did, in which I touch on some ideas of mine regarding the composition of Irken skin, their reaction to meat, etc. that works from the assumption that Irkens evolved out of an arthropod-like ancestor. Not necessary to get the gist of this one, but it is background context behind my thought process.
Sight
The Irken oculus is perhaps the most striking feature of the species, very much resembling those tiny crawling things they have been inspired by; however, it’s tougher to say exactly how far the similarity of their insides go. The eyes of most arthropods are in fact along the more simple branches of the evolutionary tree. We know that Irkens are not likely to possess compound eyes, like those found in flies and most other insects, because compound eyes are specialized for wide FOV ranges at the sacrifice of visual resolution quality. Instead, I see a much closer match to a fascinating exception or two found in Earth’s arachnids.
Tumblr media
While most of them have utterly piss-poor vision, the hunting styles of jumping spiders necessitated a great deal of further specialization of the organs for depth perception, color differentiation, and sharp images. These are the purpose of those two huge shiners at the front (the other 6 boosting their range for detecting blurry peripheral movement and threats), and these are what bring their effective vision on a level much closer to that of familiar binocular mammals than their own six legged prey. Now I really think we are working with the base of what Irken peepers likely developed out of. One of the ways they have really diverged off is in the fact that while jumping spiders can only move their retinas, irkens seem as though they are able to move the lens of the eye themselves- or at the very least, Zim does, else the false pupils in his disguise contacts would not behave quite so convincingly. To speak about the lenses themselves, their eyes are not dry and exposed like most arthropods, speaking to a vulnerable sensitivity. They clearly have blinking eyelids, shed tears, and Zim even complains about the “scratchy” feeling of getting used to that part of his kid disguise.
(Funny sidenote: I’m like 90% sure that Zim did not have those contact lenses designed correctly for himself. Usually, if contacts feel that uncomfortable and keep falling off of the eye as easily as his do, it’s a sign of them being poorly fitted. This could be another symptom of his outdated/lower quality invader tech.)
Not only do Irkens have an assumed base vision resolution that seems more or less on par with human beings, but Invader elites are fitted with ocular implants that grant them a significantly greater advantage in this realm. We don’t know to a certainty how well improved an Irken soldier’s vision is, but Zim was confidently able, within seconds and under pressure, to pick out the area of town he lived in from what was miles away under night hours.
On the topic of night vision, I have a hunch that even without the cybernetics, these guys are adapted to see much better than we in dim to dark environments as well. Most of the early part of their life cycle is lived out in subterranean crèches. On the surface, daytime Irk is cast in a sunset red atmosphere. Oddly, a massive portion of their fashion and architectural aesthetics show a preference for these dark, warmer tones. Ruby is far and away the most common eye color in their kind. All of these facts suggest that warm-spectrum hues and pigments were incredibly common in the homeworld’s history, to point of indicating something about a cultural attraction to them- kind of like how humans put the color blue all over so much corporate branding and elsewhere. Zim’s favorite color has also been revealed to be purple. Most of all, given what I’ve seen of Irk’s, Blorch’s, and Devastis’s surface skies, AND Zim’s reaction to staring directly at the sun for more than a few seconds, I’m assuming that most Irkens are wholly unfamiliar with living in an environment as brightly lit as midday Earth.
I do think Irken eyes “glow” in the dark, but not in the emitting sense. Just more in the reflective one. This they would owe to a well developed tapetum lucidum, as seen in cats and deer and pretty much any animal to give off an eerie eye shine under the right lighting. To point back to arachnids, wolf spiders are speedy nocturnal murder machines with highly developed tapetum lucida, in their secondary eyes, at least. What I love the most about that is it makes it very easy to tell if you’re looking at a mother spider because her babies will give off the same eyeshine if you take a pic of one with the flash on.
Tumblr media
Additionally, I won’t forget that sleep is no longer a necessity for our alien subjects. This alone gives them a major edge over any dinural race such as humanity. While Zim has his appearances to keep up during the day, the nighttime on Earth is actually when he is allowed the most free rein to work on his endeavors uninterrupted.
Tumblr media
Sound
Ah, so this is the part where I rattle off the common theories we’ve collectively formed about Irken antennae as the replacement for an external ear, eh? Yes, but actually no…. jokes aside, it’s just no. I’ll get to the deal with antennae, but as you might imagine, hearing ability also varies all over the place in the insect world.
It is true that antennae play a large role in the hearing of some critters, such as mosquitoes, whose males use them to pick out the high frequency wing beats of nearby females in a swarm. Crickets, on the other hand, use sensory organs on their legs tuned to much lower sound ranges. There’s no one way to evolutionarily put together a sort-of ear, as well proven by the sheer amount of times it convergently happened in bugs and in how many creative ways.
Tumblr media
They literally be designing themselves like me playing around in spore. If we’re not talking about that mosquito or honeybee example, then what we are referring to as an ear and most hearing insects is going to be an external tympanic organ. Most people who have passed high school biology would be able to recognize a visible tympanum in frogs- that circular thing right behind the eyes in most species, and understand it as their version of an ear drum. Many bugs’ tympanums are likewise thin chitinous membranes situated… potentially just about anywhere on the body (again, see above). This is what I think Irkens use as a primary hearing organ, in his case, probably situated on their heads in addition to the feelers. The latter organs I think would also be sensitive to general vibrations and subtler environmental cues, like wind direction and pressure changes, but the bulk of their hearing would be owed to the tympanum.
As far as the quality of their hearing, well, there’s not any sign it differs much from the human experience. Like us, they communicate through verbal language, and the existence of the “Dancing Arcade Game (but for aliens)” confirms at least a similar cultural propensity for music as an entertainment form. Zim is an outlier for the fact that he seems genuinely a little hard of hearing next to his kin, screaming as naturally as he talks and repeatedly mishearing (if hearing at all) people who are speaking directly at him. It’s clear something’s up with his hearing, but there’s no clear answer what and why. At first I was tempted to suggest something about sound passing much differently through the medium of earth’s atmosphere (kind of like how noise on Mars would sound muffled to us), but neither Tak nor Skoodge seemed to pick up the problem when they arrived. It really could be as simple as some kind of birth defect, or even glitches in how his corrupted PAK is processing the inputs it receives. Like many others, I want to imagine that his wig could be interfering too, since it covers the whole top portion of his head; as well, I noticed he has more of those incidents with it on than not.
Smell
Alrighty, NOW we can round back to focusing on the antennae, because this is actually the main thing our insects fine tuned theirs for. And when I say fine tuned- I mean fine tuned. Blood suckers that find their prey through the CO2 of their breath, flies that can pick up on potential food sources from miles away; In the land of the little, scent is everything. Beyond it being their main tool for exploring the environment for what to eat and what to avoid, chemical messages are the backbone of bug-to-bug communication. Pheromones are the divining rod of lonely spiders looking for a mate. They are the bugle of yellow jackets when rallying the nest to attack a threat, and they are the signals that govern about every single action an ant takes from adulthood until death. Obviously, Irkens are much more sight & hearing dependent than these comparisons, but they still have much more bodily specialization dedicated to this sense than we can relate to. For one, they are fastidiously hygienic. Like, “the care-bots from that really creepy episode of the Buzz lightyear cartoon” hygienic. We have yet to see any livable surface of Irk that is not sky to underground terraformed over in all-consuming metal infrastructure. There’s less than no sign of visible life besides the Irkens; ffs, there’s not even soil in sight. Not on Devastis, either. The Organic Sweep sounds like such a nice and pretty euphemism in the face of the actual horror of Blorch’s fate, and all to spare the boots of their military from touching even a speck of “unsavory alien filth”. They live in such a controlled and purified environment that I can’t even imagine the absolute assault on the senses Zim’s every day on our barbaric ball of dirt is. Over and over again he gives off the impression that the constant stink of this place is in fact his chief complaint about living among us. The majority of insults he throws toward humans relate to how they smell or the fact that he finds them “filthy”. We’re flat out nasty to him and I don’t blame him. Even relative to other animals, humans are especially RANK due to the combination of sweat, oils, and bacteria that coat our skin.
And believe it or not, I do think Irkens are in a position to talk shit in this regard. Zim is a really sweaty boi; however, I posed an idea back in that write up about Irken skin before- to summarize- that his kind maintain remarkably sterile cuticles due to the presence of a toxic chemical in their skin. This, I said then, could have been the key to Zim’s lice repelling trait, but I wasn’t so specific at the time about more than that. I got the idea from a group of millipedes that, when disturbed, can secrete hydrogen cyanide as a deterrent to predators. I like to imagine that Irkens can do a similar thing via sweating, not to thermoregulate like us, but as a stress response. It would at least explain why Zim seems like a very nervous sweater. Fun fact if you didn’t know, cyanide’s smell is similar to almonds.
I’m deadass telling you I think Irkens just smell like almond extract. Do with that what you will.
Touch
So, in writing this whole whatever it be, this part was the trickiest to come up with any productive analysis on. I’ve already guessed at what I think Irken skin feels most like (spoiler: hairless caterpillars) in the analysis I referenced up top. Zim being able to pass himself off as a human under the examination of the Skool nurse points to an average body temperature somewhere around our own. What I did find interesting while rewatching the series though was the sheer amount of pain tolerance on these invaders, except in one way. Can I extrapolate this fortitude to Irkens universally? Probably not! Zim is a member of the most elite of the most highly trained members of Irk’s military. I wouldn’t take what a seasoned veteran can handle and assume that’s the human floor in a nutshell, but our invaders CAN tell us quite a bit about their ceiling… starting with the fact that these bastards are ridiculously heat resistant. Irkens are a durable race broadly, but their reactions to extreme temperatures strike me as jaw-droppingly underwhelming, if anything.
Tumblr media
Irkens DON’T like being engulfed in flames. It’s still a painful experience to them, but seemingly the kind they can pretty much walk off as soon as it’s over. Through explosions and fire we have seen Zim (and Skoodge) survive in one piece. We’ve seen The Massive take a whole dip into a burning star with no ill effects to the crew within. Most amazing to me was the time in Battle of the Planets when Zim willingly piloted Mars into grazing by the Sun at close range while trying to evade Dib. Totally exposed driver’s seat and he was no worse for wear after this.
Tumblr media
Further in the comics we see this touched on in the Zimvoid arc. Zib’s favorite method of torturing the Zims under his training program was to torch them at random for sadistic amusement. Quite interestingly, though, Number 2 implies that their bodies do actually adapt to this treatment over time! Theoretically, Zims further along in the program have become all but invulnerable to fire entirely.
Tumblr media
On the other hand, one of the truly most painful things Zim has been shown to experience is to have his skin chemically burned. It’s a strange sort of irony that Earth’s water would prove to be an incapacitating force to them in place of any inferno. He’ll smash his skull into the Voot’s windshield with enough force to pop out an eyeball and it’s whatever. Plenty of other things hurt, but he can power through. You turn a shaken can of soda or a bottle of bbq sauce on him and he’s just left screaming on the ground or screaming and running away. Whatever brutal sort of training he had to go through off world, it didn’t prepare him for this.
Tumblr media
Taste
The perceptive side of this I think may not be too hard to figure out. Irken food, as alien as its actual composition could be, has been shown to be heavily analogous to human junk food. I hesitate to call what Irkens are scarfing down “meals” in the proper sense, because I’ve noticed that neither Zim nor his kin intrinsically understand the concept. When he’s trying to blend in as a human being, he puts a LOT of bizarre effort into convincing us that he, just like you inferior creatures, TOTALLY eats “food” on a regular basis like a normal person. When Irkens eat their own products, it’s all and only “snacks”. What follows is the conclusion that their eating habits are not structured into any schedule and that Irkens instead graze throughout the day as they please- and even possibly that eating altogether is more a recreation to them, instead of a necessary function to sustain life. Some fans have speculated that the PAK could provide an Irken with all of the necessary energy to survive absent of nutrition. I kind of want to contest this, given that caloric energy is only one purpose of taking in food… but it’s definitely the most immediate one. Nonetheless, they still eat constantly on screen and it all has to be going somewhere. Whether they need it or not, they still readily digest snacks (and presumably use those chemical building blocks to regenerate tissue damage) with a terrifying metabolic efficiency. Assuming that the resemblance of their snack foods and our leisure treats are not purely coincidental, one gathers that sweetness is the largest dimension of Irken cuisine. They are drawn most enthusiastically to carb-dense synthetic, plant, and possibly fungal matter in the same way that the human brain lights up at the prospect of fat and sugar-loaded meals. The flexible tongues of Irkens to me also resemble the nectar catching, segmented mouthparts of some bees. I would be willing to bet that they can taste salt, but jury’s out if it is something they crave, like us, or are repulsed by, like ants. That would have to come down to the scarcity (or not) of the resource on their home planet and whether or not desiccation was a serious threat in their natural history. In other regards, Zim shows strong negative reactions to most Earth foods, if not physically, than in his expressions. They definitely have powerful vulnerabilities to many human ingredients, and so are very sensitive to the presence of these toxins. I can’t imagine acidic or bitter substances are at all pleasant to them.
Now comes the much more interesting question I’ve thought way too long and hard about in the shower a time or two. Knowing that Irkens are likely a herbivorous breed, ergo, thankfully would have no interest in the consumption of the human race… what about the vise versa??? I don’t just want to know what they taste, but what would they taste like?
Tumblr media
So, you’ve decided to mix it up for the thanksgiving dinner and forgo the same boring old bird for an Irken you have vanquished (via what I can only imagine was a freaking miracle of luck). What should you come to expect? Most importantly and I must emphasize this, the secret to preparing their meat is the same as Tolkien dwarves, you have to skin them before anything else. The separation of edible tissues from the cuticle is necessary to avoid ingesting the defensive toxins it contains. Even if the concentration is not enough to provide a danger to you, it could end up contributing an unpleasant, bitter flavor to the final product.
That done, discard the head and digestive organs. True as it may be that Irkens are wholly free of parasites, with a chance that the viscera could be edible, it’s not likely to taste that great and besides, do you really want to take chances with exposing yourself to an entirely foreign gut biome you have no immune adaptations to? And don’t even think about the brain- I don’t care how rare the infection rates are, alien prions are a big no. If you happen to run into any cybernetic implants during the cleaning, however, set them aside! They could be worth a small fortune in the right circles. But, for the purpose of eating we’re really concerned with the muscle tissues, a delicate white meat with a texture similar to fresh crab. The bones need not be wasted, and are fine to leave in, or can be boiled on their own to make a flavorful stock which can be added to soups or a delightful gravy. A surprisingly practical use of Irken bone could also be in the compost bin, being rich in chitosan and other powerful garden fertilizers. The flesh can do well fried, or roasted to a crispy exterior. The oven rule is the same as chicken, low and slow, to prevent drying out. Don’t be afraid to experiment with the gravy idea or marinades. The flavor profile of the meat itself would be utterly unique from what most of us are used to, comparable to a nutty crayfish. Savory, a bit of a sweetness, and a mineral hint that pairs quite well with mushrooms or rice.
I can’t recommend serving this to any guests with shellfish allergies in good conscience. If they insist, do so in caution and with knowledge of the risk of cross reactivity.
And there you have …. certainly a thing I did write and queue up for y’all!
96 notes · View notes
valerieismss · 2 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Okay I did another manga panel recolor to illustrate my point about Danny’s freakassness and how it could’ve been written more effectively.
My main issue with Danny’s character has little to do with his design and nothing to do with his personality and motivations. It’s just his behavior that drives me up a wall. You really don’t have to change anything about Danny himself to communicate his main internal conflicts: his desperate need for unconditional love.
It’s frustrating because I know that others (including myself, when my friend introduced me to this) will misinterpret Danny to be a pedo when he’s explicitly not one, it’s just that his behavior communicates something that’s different to his actual character. You see this in the manga and the anime, especially—a lot of his expressions are weirdly horny even though he never actually communicates or suggests he really feels that way about Rachel. Notably, his need for her is familial. He sees himself in her, and his mother’s eyes in her. In another post, @wlwfav said in a reply to a post by @mothwithapencil that he wasn’t projecting his feelings about his mother on Rachel so much as he was projecting his desires for unconditional love onto Rachel to mother her, like a reverse projection (trying not to plagiarize here!). I fully agree. This is especially apparent when you see a flashback of Danny counseling Rachel in the game. He directly relates his shit onto her. The amount of countertransference (which is when therapists project their own feelings onto their clients) this man has is immeasurable. It’s part of why I’m so attached to him. (For reference, my favorite character of all time is also a therapist with an assload of countertransference.)
Anyways, I think you can make Danny just as unsettling if not more if you get him to stop acting as horny as he does. It causes some really uncomfortable mischaracterizations. There’s really no need for it. That’s why I edited the second panel a little bit. You can change a character’s behavior and keep their motives and desires the same. I wouldn’t change an extreme amount about his behaviors. I think his lack of physical boundaries actually works really well for his character. It makes sense given his isolated and rejected upbringing. I draw the line when he pins Rachel down in the anime. What was the reason. He just wants her eyes. Explicitly. Just her eyes.
Also, the tongue? Can anyone explain why it’s necessary??? It’s GROSS AND WEIRD! It also gives his character a weirdly sexual undertone that isn’t necessary to making him a terrifying guy. Like you can still get freaky with it without that damn thing. The excessive use of peepers…I mentioned this in my last post. It’s a good way to disarm clients/players from his obsession with eyes. If he treats his fascination as a joke (“I just really like your peepers haha!”) it makes him less suspicious. Contextually, it also makes sense. Danny canonically becomes a psychiatrist because he knows he’ll encounter people with lifeless eyes. Unsurprisingly, in the art of the game, they tend to be younger patients. To me, when we first meet him, he came off as a pediatrician. I mean, he calls himself Dr. Danny instead of Dr. Dickens, like a pediatrician would. His tongue shit and his peeper shit could sound like some silly thing he’d say to get clients to feel more at ease around him before he legit kills them and takes their eyes.
All of that is really unsettling to me. You could characterize his freakassness in ways that aren’t sexual but just as chilling. If Rachel’s needs for a perfect family and things that are “hers” can be conveyed in a horrific way without sexualizing her, the same could be done for Dr. Fuckface. He’s so similar to her, after all. He wants a family—Rachel, specifically—that mirrors what he wishes he would’ve had in his childhood, because he believes that comes with unconditional love. Even when Zack stabs him in the anime, his line is, “I’ve been so terribly lonely!” Because that’s his actual issue. He thinks Rachel, having had a similar childhood, is the only one who could understand, and he believes he’s fundamentally unloveable because of his trauma. He literally thinks his eyes killed his mom. He’s so fascinating!! I’m so obsessed with him. I can’t wait to start episode 0 of the manga.
So, yeah. In the second recolor I tried to convey his creepiness by giving him a more wistful expression that still strikes you as fucking weird. Instead of seeming excited sexually, he seems excited at the idea of a forced family. It’s more accurate to who he actually is. He literally does not want her like that in canon. I wish his behaviors reflected that more.
34 notes · View notes
Note
Sorry for the spam liking! Just found you and I adore the way you draw Sabo! How did you find that style for him?
Thank you for your kind words and interest in my design process! I will not lie to you, the majority of the design choices i made did not have any deeper meaning other than “I want to”.
However i will explain my thought process to you at least because i love explaining my designs :)
Sorry its kinda long
I love to design characters and whenever i draw any character that isnt my own, im going to wind up putting my own spin on them in some way.
Tumblr media
I like sabo’s base design a lot and I wanted to keep that same kind of aesthetic and feel because it is very iconic to him.
First and foremost, i must say that i just absolutely hate when anime gives blonde characters… Aggressively Yellow Hair. Like this shade of yellow is offensive to my eyes. I like using a more desaturated tan color for his hair cuz i think it just makes it look a lot more soft and fluffy
Speaking of fluffy, his hair’s gotta be fluffy. If you ever catch me drawing Sabo without fluffy hair? Shoot me dead. Drawing him without Pantoine-Pro-V-Volumizing-Ass hair is a crime punishable by death where I’m from.
For his eyes, I really just tried to find an eye shape that translated well from his canon eyes into my style. He’s got some big ol peepers on him and they're not angled in anyway really, so i just gave him big almond shaped eyes and called it a day.
I like to give him deep eye bags because i like to imagine that he just doesnt get much sleep :) also i like how it makes the bright blue eye color i give him pop.
I think its a pretty well accepted design choice to draw his face scar a lot more gnarly than it is in canon so i wont explain too much of that. I just really dont think getting shot in the face with a canon ball would result in that tiny little paper cut scar. Though i will admit my sabo’s scar is quite tame compared to most other’s interpretations of it.
I color in his upper lip like Kim Possible simply because I like to. I think it looks good and i also have problems drawing thinner lips so its kinda just a thing i do to make drawing easier.
Much like the dark upper lip reason, I also give Sabo pointy K9 teeth because I like it. I think its a cool little nod to his dragon schtick he got going on and I think it makes him look cool.
His snakebite piercings that I give him are a nod to his dragon schtick, as well. Sometimes I forget to draw them, but I always mean to.
Tumblr media
thats everything i can think of rn. Thanks again for the ask :)
64 notes · View notes
scorchieart · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
One Fowl Choice | AO3
Genre: Fluff
Characters: Clavis Lelouch, F!Reader
Summary: You and Clavis and little duckling. What more could you ask for?
Word Count: ~1000
A/N: Yes, I am aware this is a Spring fic in October... but Clavis's route left some sad spots in my heart, so let me have this. Besides, it's Spring somewhere~
Inspired by @venti-tangents's interpretation of a silly little drawing I posted a little while back.
Tumblr media
Dandelion dandruff tickling your nose didn’t wake you. Neither was it the cool taste of pond water splashed on your lips. Or the curtain of sun rays squeezing in-between the canopy of infant leaves from the ancient tree you perched underneath.
No, you were rustled awake by the sound of something much more sinister.
“Peep peep!”
Your eyes shot open only to immediately shut again against the onslaught of the shining spring sun. Gently rubbing your pained peepers, you sat up and stretched your stiff limbs, inhaling your surroundings in an effort to kickstart your senses. There was that dainty smell of dandelion again, mixed with the bubbling perfume of the pond and the airy aroma of your tree trunk bed. Those you could pinpoint easily even with your eyes closed, but it was that last lingering, tingling scent that dangled before you like a pair of carrots on a stick.
“Peep peep peep!”
“Yes, indeed. How very sad.”
Mind adequately alert and elbows and knees appropriately popped, you gave your face a final wipe before testing the waters again. You opened your eyes and scanned the modest clearing only to find everything precisely how you left it before your little nap. Towering cattails growing by the bank. Silky lily pads lazily floating nearby. A picture book you brought along for light reading. Everything just the same… save for the cross-legged prince sitting at the opposite end of the pond.
“I’m so sorry to hear that happened to you. But there is no need for tears now, for you are in comparable company, little one.”
Seemingly oblivious to your waking, possibly even to your presence, Clavis hung his head and spoke to his cupped palms in a light voice barely above the tepid burbling of the pond. Afraid to interrupt the discussion but curious to know his conversation partner, you ducked your head and scooted closer to the bank, your wild bedhead blending brilliantly among the flowers and weeds.
From this vantage point, you could just make out the tiny ball of yellow fluff wiggling in his hands. It couldn’t be, was he talking to a flower? A dandelion, like the ones currently brushing against your forehead? Could this be the day Clavis Lelouch finally jumped off the deep end?
Perhaps it would be best if you slipped away before he noticed.
You began the delicate process of backing out of your foliage hideout, shimmying one leg at a time, taking note of every crack and rock and root that could catch on your skirt. Book safely retrieved, you properly turned around and maneuvered your way farther, hoping to conceal yourself behind the massive tree before making a break for the palace. 
That would have been the ideal happily ever after, right?
“How curious! I’m used to people running away, but never plants! I must have really outdone myself this time!”
His breezy laughter cut your eardrums like a weed wacker, making you freeze in place. Back still towards him, you sheepishly raised your hands in silent surrender, only to feel them brush against something unfamiliar. Your hair may be a sleep-ruffled mess, but this felt thicker and stringier than usual. You plucked the unknown strand and frowned when it revealed to be a dandelion stalk. 
Great, now you topped him in the flora-related insanity department.
Confident footsteps approached in no time, and while you harbored no desire to look upon that irritating triumphant grin he was no doubt wearing, you wanted to retain at least a sliver of your dignity, as subatomic as it plummeted to now.
Jaw rigid, you turned to face him with a challenging glare, only to be stared back at by a pair of beady black eyes and a wrinkly orange bill.
“Ack!” 
You dropped the flower and book and sprang up, back colliding with the tree. If you weren’t fully awake before, now you got your jumpstart for the rest of the year.
“Dearie me, it is only the first day of Spring and already I nabbed a baby duckie and a baby bunny. I see this as glad tidings for the season ahead!”
You swatted the tiny leaves that fell on you away and properly looked at Clavis again. Just as you suspected, a smile sat plastered across his face, though it harbored neither the sense of mischief nor teasing you’d come to associate with the third prince.
It was a sweet smile, like the first blossom of the season, innocent and bright and filled with promises of more to come, and you couldn’t help but feel entranced by the sight as he lifted a gloved finger and gently rubbed the yellow fluff still sitting in his palm.
“Peep peep peep!”
“Oh,” you whispered, crawling closer. “Poor thing.”
“Is he not? I said the same when I found him all alone by the pond,” said Clavis, moving to stroke the duckling’s wing with the gentlest precision. The bird ruffled its feathers appreciatively, raising its cracked orange beak to the sky and letting out more tiny sounds.
You moved closer until you sat directly in front of Clavis, the only thing separating your knees from touching a few wayward bits of fresh grass. This time he turned that syrupy smile to you as he lay the duckling in your lap. “Like a scene from a fairy tale.”
Your head automatically turned to the forgotten book inches from you. Golden embossed letters spelling The Ugly Duckling reflected back in the warm sunlight, and you gently curled your hands around the youngster in your care. The words “comparable company” echoed in your ears, but before you could ask, Clavis stood in a gentlemanly fashion.
“I can see one thing wrong with this picture.” The leopard bowed his head courteously and turned toward the palace. The duckling began to peep louder as his figure faded behind the massive tree, its tiny flippers wagging in distress.
“Wait!” You swiveled your stance toward him, knocking the book aside, your voice startling you more than it did him. But under the shining sun, behind the puzzled expression of the beast you could make out the ugly duckling crying within.
“There’s nothing wrong with this picture.”
Tumblr media
*lowers teacup* Oh, this is sweeter than how I typically take my tea. I guess that means the next Clavis fic will have to be extra bitter to balance it out...
If things go well, the next fic I post will be properly Fall-related, I promise.
Tagging: @atelieredux @queengiuliettafirstlady @violettduchess @venulus  If you would like to be added or removed from my tag list, please send me an ask or a message
Divider credits: @firefly-graphics
38 notes · View notes
bopeebo · 2 years
Text
my lovely lovely wifey has to put up with me hyperfixating and you all do too [HI WIFEY HIII I KNOW ULL SEE THIS ILYSM]
Tumblr media Tumblr media
dingle..... donk.....
and i have notes on both! kinda.these were written during the process of drawing them really
donk notes
+> pawpads, not soft though for muffling sound, more of like gecko feet.very very grippy
+> because of how i imagine this guy could move (very fuckign weird to say the very least, EXTREMELY flexible), his fuckign umm.beans.can spread really far almost to the point u think that theyre actually meant to be backwards
+> big long tongue coz idk its silly its cute.kina liek umm.again.grippy.sticky.kind oflike how frog tongues are almost btu may or may not be in that shape, really depends
+> eyes might be kind of liek a chameleon's movement-wise? liek, not the actual shaping itself but they just almost look like theyre snapping to look at u instead of just moving normally.he could be lookign at something to his right but the moment he registers that ure on the left ure immediately being looked at with little to no indicator that he was goign to do that prior
+> AGAIN.very flexible.can bend himself in an arch and hes ok
+> big lizard tail.i cant resist
+> sharp teeth......... funy
+> donk can tilt any of his digits to the side to where they're flat against the ground listen he can just bend in any which way just about anywhere on his body
dingle notes yippy!!! yippy yay!!!
+> dingle has sort of short fur, think of an arctic seal's coat, and it's usually pressed down to get that rounded and smooth look.when agitated he may bush it up though
+> so many rings of colour in those peepers that he could probably mimic a hypnotism pattern from silly cartoons if he wanted
+> grab him by his weird head...dingle.he will feel it and he will be a little offended please stop grabbing him like a turnip
+> pawpads......
+> considering giving him hands but also considering not giving him hands.but if i did they'd be silly little paws with silly lil retractable claws that could be forced out if you squeezed one of his pawbeans
+> tail! nuff said
+> has a tongue, very big very flat
+> also the inside of his mouth is glowy and can change colour this is because of his poses.looks away
+> ugh i want to hug him
+> squishy, if you were large enough you could squish him between your fingers and he would act like a gummy bear
4 notes · View notes
203y · 6 years
Photo
Tumblr media
one of my buddies got a playstation vr and played RoR and noticed a possible little detail that firstmate loboto seems to have spectacles on
so of course my ubergay ass decided to do this  \( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° 」∠ )_
447 notes · View notes
leroyzboots · 3 years
Text
you and i are trying, together.
part one
Benrey's been looking for the opportunity to apologize for...quite some time now, in fact.
Just looking at Gordon and his dripping stump he now has instead of a hand causes his stomach to churn with intense discomfort.
It doesn't help with the nightmares, either.
As if the abuse of the soldiers and the military of Black Mesa constantly swimming in and out of his dreams wasn't bad enough, now they're coupled together with the deep black room where the horror occurred.
They're standing in the mixology lab, Darnold is explaining something to Gordon, when the flashbacks are triggered heavily by a loud bang and mechanical shock from one of the many computers.
Sharp, angry metal poles stick deep into Benrey's neck and fill him with electricity, drawing a long, piercing shriek from his throat that melts into Gordon's rapid wailing.
And then Benrey is crouching on the ground, and the soldier's boot is slamming into his side, crushing and breaking his ribs, and Benrey tastes blood.
He's kneeling in it, the blood pours out from his lips and covers the floor, a massive pool of Gordon's life fluid.
The world is spinning, and Benrey faces Gordon again, and watches as the scientist raises his bloody stump, now transformed into a gun, makes a fist and shoots.
The bullets strike a numbing pain into Benrey's brain, and as Gordon shoves past him, not even sparing him a glance, he expects the daytime nightmare to end.
It doesn't.
Benrey presses his hand to his forehead, the only place the shots entered, and it comes away shaky and covered in wet, sticky red liquid.
Guess that part of it was real.
It doesn't take more than a few seconds out of the lab before the bullets clatter onto the ground and the wound heals.
--
They're barely a few hours out from the Lambda lab when opportunity strikes.
The ground shakes beneath their feet, and Dr. Coomer lets out a little yelp and latches onto Bubby's arm, who grabs onto Tommy's collar as the floor begins to break apart.
Bubby realizes with a horrible jolt that they only have two hands.
The tiles shatter and crumble beneath Gordon's boots, and he grabs at the closest person next to him, which is unfortunately Benrey.
As the hole expands, Benrey catches ahold of the edge of it, and stops himself from falling through, but as Gordon wraps himself around Benrey's pants leg, the combined weight of the man and his HEV suit is too much for one-handed hanging.
They fall.
It's deep, and Benrey tenses as his torso hits the concrete below with a breathtaking amount of force.
Definitely half a dozen broken ribs, a fractured shoulderblade and his spinal cord snaps.
Whatever.
He'll recover.
But Gordon lands feet first, with a sickening crack that causes him to scream and tumble over onto his side.
Benrey heals as quickly as he can, feeling his nerves re-attatch as he forces himself to stand, eyes peering up at the hole they came from.
Tommy's color-splotched face peeks over the edge, so far away that Benrey just barely can make out his features.
"Are you tw-two okay, Mr. Freeman!?" Tommy has to shout the question down at them.
It had to have been a 40, maybe 50 foot drop.
"We're...we'll be fine!" Gordon shouts back upward, his leg clutched between his hands.
"I'll circle around until we find a way back up. Keep...just keep heading to the lab and I'll c-catch up."
"Alrighty, M-Mr. Freeman!"
Tommy's head disappears, and distantly Benrey hears their retreating footsteps.
Gordon winces as he stands and tests his leg, which sticks out at a slightly bent angle near the middle of his shin.
"Dude, it's definitely broken," Benrey notes, and Gordon tenses before making a face of annoyance.
"Right," he groans, "I forgot you're with me."
And Gordon stomps off, far harder than he really should on his leg, and leaves Benrey standing beneath the light shining through the hole.
Sighing, Benrey makes a decision.
He follows, jogging to catch up to Gordon's pace before trailing slightly behind.
--
Gordon is very clearly not doing so hot.
He's limping, and sweating like a stuck pig to the point it's dripping off his nose onto the ground.
Benrey's been watching him carefully, and Gordon....hasn't said a word to him since the beginning.
He's leaned up against Benrey a few times on accident, but not a single sound has been in his general direction.
It's when Gordon stumbles over a fallen chair and whimpers from the pain that Benrey breaks the silence.
"Dammit, man. Alright. Sit down, dude, please?"
Gordon turns, scowling, but the exhaustion on his face is showing.
"Why do you care?"
Benrey pauses.
He could lie, of course, make something up or tell a joke to get Gordon to sit.
But he wants to apologize, and starting it out with a lie isn't..something Benrey wants to do.
So he tells the truth, even if it is hard for him to say it.
"Because I care about you, and we're friends, man. Sit down?"
Gordon scoffs, turning around all the way, and slipping slightly with his broken shin.
"We are not friends, not after you so-sold me out to the fuckin. Boot boys, the soldiers!"
He's not thinking straight, the pain alone is causing Gordon to reach incoherence.
"Yeah, well you led the soldiers to us!"
Gordon opens his mouth to retort, but Benrey cuts him off, barreling onward.
"I wasn't fucking. Angry, like Bubby was, but the dude doesn't know his damn limits, 'aight? So. Had to jump in, you know? Thought it'd be uhhh, funny little prank. Like all, surprise!"
Benrey waves his hands in place, stopping only to take a breath before continuing.
"Well, it didn't work how either of us wanted. They. They uhh."
Blood, his blood is on Benrey's hands and knees.
"They cut your damn hand off. It just..just...they cut it off like butter! Ha, ha haha, butter...and it-it was so much blood and..."
Benrey gulps, and he almost chokes as he loudly mutters the next few words.
"I thought. Thought I'd killed you, you know? Gordo, I th-thought you were dead."
He struggles, and a high pitch of navy blue sweet voice hangs in the air for a second before Benrey goes on, after another deep breath.
"Gordon, I'm really sorry. I know that. That I'm not always your gamer buddy, but I'm sorry. So if you could just fucking sit down, so I can stop watching you die, that'd be fantastic."
Gordon stares, his mouth open just a little, before he sits down, a small groan escaping him as the pressure comes off his leg.
Benrey lets out a sigh of relief, before heading back a little ways to grab the bandages from the medkit on the wall.
Crouching around the chair Gordon stumbled over, he snaps off the middle support piece and tests the sturdiness.
Gordon glances up as Benrey steps over to him, the sweat wiped away and his eyes a more gentle gaze than before.
Benrey kneels, and gingerly works off the protective plate of Gordon's boot before he looks up again, the chair beam in his left hand and the bandages in the other.
"I'm gonna uh. Set the bone. Homemade splint, you know? Tommy. Tommy, he taught me how to do this a long time ago."
Benrey pushes the beam gently against the other's shin, wrapping it down with the bandage near the bottom.
"It's. Gonna hurt, but uhh. S'gonna feel better and you'll be able to put p-pressure on it again."
Gordon takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes as Benrey pushes down hard.
The bone snaps back into place, and Gordon cries out through gritted teeth, but it's over quick and the pain is lessened by a great amount as the security guard before him wraps the entirety of his leg up to his knee.
"There. You should still uh. Rest a bit. Imma lay down."
Benrey gets to his feet, and starts to walk away, but Gordon reaches out and grabs ahold of his pants, stopping him for a second.
".....Thank you."
Gordon lets go, and leans back against the wall and closes his eyes.
Benrey stays in place, watching him carefully until he falls asleep, before sidling down a little ways off to keep watch.
--
Things are definitely better between the two of them after that.
When Gordon wakes up, he's much friendlier to Benrey, without any real hostility.
Honestly? Gordon's glad.
His relationship with Benrey had always been a bit complicated.
Sure, before, Benrey was annoying as hell, but he always made Gordon laugh.
He was nice, someone Gordon's own age for once, and if not someone who he could confide in, a friend.
But then, the soldiers have him, and the pain in his arm is excruciating, and everything Benrey did or does suddenly isn't so comforting.
Convinced Benrey's jokes were meant to demean him, his casual touches and close contact deception, Gordon turned and just kinda.
Let Benrey have the short end of the stick.
But earlier...Benrey tells him he cares, that Gordon's life was always in his best interests, and that they were and still are, friends.
So, it feels good to no longer make Benrey the target of his affliction.
Gordon's about to suggest looking for a vending machine, for some food, when creatures round the corner and attack.
Gordon whips out his gun hand and fires, and vaguely to his right, pistol shots ring off the walls.
The peeper puppies, as Dr. Coomer had called them, bound away from the bullets and circle the pair, releasing their sonic barks and baring their open mouths filled with jagged teeth.
Gordon steps backward, holding his gun hand close to his face to blow cool air on the barrel, the metal radiating pure heat.
Benrey bumps against Gordon's back, hastily re-loading his gun, his face screwed up in careful precision.
But then he turns, and gives Gordon a strained little smile.
A little puddle of happiness forms in Gordon's stomach before the soldiers kick open the underground doors and shoot before they aim.
Gordon finishes off the peeper puppy, then stumbles and shifts his line of fire towards the soldiers.
It's a messy fight, with Gordon constantly limping on his wounded leg, and both sides being attacked by alien creatures.
Gordon's never really seen Benrey fight before, so watching him is definitely an experience.
The way he acts is familiar.
Gordon glances between the reloading gunman ahead of him and Benrey behind him.
The way their hands move over the bullet cartridges, the way both of them hit the side of it with their palm when they're about to reload.
Benrey was trained by the same soldiers shooting at him now.
But the way that they handle guns is the only similarity, because while the military of Black Mesa are ruthless and cruel, Benrey is his own, merciful person.
Gordon fires the last few rounds of his hand before it has to cool down, and thankfully the last soldier drops to the floor.
Benrey is breathing heavily, wiping sweat from underneath his helmet visor, when he pales.
Gordon glances down as something rolls from the soldiers hand to his feet.
A grenade.
Gordon doesn't even have time to react before Benrey lunges, scooping the explosive into his hands and clutching it close to his chest, practically rolling across the ground until he's a good twenty or so feet from Gordon.
He looks back, catching Gordon's eye, and explodes.
Shrapnel bursts from the walls and cracks the paint, debris scatters all around the site and lands in the scientists' hair, who is kneeled over coughing from the dust, his eyes searching the room.
Gordon doesn't want to be alone again, he hates being alone, he hates it.
He turns, ready to head back, and then Gordon wants to vomit.
Benrey staggers, halfway through the revival-respawning process, clearly not wanting to leave Gordon too long.
But dear god.
Half of his body is still skeletal, his entire left side is just an open orifice of bones and muscle.
The bones in Benrey's legs snap together, muscle forming overtop them, before flesh and clothing crawl down to form a whole.
His leg hits solid ground, and it has to be partially startling because Benrey lurches forward, and brain matter slops out of the empty eye socket onto the floor before it vanishes.
His neck cracks, and his head moves jerkily as skin reforms over his jaw and teeth, Benrey's one green eye spinning wildly in place before the tired lid creeps back to hold it still.
A few more disgusting crunches and Benrey is back to normal, passing Gordon now, casually placing his gun back into its holster and moving on.
Gordon blinks a few times, holding back his revulsion for a moment, before chasing after him, through the doorframe into a poorly lit hallway.
"Woah, woah woah man, slow down."
Benrey stops, turning and raising an eyebrow.
Gordon points through the doorframe they came through, gesturing helplessly.
"What. What the actual hell, was that?? You...just, what??"
Benrey blinks, as though he is completely clueless.
He just might be.
"You...you died for me," Gordon finishes, a little quieter than he meant to.
"Uhhh, yeah? Isn't that what friends do?"
Benrey grins as if it's a joke, and Gordon feels the surge of irritation, but also something else he can't quite put his finger on.
"No, it is not something friends do. We do not die randomly for people."
"Yeah. Uh, you do if one of em' can't die. Then it doesn't count, idiot," Benrey says all this casually, in his own, joking around style, but Gordon pauses.
He leans forward, and adopts his casually pleasant expression, but delivers his next question with the tone one would use for a ceremony or a funeral.
"So what happens when I decide to die for you, huh?"
Benrey turns, the smirk still on his face, and opens his mouth to respond with another joke when he stops, eyes wide.
Gordon's....entirely serious.
It surprised him too, but. After the leg wrapping and the grenade stunt, Gordon is. Plenty shocked but pleasantly surprised at how willing he'd be to die for Benrey.
He expects some kind of rebuke, but instead Benrey.
Blushes?
A deep flush goes across his cheeks and his eyes dart away from Gordon's, mumbling under his breath all the while.
Gordon wonders for a second if maybe Benrey's previously irritating teasing had been something else, before he sets off after the guard, a warming smile on his face.
--
Tommy had lied- of course he lied, he had to lie- when he told Mr. Freeman that he couldn't handle a gun.
How else was he supposed to explain without melting the poor man's brain that he was actually an incredibly talented shot, not because of military training, but because he could control the metal?
How was he supposed to explain that through sheer mental prowess, he could morph and create the bullets to go in any direction he wished, never running out of ammo because he could simply will the ammunition into existence?
He didn't want to scare Mr. Freeman away.
Tommy hurries after the Coomers, his long legs easily making distance across the lit hallways of Black Mesa.
Having just emerged from a scuffle with aliens, they were all on edge, wary.
The three hadn't been traveling long, only a couple hours, but worry had already crept down their throats.
Surprisingly, Bubby voices his concern first.
"Do you think they'll get along all right?" They quip, mostly to Harold and himself but to Tommy as well.
"Oh, I'm certain Gordon will make it out just fine," Dr. Coomer replies, cracking his knuckles absentmindedly as a stim.
"And Benrey certainly has always survived whatever Death's thrown his way!"
Bubby nods, but the ends of their mouth turn down with a crease, and he turns to Tommy, who understands their message perfectly.
"Y-yes, Mr. Coomer but! Gordon and Ben-Benrey don't get along together very well."
Anxious, Tommy absentmindedly pulls a spare Beyblade from his pocket and fiddles with the wheels, the soft whir of the toy is calming.
"I'm worried, um, I'm worried! A-about whether they'll m-manage to...to cooperate long enough to survive together."
Dr. Coomer chortles, but the nervous look behind his eyes betrays him.
Bubby shrugs, airing out his still heated hands before speaking.
"Who knows? Maybe they'll work it out and that dumbass will finally tell Gordon how he feels."
Tommy pauses, his mouth puckered.
"Y-you know about Benrey and-and Mr. Freeman?"
"Of course I know, everyone with a damn brain knows," Bubby snorts, then falls short noticing the look on Tommy's face.
"Then you know the kind of trouble th-they're going to walk into."
"Yes," Dr. Coomer sighs, taking Bubby's hand tenderly; "we unfortunately do."
--
Benrey's gotta get those feelings under some goddamn control, because if he doesn't, then.
Game over, you know?
Gordon doesn't seem to understand what he does to Benrey, but it's driving him crazy.
That little thing he pulled back there?
It doesn't help, idiot. Only makes him fall for him more.
But they're both in a good mood, making some distance between them and the last time they saw the soldiers.
It's around midnight by now, and Benrey is ready to go back to sleep.
"Hey, come check this thing out!"
Gordon's excited yell shakes Benrey out of his sleepy stupor, and he hurries over to where Gordon is poking around inside of a barely-lit room, the door frame busted off its hinges in order to access the inside.
Benrey pokes his head in, and his heart slides all the way into his stomach with a horrendous lurch.
This is the room.
He hasn't been here in maybe six, seven or so years, but everything is the same as he left it.
The tube shattered, still connected to the ceiling and floor, the plaque bearing his subject number stubbornly.
The tables, bolted to the floor.
The papers, scattered and ripped, the shelves tipped over and splintered beyond saving.
"What do you think happened here?" Gordon asks, kneeling by the tube in examination of something long discarded on the floor.
Running his hands over the metal table, fingers brushing the shackles, the memories return to Benrey.
Shock collars. Sweet voice tests, hours or days or weeks locked in his tube, sick of breathing the containment fluid.
"I...I know what happened here."
"Er, what? I'm sorry?"
Gordon looks heavily confused, and reluctantly, as if this place will never let him go, Benrey lets go of the chains and shuffles over to the tube.
Taking off his badge, he holds it up to the tube plaque, both bearing the same text.
B3_NY
#7037
Gordon stares, his eyes wide, before turning to the guard.
"I thought that was like, your serial number. They...they made you here?"
Benrey swallows his anger, tossing the badge to the ground and going through the next door.
"They did more than just make me."
It's all still there.
The room is lit only from above, with a dim lightbulb buzzing meekly in its socket.
The long metal bed sits in the center, almost beckoning to Benrey with omnicity.
One of the only scars Benrey has, the precise incision made jagged by struggle, prickles on his back at the sight of it.
He just stands, biting back tears as Gordon goes around the room, looking through boxes, his scientific curiosity never satisfied, until he finds something.
He's not looking, Benrey is not looking at whatever Gordon has clutched in his fist.
In his hurry to get out of this awful room, he slams into the metal table, pushing it into the wall with a reverberating crash.
Benrey drops to the ground outside, shaking and clutching his helmet, with shuddery sobs echoing around him.
He's trying to shut out the memories, but the knives are in his back and Gordon's blood is on his hands and the lightning is in his skull and it's all so terrifyingly loud.
It's a few minutes before Gordon comes back out into the hall.
Benrey goes rigid as Gordon sits down beside him, but he makes no effort to push the subject.
Benrey relaxes, just a little, lowering his hands and leaning against the wall.
A heavy warmth wraps around his hand, and as the guard looks down, he realizes Gordon's hand is on top of his right.
Gordon is purposefully not looking at him.
Heart in his throat, Benrey slowly turns his hand palm upward, and Gordon laces their fingers together.
They're holding hands.
They're holding hands and Gordon looks a little sheepish, but he's smiling fondly and his cheeks are flushed.
Benrey stares, and then cautiously leans into Gordon's shoulder, his helmet clunking quietly against the plate of the HEV suit.
Gordon doesn't let go, and Benrey falls asleep tucked close to his warmth and their hands clasped together.
48 notes · View notes
passable-talent · 4 years
Note
SoftZukoSoftZukoSoftZuko Pleasseeeee I need fluff and aftercare (doesn't have to be nsfw but I want my teeth to rot from the sweetness)
Tumblr media
Zuko had had a hard day. Being a seventeen year old Fire Lord will do that. Sometimes when life got hard on him, he went to his uncle.
But Iroh wasn’t always home.
He was so young, and your relationship so new, that he hadn’t been quite ready to show so much vulnerability in front of you. But he knew he needed to talk to someone, or maybe cry in front of someone, and the person he was closest to trusting was you.
He trusted you, of course. He trusted you enough to share his bed with him, to share his time. He trusted you not to poison his food, and he trusted you to fix his hair when needed. But trusting you with the weights on his shoulders- that was something else.
You had been sitting in the gardens next to the duck pond. The sun was just about below the horizon, not that you could see it, but you could look at the red streaks wisping away into a dark blue night sky. The turtle ducks were long gone, and the peepers and badger frogs in the surrounding mountains were starting to sing their nighttime songs.
“Y/N?” Zuko asked, appearing at a doorway. You looked at him over your shoulder, and smiled. “Will you come to my room with me?” He had asked you such a thing before, obviously, and yet each time you reacted with just a little extra smile, a quick jump to your feet. You followed him to the fire lord’s bed chambers and when he paused at his dresser, taking a moment to let his hair fall, you waited for him.
“I just need to talk,” Zuko said, voice low, “and I need someone to listen.” Your head fell to the side, because you’d noticed the way he walked. There was a slump to his shoulders, a hang of his head, as though he were feeling defeated. And yet, there was a sharpness to his step, like his guard was still up. He must have something on his mind, it was obvious.
You stepped forward and placed your palm flat onto his back.
“You can tell me anything,” you promised, and you watched as he closed his eyes, absorbing your promise and deciding how much of his soul he was willing to bare. He took a deep sigh, and sat down on his bed.
“I’m frustrated,” he said with a hard exhale, “about the situation in Yu Dao.” You knew that he had been visiting Yu Dao a lot, but you didn’t really know what was going on there. It was a former colony, sure, but other than that you had no clue. You sat down beside him, slowly, taking his hand and setting it on your lap.
“It’s frustrating because I feel that what I’m doing is right. Breaking apart multi-generation families just doesn’t make sense, especially since after the war were supposed to be working on unity. It doesn’t matter what nation their grandparents came from, or at least I don’t think it should.” You nodded, following along, but didn’t offer any input. You weren’t educated on the issue and so felt you’d have nothing of importance to say.
“But Aang doesn’t see it that way. And neither does King Kuei. It feels wrong to be disagreeing with my allies, but they don’t understand.” The more he spoke, the quicker his words got, and though his tone couldn’t be described as ‘panicky’, it did seem that he was losing control of his emotions. “We can’t draw hard lines between nations anymore. I know that’s my fault, because it’s my nation’s fault, it’s my grandfather and father’s fault, but still, I have to protect these families-“
You turned to him and hugged him tightly, shocking him into silence for the time being. Slowly he defroze and hugged you back, tucking his face down and resting his forehead on your shoulder.
“You’re making the right choice,” you told him, even though you may not have all the facts. “I trust you. The nation trusts you. You’re not your father, you’re doing what’s right for the world. If you think this is the right decision, then it is.” He nodded slowly against your shoulder, and you closed your eyes.
“I just feel like- I’m fighting with all my friends. And one of them is the avatar- if you’re facing the avatar, aren’t you on the wrong side?” You pulled away from Zuko, gently reaching up to brush some of hair from his forehead.
“Aang is the avatar, but he’s also just a teenager, just like you. Sometimes he may not see the whole picture. But he will, because he’s your friend.” Zuko looked down, and you leaned forward to gently press a kiss to his scar.
“You’re a good man. And a good leader. You know how to make choices that will help people.” You laid down onto the mattress, putting your head next to his lap so that you could watch his expression. “I trust you.”
“You trust me?” You let a smile come to your face as you looked up at him, a softness in your expression and your heart.
“Zuko, you are so good. I’d call you perfect, but that’s a lot of pressure to put on you. You felt the scourge of the fire nation but instead of letting it beat you into submission, you found your way in the world, and found who you were meant to be.” You reached up, tucking your first and second finger into his hair to pull down a few locks to play with.
“You helped the avatar win the war, at the cost of your own family. You grew stronger and braver than your forefathers have ever been.” You paused, letting your gaze settle on his scar.
“And you brought more light and happiness into this palace than I’ve ever seen. The staff trusts you not to banish or strike or burn them when they do something wrong. You’ve let these people laugh again.” You let your hand drop, as it was getting tired, but you grabbed his again on the way down and brought it to your face, rubbing his knuckles against your cheek.
“Even if you don’t think you are, you’re a great leader. You’re already greater than any Fire Lord in recent history. Now, that might not be saying much, but-“ Zuko let out a small laugh, and you caught his eye.
“But I think you’re going to be one of the best Fire Lords that our history has ever seen. Including Sozin’s ancestors.” Zuko lowered himself to the sheets, and made possibly the most ungraceful movement you’d ever seen from a member of the royal family to scoot downward until he laid beside you. You couldn’t help but giggle.
“I trust you too,” he said, and you wondered if he’d been stuck on that aspect of the conversation this whole time. “I know I can come to you. Rely on you. I just worry that that’s too much of a burden, being Fire Lord and all.” You chuckled a bit and turned sideways to him, your arm acting as a pillow for your head.
“No matter how much you spill to me, it won’t match the pressure of actually making speeches. Don’t worry about confiding in me.”
“But what if it does become too much?” He asked, his gaze still pointed to the ceiling as though he were afraid to look at you. You reached over and took hold of his jaw, turning his eyes to you.
“Then I’ll tell you. You trust me to be honest with you?” His eyes flicked around your face for a heartbeat before he nodded, and you leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips.
“I’m in love with you, Zuko. I am. I’ll give you any support you need.” Zuko’s eyes widened, even though he’d heard you say it before.
“I love you,” he said, voice soft and low as though he didn’t want anyone else to hear.
You didn’t, either. It was a promise made between the two of you, and no one else. No one else had the right to the bond you shared with him.
“Y/N?” He said softly, after a long moment of easy quiet.
“Hmm?” You asked, your voice rough in your throat. You were almost close to sleep, laying in his soft bed with him.
“I’m always going to be here for you.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean- just because I’m Fire Lord doesn’t mean I can’t help you, too. I love you. And I want you to trust me enough to share everything with me.” You rolled over further until you were laying half on his chest.
“Zuko, what is it with you and trust? Of course I trust you. Of course I’d come to you with anything.” His eyes slid from yours and so you brought your hands up to cup his face.
“Zuko,” you insisted, and his gaze returned to yours.
“I’ve betrayed everyone, at one time or another,” he admitted, and you took one hand from his face to lace with his fingers. “Uncle, and Katara, and Aang, and Toph. My nation. I’m so used to not being trusted. It’s only a matter of time until you feel the same way.” Briefly your heart broke for him and you leaned forward to kiss him again.
“Listen to me, Fire Lord Zuko,” you demanded, not letting him look away. “That’s no way to speak about the best thing that’s happened to the fire nation in a century. You have your reasons, and I trust that. But I know that you aren’t who you were when you made some of your bad choices.” You pressed your finger into his chest, right above his heart.
“Stop living in the past. You know who you are right now- a kind, understanding, trustworthy leader.” You laid your head down once he nodded in conceit, and murmured another point on your way. “Trustworthy boyfriend.” He let his hand come to rest on your back, letting out a slow breath.
“Thank you,” he said, and you squeezed his palm into yours.
“Don’t thank me for stating the truth.”
-🦌 Roe
675 notes · View notes
bts-hyperfixation · 3 years
Text
Beach day - kinktober- day 11
Yoongi X f!reader
Exhibition, finger, ocean smut (Def not safe)
It had been the most relaxing week you’d ever experienced. This trip to spain had been the first time in a long time that Yoongi had actually put his work down and walked away. The evening was drawing in on the last day of your shared serenity and the two of you were still stretched out on the semi-private beach of your exclusive hotel. You had zoned out completely, headphones on full blast, until you feel your boyfriend’s nimble fingers walking up your thigh. You’d been fairly certain he’d fallen asleep until then.
You swat at his advance, but his hand returns edging closer to your bikini bottoms. Again, you push him away and turn to face him. It surprises you to find him staring at you with lust deep in his eyes. You turn off your music as he starts to explain himself
“I was having the best dream…” you raise your eyebrow at him quizzically “We were right here, except you were wearing much less” His hand attempts its ascent up your leg once more “and my fingers were deep inside of you, coaxing the sweetest moans from you” he is playing with the sides of the small piece of fabric doing its best to keep your modesty intact. “I don’t know… I just thought maybe it was more a vision of our future than a dream” His hand halts as he waits for your reaction.
“Yoongi, we are so out in the open…” You are hesitant to say the least. Knowing how famous the band was at the minute and how vicious people could be when it came to the average people celebrities dated had always made you overly cautious. “What if someone catches us.” Glancing around there are only a handful of people still left.
“Come on baby, let’s live a little” he is now caressing your cheek, lips a hairs-width away from your own. It’s tempting. Actually, nothing has ever been more tempting to you. Staring at his beautiful face, glowing in the sunset, your resolve was disappearing as quickly as the sun over the horizon.
“but…” you take a deep breath, thinking of the best way to vocalise your fears without feeling stupid “I don’t want people to think of me as just another fame chasing slut if we get caught” its barely above a whisper. Still its enough for the rapper to catch. His eyes soften as he pulls you in to a gentle kiss.
“You could never be seen that way; I wouldn’t allow it. But if your that scared it’s okay baby, I can still make you feel like that in our hotel room” he winks but you see the slight disappointment in his eyes as he moves to stand. Exhibitionism is one of his biggest turns on. It’s a fetish you had indulged in before. The odd packed club, under the table at dinner, heck even while watching movies with the boys. This was too open, harder to hide yourselves. It was fun when you could get caught, not when you definitely would. He extends his arms to help you up to and you gladly take them, but instead of heading back to the hotel like he intended you start dragging him towards the sea. He looks at you confused but follows willingly.
The two of you wade through the water until it covers your waists, it’s a little cold but not unpleasant, actually the opposite. With the two of you obscured from view you guide his fingers back to your panty line, and he finally realises your plan. No one can see what’s happening below the water. His free arm wraps around your waist as he captures your lips into an over-excited kiss, keen to work with your compromise. The hand below the water line gets to work, sliding around the flimsy fabric to roll your clit in between his forefinger and thumb, the colling temperature of the water adding to the sensation.
Your mouth falls open with a little gasp and he uses the opportunity to sneak his tongue passed your lips. Unsure of whether you should focus on the kiss or the bliss between your legs, you are rendered useless. Moaning whenever his fingers reach new depths. Apprehensively, he breaks the kiss, not wanting to lose the feeling he got whenever you moaned into his mouth but needing you at a different angle to negate the pull of the tide. He turns you easily in the water so your back lays against his bare chest. To the unsuspecting eye it probably just looked like two people in love enjoying the sunset together. Which of course it was, it just happened that one of them was also doing ungodly things to the other at the same time. Your head lolled back against his shoulder as his fingers pumped tirelessly in and out of you occasionally curving into meet your most sensitive parts.
Yoongi was content making you mewl for hours, not really caring how long it took him to get you to reach your high. His main goal was to leave you in a dysfunctional puddle, the orgasm was just a bonus. He bites down on your shoulder, enjoying the salty taste of your sweat mixed with sea water. You let out a small scream, unable to suppress your noises anymore. Your eyes snap open to check for spectators and Yoongi chuckles at your timid nature. His thumb presses into your clit just as you make eye contact with someone on the beach. You can’t help the pants forcing there way out of your lungs. You must like a bitch in heat as you pray that the person watching doesn’t have a camera. At this point you are too far gone to register your previous concerns. Nonetheless, Yoongi notices the peeper and turns so the two of your faces are obscured.
Finally taking his role seriously his fingers become relentless and his thumb is replaced instead with the fingers from his other hand tracing figure eights. Whimpers fall freely from your mouth.
“That’s it baby, just like my dream, let me hear you” he whispers into your ear. The sultry tone is all it takes for you to come undone. The tight knot in your stomach snaps and you shudder with your release. Yoongi removes his fingers and fixes your bikini to cover you again. “Come on angel, I think it’s time we went and got ready for dinner” he takes your hand and the two of you head back towards the shore.
Kinktober
Masterlist
Tag list
@adventuresinwonderlust
Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list
149 notes · View notes
gwaciechang · 3 years
Text
I Don't Wanna Go Home (1/15?)
So, this is probably going to be my most ambitious project ever. I'm going to do a fusion of the video gave Subnautica Below Zero, with the characters from Cloverfield Paradox. You don't have to have played Below Zero first, although it would certainly help. Also, as someone who has played the game, I tried my best to explain everything, which is why the first few chapters are going to be really slow, and why everyone talks so much. I also made a change to the canon of the first Subnautica: instead of Riley curing Kharaa, it was the precursors.
So, a few more things before we start this chapter. I hate "y/n l/n" stuff, so I just call the pov character Ling Tam. I don't think anybody actually uses that name in the story, but that might change, and in any case, you're free to replace her name with any name you like. Also, reader is in a relationship with Mundy at the start of the story, although that, obviously, won't last because it's endgame reader/Schmidt. Okay, that's everything, enjoy, and let me know if you want to be tagged.
@hope-to-hell @vicanth @feralrunaway @october505 @potentialproblem01
"Hey, Monk, you told me to come get you if that weird signal showed up ag-" you stop when you see the vehicle technician on the radio.
"When are you going to send me some more art? There's still a patch of bare wall here that could use some color and a touch of genius!" Monk says, probably to his kids, as he waves you away. You close the door as silently as you can, and not a second too soon, because Mundy opens the habitat door and stomps his way inside with a box. Behind him, you can see the prawn suit, with several other boxes still tied to its massive arms. There's an inquisitive face popping out of the water that you decide not to tell him about. Why shouldn't the creatures have a little fun?
"Another day, another slight by the winged furies," Mundy grumbles.
"Another interference alert?" you ask, trying to lay the sympathy on thick before you inevitably burst into laughter.
"As usual," the xenobiologist sighs theatrically. "Also as usual, I went out to see what the problem was. And, of course, it was-"
"Frozen stalagmites of feathered bird excrement," the two of you say together.
"I fear the career impact of saying this officially-"
"If you can even call what you have a career," you interrupt, getting yourself a faceful of dirty towel.
Besides throwing the thing you're really hoping he hadn't just used to wipe up bird shit in your face, your boyfriend continues as if you'd never spoken. "I could swear they're targeting me personally. The week I was out with a flu, I came back to find the tower spotless. Monk laughed at me when I asked him how he'd cleaned it. Silly me!"
"As if Monk would ever clean anything," you agree. "What are you going to do?"
"There's nothing left for me to try but quitting. But I know that's what the birds want me to do," he shakes his fist at the sky as he walks back outside to retrieve the final box.
You turn back to the screen and wonder about the signal again. It's been appearing on and off for days, ever since you got the radio tower up and running, and what would a repeat call be besides a distress signal?
"Ah jeez, these sea monkeys are going to get me in trouble," the box in Mundy's hands is scratched through in places. "This is the third shipment that those buggers have gotten their weird little hands into! Now we're running low on flares and I'm going to have to search nearby nests for stolen cargo," he sighs as he drops a mangled box on the top of his cluttered workstation. It makes a bang that would have disturbed Monk, if he weren't on the radio, or Schmidt, if he were a normal person who came back from work at normal hours. As it is, there's just you to look at him, a welcome break from potential distress signals and what they might mean.
"Just put some of your drawings on the tower, they'll be too scared to go near it!"
"Ha ha," Mundy says sarcastically, before going outside to park the prawn-
"Oh, for fuck's sake! It’s fucking gone!"
You and Monk, still on the radio, step outside, but sure enough, the prawn suit has disappeared without a trace, as far as you can tell.
"I'm still trying, quietly--I don't want any more trouble--to figure out where I went wrong. I was sure Tam had picked up a distress signal!" Monk bends down to peer at the tracks. "I was right on top of it. And then it just," he gets to the edge of the glacier, stands up, and shakes his head, "it just stopped. What if one of the precursors is still down there? And how could a hivemind alien race so advanced that they singlehandedly ended a galaxy wide pandemic leave someone behind? I'll probably be home before I ever get to find out, and it will fall to some future researcher to come and find out, I guess, I hope," he waves the two of you back into the habitat and closes the door. "But that means I'll get to be with you little rascals." His voice fades and disappears.
"So, game tonight?" you ask, hoping to erase the distress off Mundy’s face.
"That'd be nice," he says with a weak smile, just before Jensen slams her door open.
"Mundy, inside!" barks the overseer of operations.
Mundy sighs and drags his feet as he walks into Jensen's office. No sooner has she closed the door with a snap than you and Monk have your heads pressed against the door.
"Mundy, I'm not blaming you, but what do you mean, 'it's gone?' Where did it go? You had trouble retrieving the drop pod and decided to jettison the prawn suit?"
"I didn't jettison the prawn suit! I left it outside to put the supply drop away, went back for it, and it was just gone! Someone must have stolen it."
"Who? Who else do you think is on this planet besides the five of us?"
"It could be a creature ate it. I didn't lose it, that's for sure. I'm careful with my vehicles!"
You can practically hear Jensen’s eyeroll as she continues, "I'm sure you are, but you have to admit, there have been a lot of 'accidents' involving our very expensive vehicles."
"You want to follow me on a few runs tomorrow? See what it's like? Conditions are way harsher than anything I ever imagined. You can't really understand it from inside your office!"
Monk winces, and you know there's a matching pained expression on your face. Talking back to Jensen is a terrible idea, but Mundy's sealed his fate, and now all that's left is to wait for the other shoe to drop.
"That won't be necessary," Jensen says with syrupy calm. "Thank you for your time. I'll write it up as an accident."
"Thank you, ma'am," Mundy's voice is shaky. Jensen doesn't respond, so the vehicle technician’s deliberately loud footsteps approach the door, prompting you and the precursor researcher you're spying with to run like your asses are on fire back to your stations.
"I think it'd be best if Researcher Tam takes over your duties with the leviathan tomorrow," Jensen says, loudly enough for you to hear, even through the door.
Now it's your turn to wince. Mundy gives you a small smile as he walks past, and then Jensen's in your line of sight, hands on her hips.
"I believe I told you to go somewhere."
"Yes, ma'am," you drop everything to put your thermal suit on, and pour a final cup of sweet, sweet dirty bean water in your thermos. There's no cappuccino machine allowed in the cave, lest it somehow thaw out the entire frozen leviathan Mundy, and now you, are studying. Or maybe it was just Schmidt being anal about his robots, you wouldn't put it past the guy whose lips are basically permanently attached to Jensen's ass.
On the bright side, they're also attached to a guy who knows what he's doing, and is thorough in explaining what Mundy does when he's here. Still, it's barely five minutes in when the silence gets to you.
"I love and hate exploring these tunnels," you start to babble, not expecting Schmidt to respond. "Yeah, they're marvels to the power of the ice worms. I mean, the amount of ice they are able to cut through in seconds, it would take us at least a couple days. Their tunneling mechanism is ruthlessly efficient. Alterra could only dream of having this sort of mining capability, and yeah, the ice worms uncover mineral rich pockets as they tunnel. But going beneath the surface is so risky, I mean, we've lost so many already, and I don't understand why we have to stay in this particular area of the glacier. I can't wait to get off this hellhole, or ice hole? Whatever."
You can hardly believe it, but you hear a clear snort coming from Schmidt’s workstation. You fill your flasks with a wide smile on your face, which doesn’t fade even when you make your way back across the tunnel to see his with its usual pinched, sour expression.
"Hey, do you want some coffee?" you wave the thermos at him. "It might help you get the taste of Alterra boot leather out of your mouth," you say in a singsong voice.
"How much sugar and cream is in that?" Schmidt wrinkles his nose. "No thank you."
You decide to let that roll off your back and chuckle a little. "I guess my proclivities toward having coffee with my sugar is well known, huh? Just like how I should know better than to invite you to game night with me and the other researchers, again?"
Is snow blindness affecting your vision, or did Schmidt just smile?
"You should know better," he says in a soft voice, and then he takes out another set of small, sterile flasks, and hands them to you. "Get some samples from the skull, too, use the elevator."
"Thanks!" you grab the flasks, only to drop them the second you put your hand on the elevator lift button, because that's a fucking rotten peeper hanging off the edge.
Schmidt snaps his gloves off and cleans it up, which is nice of him, even if the things he says while he does it aren’t very nice. "Mundy," he practically spits, "always leaving food around. At least the nutrient blocks and the filtered water don't spoil."
"Well, the man likes to munch on things," you try to lighten the mood. "Are you telling me you don’t leave snacks around your workstation?" Schmidt opens his mouth, but you interrupt. "Don't tell me, you have a timer telling you when to go to the fabricator to make food and eat?"
He closes his mouth and turns a little red.
Holy shit, you were right? That's the saddest thing you've ever heard. "Okay, you know what, you are definitely playing Alien Intruders with us tonight, because I'm going to cook. Real food, too, none of that fabricated stuff."
"Oh, I am?" Schmidt raises an eyebrow.
"Yep! And I'm going to make my favorite dish, just for you, you'll love it! Roasted Chinese potato with shredded marblemelon and salt."
That was definitely a snort, maybe even a laugh, and it carries you through the rest of the day.
16 notes · View notes
illegalcerebral · 3 years
Text
Fate and Fractured Hearts - Part Eleven
Summary: An anti-soulmate fic with Spencer and an aroace Reader. The pronouns they/them are used throughout. Some people in the world are born with a timer on their skin, counting down to the moment they will meet their soulmate. You’ve always hated yours, wanting to be free to define your own relationships and to make matters more complicated your timer is counting down to your first day at the BAU.Spencer Reid has a complicated relationship with his own timer and you’ve only begun to scratch the surface of that when you’re thrown into a case that is darker and more dangerous than it first appears.
Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // CM Multichapter Fics
“No”
“Y/n, please.” Emily pinched the bridge of her nose as you slammed your hands down on the desk. The stinging of your palms distracted from the stinging of your eyes but it didn’t persuade Emily.
The BAU were being sent home. This was despite the stack of letters that proved that Lamb hadn’t been working alone, that someone had given him the names of those women.
“The second unsub will just find someone else and before we know it we’ll be back here pulling more bodies from a mass grave. Please. Emily.”
“Y/N, this is out of my hands,” Emily said softly. Her expression was almost pleading and that made it hurt more. You shook your head in both disbelief and disgust and stormed out of the office.
Officers scattered as you strode down the hall and to the briefing room. You didn’t acknowledge the rest of the team as you seized the letters. You were damned if you were letting this go no matter what Emily or Cruz or anyone else at the bureau said.
Whispers caught your ears, JJ saying something that sounded like “taking this too personally?” and Spencer or Luke saying something in response that was too quiet to hear. You didn’t slow down your steps, holding your head high until you made it to the copier in the back room. Every letter went in, both sides and you scanned the envelopes too. There had to be a clue somewhere.
The machine whined, copying at a snail’s pace and giving your simmering anger a chance to curdle into despair. You brushed away hot tears, biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood in the hope that it would stop them flowing faster.
What was wrong with taking the case personally when no one else seemed to care? None of the team understood those victims like you did. None of them really got the horror of what Lamb had done. Perhaps if he’d murdered parents of young children, ex-soldiers, the elderly or someone they could view with a modicum of compassion then you would have someone else fighting your corner.
Maybe you were being unfair but in that moment you didn’t care because if you left then you would be leaving god knew how many women vulnerable.
Your phone buzzed and you took a deep breath before answering, steadying yourself.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Penelope said matter-of-factly, “I have like twenty alerts set up that cover the entire West Coast and so if I hear even the tiniest whisper that suggests this bottom feeder is back with a new monster to do his bidding you will be the first to know.”
“Penelope-“ You couldn’t get the words out. You weren’t alone. There was someone there to fight beside you.
“Don’t cry or I’ll cry,” she warned. True to her word there was a quiver in her voice. “Me crying is a sight you don’t want to subject those beautiful peepers to my beloved crusader for justice. Believe me when I start I do not stop.”
“How did you know?”
“I have spies. Everywhere,” she grinned, “beautiful, beautiful spies.”
“And I am forever grateful for them,” you smiled. “And for you.”
“Just don’t blame the team for me okay,” Penelope said softly, “I know some of them don’t understand but they are all about saving people.”
“I know,” you sighed, “I just…would they have tried harder if they did get it?”
Penelope was silent for a moment which was answer enough for you.
“Okay when we get back you and I are having movie night okay?” She said eventually, “I’m not asking, I’m telling.” Despite everything you smiled at that. You were lucky in that you already had friends in DC and you were fairly settled before you took up the post at the BAU but it was nice that Penelope was making the effort.
“It’s a deal Pen. And thank you, again. We should be getting on the plane in the next couple of hours. I’ll call you when we leave.”
No one really spoke on the trip home. You could feel the  team’s stares on you as you settled down at one of the tables and set the photocopies of the letters in front of you, pen and notepad ready to make notes. 
There were no fingerprints on the letter, the unsub had been careful. You suspected they had been hand delivered as there were no markings on the envelope. Did that mean Lamb had seen them? Were they friends? You kicked yourself for not looking into the other local officers and made a note to ask Penelope to dig out employment records. There was always the chance that the unsub had come across Lamb and decided he would be the perfect patsy and after stalking him as Lamb had stalked those women.
Tara and Spencer were engaged in a quiet conversation at the front of the plane, their voices too low for you to hear. Tara smiled at you when she saw you looking, small and almost reassuring. Your face flushed at being caught but you gave her a small nod in return before turning your attention back to the letters.
Your gut told you it was unlikely that the unsub had convinced Lamb to help him without ever showing their face. Lamb was paranoid and the unsub would need to be carefully building trust between the pair of them. Lamb had known the unsub.
And you’d shot Lamb.
Fuck. You’d saved Elisa in the process and rationally you knew Lamb would never have let himself be taken alive but it still burned you that your only conclusive link to the unsub was gone. It wasn’t worth dwelling on. You turned the page on your notebook to a fresh one and began reading through the letters themselves, making note of linguistic quirks and unique phrasing that might give you some clue to the writer’s identity.
“I didn’t know you were a linguist,” Spencer’s tall form cast a shadow over the table.
“We can learn a lot from how people say things,” you shrugged, “I took some classes at college and then some more workshops at the Academy. It was really useful in counter terrorism, especially when reading manifestos, stuff like that.” To your surprise Spencer slid in opposite you and turned your notes round. Oh sure just go right ahead, not like I was using those.
Glancing up you saw the rest of the team turn around quickly, all except Tara who was leaning back in her seat, giving you a pointed look. 
“Tara put you up to this?”
“No,” Spencer replied too quickly, “The writing very short, to the point. No embellishments.”
“Except when he’s describing their ‘crimes’,” you said, “there’s some use of biblical phrases that makes me think they could be religious but I think that like Lamb we’re dealing with a mission-based killer.”
“Who gets other people to kill for them,” Spencer frowned.
“There’s an authoritative voice here,” you tapped the page, “a need for order and control but this is someone who is apparently comfortable with getting others to fulfil the mission.”
“It’s not totally contradictory,” Spencer slid the notebook back towards you. “But it’s unusual. If you like I could take a look?”
“I’ll make some more copies,” you nodded.
“And er, Alex Blake. She’s a former team member and a friend. I could reach out and maybe chat to her.”
Inwardly you you bristled. Where was the desire to help when you’d needed someone to back you up with Emily? 
“I took her class one year,” you said, eyes not leaving the letters. 
“Her insights are fascinating,” Spencer’s face lit up, “I’m helping her edit the latest draft of her book and her work on cultural-“ you must have pulled a face because Spencer cleared his throat. You knew he wasn’t bragging or anything but still. “I uh, I’ll give her call if you like?”
“Thank you,” you said politely and carried on making notes. Spencer’s shoulders sagged a little and guilt gnawed at you. That in turn was frustrating. Your arm began to itch, right where the mark was. You hadn’t looked at it properly since it’s formation, you didn’t want to. Absentmindedly Spencer rubbed his own arm and shifted as if making to leave.
You split the pile of copies and pushed half towards him without saying anything. Spencer settled back down in the seat.
His lips moved as he read the letters which was oddly endearing. He also had a habit of twitching his fingers as he was thinking. His brow furrowed, like he was having a silent argument with himself. 
You grabbed a second pad of paper from your bag along with some more pens and handed it over.
“I find writing things out is good for giving them some kind of order,” you explained when Spencer looked confused, “you look like you’re trying to figure something out. You ever do mind maps?”
Spencer shook is head and you turned your paper to demonstrate.
“I’m a visual thinker,” you explained, “and sometimes there’s so much conflicting information that I just put it all down on paper. Once it’s there-“ you drew lines between the bubbles of text, “I make as many connections as I can between it all and then I draw my conclusions from the connections and start re-writing in a more coherent way.”
“And that helps?”
“Ever since I was a student. My friend Max showed me, she swears by it,” you said. “So what are you stuck on?”
“The letter about the twins,” Spencer frowned, “something feels different.”
“They were the only two victims that were killed because of unreconciled bonds,” you answered, beginning to make notes like before. “As opposed to their actions I mean. The other victims all did something.”
“But the choice of one of the twins not to seek out her soulmate was an action,” Spencer said and you drew a line to another bubble and wrote that down adding “CONTRADICTION???” above the line. Spencer took the page and began adding his own notes, speaking as he did. “The twins were traded as a unit. We know they were killed together so perhaps they were judged together? No that’s not-“
“No crossing out until we’re done,” you said, “there’s no bad ideas.”
“Okay we’ll leave that,” Spencer let out a chuckle and you couldn’t help but smile, “this is a good technique. I can’t usually get my hand to keep up with my stream of consciousness so it all just sits there I guess.” He gestured to his head, looking a little embarrassed.
“Brain soup?”
“I guess,” he smiled. “What else?”
“They were killed together so they were stalked together. There’s extra practical considerations there,” you said, “Two schedules to learn and two people to control.”
You carried making notes until the plane landed and the entire team made their way silently back to Quantico. Spencer looked deep in thought as he packed his bag at his desk.
“Thanks for your help,” you said, a little hesitantly. There were other team members around  and he seemed to act differently when they were in ear shot. It had hit you on the plane that working alone together throughout the case had been fine, easy even but when the others were there he hadn’t spoken up for you and then on the plane when it was just the two of you again you’d actually worked well together. There are several lines of enquiry now, more than if you’d sat there your own.
So which side of Spencer would you see now?
“No problem,” he said, “any time you want to go through those letters again let me know. I’ll call Alex tomorrow.” You relaxed a little and nodded. 
“Hey everyone,” Emily called from the walkway, “I want you all to take tomorrow off and we’ll come back fresh on Monday. This one was a tough one.” You turned before she could give you a pointed stare, wondering how long you were going to feel like an outsider.
46 notes · View notes
whirlybirbs · 4 years
Note
oh boyyyyyyyy our Ultimate Poe Hoe: she's back baby
Tumblr media
✧   —   REUNITED.  ;
summary: poe is gone for a week scouting the unknown regions. punchy realizes this reunion will the first of many in the war. set pre-TFA.
pairing: poe dameron x punchy!reader, from pre-flight check series.
warnings: some light, nostalgic angst - mostly since i’ve neglected these two and wanted you all to feel my guilt. soft “miss you”s. 
a/n: you read that right. who would have thought i’d be back, ruining you all with more of my two loves? here’s some poe + punchy for your quarantine. let me know what you think… even if it’s all caps screams. i love hearing what you guys think about these two.
“Lieutenant!”
They’re back.
You’re trading small talk with Jessika, gloved hands on the hips of your grease stained jumpsuit, when the familiar voice crosses the open hangar to greet you — the man attached to it is rushing to match Snap’s strides as they both cross the tarmac; there’s a look of worry plastered across both their faces.
You blink. Your brows knot together. This is… anything but the reunion you’d expected after Poe being gone for a weeklong mission in the Unknown Regions. 
Your head follows Snap and Poe as they move towards Command. Wordlessly, he spares you a look that says I’ll explain later. It’s apologetic.
Poe touches your arm when he passes. He draws you into his orbit, reminds you he so much of the sun to your moon, and speaks gently. Professionally. Without mush or sweetness or all the other ways he is when you’re alone.
… The way you’ve both come to act around the others. 
“After debrief,” he says, “A word, yea?”
Something’s going on.
Anxiety bites at the homes of your heart as you watch Black Leader disappear into the doors of the command center — Jessika crosses her arms tightly and chews her lip.
“I bet this is about Hueli.”
You wince. “You think so?”
“Yeah,” she sighs, rocking back on her heels, “And we could really use you in the air when we go, Punchy.”
Hueli is… a problem. 
Sheltered by a massive debris field and neighbor to a growing cosmic rift, the atmospheric dissonance is enough hide any traces of First Order activity — no body wanted to go near that planet. But, rumors had it that, recently, work had been done to map out hyperlane connecting the sector to the Perlemian trade route.
A route that the First Order was using to transport weaponry developed and manufactured on Hueli. 
Blow after blow had been dealt in the last three weeks — and with the continued growth of the First Order… anxieties surrounding their mounting power had rushed up to the surface and making moves on Hueli had been brought back up as a potential way to level the playing field.
The first problem was getting there.
Poe and Snap had headed out to scout the area. The Unknown Regions were just that: unknown. Getting a lay for the land was important — but it seems like maybe they’d found more than they were bargaining for.
You linger in the hangar. You find yourself puttering over the newly returned Black One — the T-70 X-Wing, as temperamental as it was, had a soft spot in your heart. Maybe because of the man piloting it… but also since losing your ship during the crash on Spira, you’d poured a good number of hours into the black and gold ship. 
Something to busy yourself. 
You’re checking the wing counterbalance readout’s when your hear someone approaching. 
It’s Poe.
He’s got two plates of chow in his hands; his face is soft when he spies you by his ship — and he blinks around the hangar before nearing. 
Everyone has dispersed for now. Early drills tomorrow.
It’s late. Outside, D’Qar has started to grow sleepy and the peepers have begun to sing. Wind rustles through the tall grass, and Poe juts his head towards the hangar doors.
“Hungry?”
You’re smiling at him when you nod.
You both perch yourselves on a supply crate in the mouth of the hangar; you take the plate from Poe as he settles in, huffing slightly as his shoulders brush yours and he rubs his jaw.
He nudges your knee.
“I missed you, Punchy.”
You catch his face in the moonlight. Soft and kind. The look in his eyes is so heavy and grounded you swear it makes your heart feel like it’s going to crawl out of your mouth. 
Both of your eyes dart to the hangar behind you.
Empty.
It’s the first of these moments in your relationship — him, being gone or… vice versa. Being brought back together after one hundred sixty eight hours. 
It’s awkward. Disjointed. Weird.
Until he kisses you.
It’s Poe’s hands that find your jaw. His noodle dinner forgotten on the crate beside him, he laughs when you make a small sound of shock and juggle your own; you lean up, catching his mouth in a greedy little lovebite as he sighs. His stubble tickles and the kiss lasts a few long, wonderful moments. 
Moments you’d missed more than you’d realized.
When he pulls away, he can’t help but press another to your lips. Then one to your cheek. Then to your temple. 
“Gods,” you rumble, trying to hide the prick of something misty and sentimental threatening to spill over from your eyes, “It’s like you haven’t seen me in a week —”
Poe snorts, unashamed of his rekindled affection. “Yeah, well, it was a long time — longer than I’m used to, y’know.”
You waggle your fork his way. “It was quiet here without you.”
“Oh, good,” he chides, “I’m glad my absence brings you inner peace.”
“Shut up,” you laugh lightly, nudging him with your arm. Your chin falls to perch along his left shoulder, “You know what I mean.”
Poe forks a pile of noodles into his mouth. He makes a regretful sound. They’re hot. Really hot. He blows hot air out of his mouth before chewing and swallowing painfully. He rasps out a croak.
“Sure — I get it, use me for my good looks…”
“Oh, the humanity,” you lean back against the crate and blow on your noodles, “You know I like you for more than your good looks.”
He raises a single brow and sucks his teeth at the suggestion. “Oh, yea?”
“Maybe not your flying but —”
Poe guffaws at that jab. He’s chuckling when he drops his head and forks his dinner again. He’s quiet for a bit, smiling as he nods and watches you with an enamored sort of look that has you squirming in the best of ways. 
His lashes kiss his cheeks when he blinks. He speaks softly.
“I did miss you. A lot.”
Your smile melts into something less playful. You turn and let your eyes roam his face. 
“I missed you, too, Poe,” you nearly whisper, “I was worried.”
His eyes fall. When he speaks, his voice is anchored into the deep end of anxiety — the words are ones you don’t want to hear… But coming from Poe, the ever optimist, you know they’re going to shape how the rest of the next few weeks will go.
“Hueli… is worse than we thought.”
You reach for his hand. And you squeeze.
He squeezes back, and for now, it’s just the two of you under the stars.
401 notes · View notes
anciientboosh · 4 years
Note
For your traveling drabbles Why vince cant drive ❤
Hello there! Thank you so much for this wonderful prompt, it was really fun to work with. I hope you don't mind a tiny bit of angst, but with a lovely bit of comfort on top!
"It's really not that scary."
"I'm not scared." Vince insists. Though his fingers are gripping the steering wheel a lot tighter than Howard thinks is strictly necessary.
"Okay, well," Howard clears his throat, reaches across his own body to buckle his seatbelt. "Whenever you're ready then."
It is not the first time he had made that sentiment known. Initially, when he had brought Vince to the car park of an abandoned supermarket, the boy had giggled at him and queried, "You're not gonna off me are you?" but the joy had soon died when he was persuaded into the drivers seat.
Just getting him to stop trying to get back out of the car had been a headache, trying to get him to listen to any of the instructions Howard had then given him was asking for a miracle.
Forty minutes later they were still here, waiting for Vince to be brave enough to turn the engine on.
Honestly, Howard wouldn't even mind if he wasn't getting so tired of ferrying Vince around. Having passed his test almost two years ago now, he had become a taxi service for the slightly younger boy. Whenever he needed to pop to the hairdressers, or needed someone to get him from a gig after the buses had stopped running, it was Howard he called.
Which was fine, right now. But they had talked about moving away together, potentially to London, once Vince hit adulthood-- and Howard was going to be a musician. He wouldn't have time to chaufer his best mate everywhere when he was busy making jazz music and being seduced by beautiful women.
So Vince would just learn to drive, easy.
Not so easy. Vince takes another steadying breath, for all the world looks like he is preparing himself for something a lot more dangerous than driving a few meters in an empty car park, and Howard thinks they might finally be getting somewhere.
Nothing.
"Vince?"
"I'm getting to it!" Vince snaps, grips his fingers impossibly harder and forces his eyes shut. "I will, I'm just preparing myself."
Much too startled by the outburst to do anything besides gape at him-- Howard just nods. "Right. Okay."
Waiting isn't even the worst part. Howard Moon has the patience of a Saint. You have to, to be friends with a personality like Vince. He is happy to perch by his friends side for as long as it takes to gather his courage and do something.
What bothers him is that Vince is clearly terrified.
Somewhere along the line the boy has started trembling, his wirey arms giving him away. His lower lip is pulled almost painfully between his teeth and his eyes... Normally so bright and joy filled. They're the size of saucers and they're panicked. It's like watching a rabbit face down the bright beams of a truck the way he's staring off into the road. Like he's waiting for something terrible to happen.
Howard doesn't need to hear him say it. This isn't going to happen today. "Come on then, swap back." he sighs.
Vince turns a startled expression on him, blinks those misty blue peepers like he really doesn't understand what Howard is saying.
"I'm not going to force you, little man," Howard comforts. "If you don't want to do it then I'll take you home."
More than anything he could have said, that seems to set Vince off. Tears spill down his cheeks without his permission. He doesn't even make a sound. Just cries silently until the heartache of it all makes Howard lean over the console and awkwardly wrap an arm around him. "Hey," he breathes, astonished at the open expression of sadness from a usually happy teen. "Don't be doing that, you daft nutter. Did you really think I'd make you?"
Vince shakes his head where its buried against Howard's side. "No, I just--" A shuddering breath. "I know you think I'm hopeless."
"I don't think that,"
"You do." The Boy draws away. Tiny hands pried from the wheel scrub at his reddened face. "I-- What if I muck it up?" The meaning doesn't click for Howard, not until Vince elaborates. "It's such a big thing to control and there's so many different things to remember and you know what I'm like for learning things. I still barely know the alphabet Howard, I don't retain anything that good."
Which, all things considered, is a valid concern from Vince. Howard wants to offer more comfort past the awkward weight of his arm over the lad's shoulder but Vince isn't stopping long enough to let him.
"All the time growing up we'd be told to stay away from roads too-- but animals they just go sometimes. You know?" Howard does. He had purposefully never told Vince about unfortunate cases of rabbits or squirrels alike darting in front of his car along winding country roads. "What if I couldn't stop? What if I mess it up."
And suddenly it makes so much sense.
Vince wasn't exactly an animal but his first family was. He'd always preferred the company of the furry to those that walked on two legs and the chance-- no matter how small-- that he could potentially hurt anything with something he did was too much.
He wasn't refusing to learn out of laziness he was scared of the potential damage he might inflict on the world if it went wrong for him.
"Swap back." Howard orders gently, reaches for his door. "I'll take us to see the ducks at Roundhay before your foster mum wants you home."
Howard never tries to make Vince learn to drive again.
17 notes · View notes
darks-ink · 4 years
Text
Forgive Me (Not)
Rating: K+ / Gen Warnings: None Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort Words: 2,604 Relationships: Matt Murdock & Franklin “Foggy” Nelson (platonic - friendship) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Identity Reveal (sort of), Roommate era
Summary: Matt keeps apologizing, over and over, and he's so serious, so guilty, and Foggy can't help but worry that he's going to have to help a blind man hide a body.
[AO3] [FFn]
---
“Foggy,” Matt says, quiet like he hopes that Foggy wouldn’t hear it. Quiet like he hadn’t quite intended to speak up.
“Yeah?” Foggy replies anyway, pausing with his packing to face Matt. “What’s up, buddy?”
“I…” He pauses, and yeah, Foggy thinks, Matt definitely hadn’t planned this out quite yet. “Um.”
“Take your time,” he assures, turning back to his packing. “But whatever it is, you know you can always tell me, right?”
“Right,” Matt echoes. Foggy hears him take a deep breath, like he’s trying to summon his courage. For what, Foggy honestly wouldn’t know. He can’t remember ever seeing Matt so nervous—not even for any of the exams they’ve done.
“I’m sorry,” Matt says, now, and Foggy’s heart skips a beat because he sounds… so, so serious, and so, so guilty.
Foggy’s hands still over his half-packed bags. His heart thumps away, too fast. He can’t imagine anything Matt might be sorry for. Nothing that would involve such guilt.
“For what?” he asks when he manages to untangle his tongue. He’s sweating, but that’s normal, right? It’s summer. It has nothing to do with… this. Whatever this is.
He hears Matt shift behind him. “I’m sorry,” he says again, like repeating it makes it any more clear what, exactly, he’s sorry about. “If you want to switch dorms after this… I understand.”
That was literally the opposite of an explanation, Murdock. Now Foggy just has more questions.
Foggy sighs, puts down the shirt he’d been holding for at least five minutes by now. Matt is sitting on his own bed, curled in tight. The line of his shoulders says ‘guilty’ as much as his tone did.
Foggy wants to joke, wants to lighten the mood, but he doesn’t know how.
“After what, man? You haven’t even told me what you’re sorry for.” He tries to keep his tone light, but his heart is loud in his chest, and he can’t hear if he succeeded.
At least he won’t have to worry about smoothing out his facial expression, he thinks, and then immediately feels guilty for drawing even the slightest comfort from Matt’s blindness.
Matt is not looking at him. Or, well. Turning towards him. Remains hunched over, playing with the legs of his glasses.
“Matt, man, don’t leave me hanging like this,” Foggy prods. “You can’t tell me I’m gonna be upset about something and then not tell me. I just said you can tell me anything.”
“I…” Finally, some progress. He’s not upset, not really, and whatever Matt’s big secret is, Foggy is sure he can handle it. But Matt is… a little emotionally constipated. “I’m sorry.”
Foggy stomps down the desire to groan, but he’s so, so close.
He fixes his roommate with an unimpressed look, though, hoping that it’s powerful enough for Matt to notice. And, somehow, he does. Turns slightly towards Foggy, eyes turned down and refusing to meet his gaze even if he could.
“Matt,” he says, like the other man will be any more forthcoming this time than the previous three times. His heartbeat is too loud and too fast. “Seriously, whatever it is, there’s no way it’s as big of a deal as you’re making it.”
“I,” Matt repeats once more, and Foggy braces himself for another ‘I’m sorry’. “I have heightened senses.”
Foggy jerks his head, feels his heart skip a beat.
That wasn’t an ‘I’m sorry’.
Holy shit.
“Blasphemy,” Matt murmurs, and Foggy is certain that he hadn’t said that out loud. No louder than a breath, at least.
Holy shit.
“Sorry.” Matt turns his face away again, shoulders tight. “I shouldn’t— should’ve— Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” Foggy tells him, because he’s still wrapping his mind around the news but if Matt apologized one more time he’s gonna strangle the guy. “It’s…”
“Fine?” Matt finishes sardonically after he trails off. Shakes his head. “You don’t think so. I can tell.”
“How?” Foggy asks, not actually sure if he wants to know the answer or not.
Matt takes one hand off his glasses. Gestures vaguely as his head—or more accurately, his ears.
“Don’t tell me you can hear what I’m thinking.” He can’t. There’s no way. If Matt was a mindreader, he would’ve said as much. Right?
He snorts, shakes his head. “I can hear your heartbeat,” he explains.
And, oh.
Foggy isn’t sure if that’s any better, actually.
Matt must have heard the way his heart skips at that news, because he nods, his mouth a tight grimace.
“So your hearing is… how good?” Foggy asks, because he’s curious, now. He can’t quite wrap his head around it, yet, it seems too fantastical to be true, but… but something about it seems right. It pings around his head, echoing off of countless memories of the past year.
The way Matt’s head twitched around, sometimes, like he was hearing something Foggy didn’t. The way he grimaced at— well, at all kinds of stuff. How he insisted that stuff had gone bad, sometimes, when nothing off about it could be found.
The time that Matt had insisted they skip out on some free meal that was being offered on campus, saying he didn’t trust it. How glad Foggy had been for Matt’s gut instinct the next day, when almost everyone in class had been sick.
Matt makes a face, lifting his face slightly so Foggy can finally see him. He’s still playing with his glasses, no doubt smudging the lenses to no extent.
“The guys in the room on the end of the hallway are fighting again,” Matt starts, slowly, cautiously. “Apparently one of them keeps bringing back girls, and the other is not too happy about that.”
Foggy hums. The end of the hallway… that was pretty serious.
“There’s a couple fighting on the end of the street,” Matt continues, more steadily. His tone is almost challenging. “And someone’s hailing a cab a block away from there.”
“Oh,” Foggy breathes.
“Sirens,” Matt adds, cocking his head slightly. Frowns. “A few blocks away. Police.”
“Oh,” Foggy repeats. “I can’t… imagine. Do you just… hear that? All the time? Or are you… like, listening for it?”
Matt shrugs, weakly. “I try to block it out, usually. But I can’t, not all of it.”
“The heartbeat?”
A nod. Matt’s shoulders hunch up again. Always with the guilt, that guy.
“Okay,” Foggy tells him. Takes a deep breath to try and calm his heartbeat to something more appropriate for excitement. “Wait, so are like, all your senses like that?”
“Besides vision?” Matt asks wryly. “Basically.”
Well, that was… a lot.
“Isn’t that like, super overwhelming?”
Matt jerks towards him, like he was surprised by the question. “What?”
“Well, it just seems like a lot to me,” Foggy explains, shrugging even if Matt can’t tell. “Unless you grew up with it, I guess.”
“I—” Matt says, and raises a hand to his eyes. Ah.
“Knocked your peepers out and gave you superpowers, huh?”
Matt snorts, drops his hand again. His posture seems slightly more relaxed. Foggy will count it as a win. “It didn’t knock my eyes out, Foggy, you know that.”
“Psh.” He flaps a dismissive hand. “Details. So, super senses. Anything I gotta like, know?”
“Know?” Matt repeats, like he’s never heard the word before.
“Well, yeah.” Foggy shrugs. “I’m shrugging at you, Murdock, just so you know. But, really. Anything I gotta do to make life friendlier on the ol’ senses? Shower more often? Different deodorant? Come on, work with me here.”
Matt frowns at him like he’s never seen Foggy before. Heard him before? Um.
“You’re… okay. With this?”
“I mean, it’s a little weird.” Matt flinches, and ouch, Foggy felt that in his heart. “But not, like, bad weird. It’s pretty cool, actually. I can’t imagine how often you’ve saved me from food poisoning. And here I was, thinking you had good instincts.”
“Uh. Yeah.” Matt cocks his head at him. “Not… bad?”
“Matt, seriously. For a guy who can hear people talk two streets away you sure are bad at listening.” Foggy grins, and wonders if Matt can tell, somehow. From the tone in his voice, at least, he’s sure.
Matt gapes at him. “You’re not…”
“Upset?” Foggy finishes for him. “No, not really. I mean, it would’ve been nice to know sooner so I wouldn’t have done anything stupid or embarrassing, but,” he shrugs, “I understand why you wouldn’t have said anything.”
“Oh.” Matt turns his head down again, like he’s looking at the glasses he’s still fidgeting with. “I… thanks.”
“Hey, don’t mention it. That’s what we’re friends for, right?”
Matt’s head jerks back up. “What?”
“Friends,” Foggy repeats. His heartbeat speeds up again, and he tries to stamp it down, to no avail. “Right?”
“I… I didn’t…” Matt licks his lips, blinks confusedly. “You still want…”
Foggy scoffs. “Of course we’re still friends, man. We just went over this. I asked if I could do anything to help accommodate for your senses. Keep up, Matt.”
“It’s… fine,” his best friend finally manages, weakly. “I’m used to it.”
He squints at Matt for a moment. “Fine. But if anything comes up, tell me. Really, Matt. No martyring of any kind in this dorm room, you hear me?”
Matt laughs weakly. “I hear you.”
“Walked right into that one, didn’t I?” Foggy shakes his head, then leans forward a little. “I just gotta know… if your senses are all so strong, can they, like… make up for your vision, sort of? Like, you explained how good your hearing is, but how does touch work? Smell? Taste?”
“Well, I could tell you exactly what you’ve eaten the past twenty-four hours,” Matt says, slowly. He seems to know when Foggy opens his mouth, because he adds, “Even if we hadn’t spent all that time together, I mean. I can tell you exactly what ingredients are in a meal—even the stuff you don’t want to know about. I can… I know where you are. Where stuff is, if I focus.”
“What, like a bat? Echo-location?”
“Sort of.” Matt shrugs. Reaches over to the nightstand and picks up the baseball that Foggy hadn’t packed yet. “It’s more than just sound. I can feel the— the currents in the air, and the warmth, and all that. It kind of… combines. Almost like seeing, but it’s… not quite that.”
“Sounds complicated.” Foggy hums, watches as Matt puts down his glasses and rolls the baseball in his hand. “So if I asked you to throw that…”
Matt grins, weakly, and tosses the ball in the air. He catches it smoothly when it comes down again.
“You’ve been holding out on me, Murdock!” Foggy holds out his hands. “Come on man, show me!”
Matt wafers for a moment. Then, before Foggy can taunt him again, he winds back and throws the ball straight at Foggy.
He catches it easily, whistles lowly. “Not bad, not bad.”
And then, before he can really think about it, he throws it back. Straight at Matt.
Who seems to catch it automatically, his hand coming up to intercept it.
“Shit, sorry,” Foggy apologizes, even if nothing happened. “I didn’t think about it. Fully automatic.”
Matt clicks his tongue, sounding almost… disapproving. “Throwing baseballs at a blind man? Don’t let anyone see you.”
Foggy laughs, and catches the ball when Matt throws it back. “Yeah, good advice. I’ll pack this before any more incidents happen.”
Matt hums, a grin still lingering on his face.
“But if you can tell when a baseball is coming…” Foggy pauses where he’s stuffing the ball in his bag, turning his head back towards Matt. “You can tell when a car is coming, too, right? At like, intersections and stuff? And you can sense walls, and buildings?”
“Yes,” Matt agrees, hesitantly. Cautiously.
Foggy turns fully back towards Matt. His heart is thumping in his chest again. “So the… the leading, it wasn’t really…”
“Necessary?” Matt finishes for him.
“Wanted,” Foggy corrects. “I was going to say, wanted. Do you not—”
Matt shakes his head vigorously. “No, no. I…”
He pauses, like he’s searching for the right words. Foggy waits to let him.
“I… like it,” Matt finally settles on. “I like hearing you talk. It’s… nice. To not have to focus so hard on the world.”
“Oh.” Foggy’s heart flutters. He clears his throat, wishes he could clear the emotion the same way. “Well, good! Because there’s plenty more where that came from!”
“You really don’t… mind?”
Foggy snorts. “Of course not. It’s part of the patented ‘Foggy Nelson best friends’ package, pal. You’re not getting out of it that easily.”
“Good.” Matt grins, a little. “I’m… glad.”
“You’d better be! It’s an exclusive deal.” He opens his arms, wide. “Now come here, give me a confirming best-friends hug, won’t ya?”
Matt tilts his head, like he’s… listening. Ah. Then, hesitantly, he pushes himself to his feet. Crosses the distance between their beds, step by step.
Foggy continues to hold out his arms. He’s not sure if he should narrate the distance, or if that would ruin the moment. Maybe not narrating ruins it, instead.
Then, suddenly, a warm body is pressed against Foggy’s. Matt must’ve crossed the rest of the distance while he’d been distracted.
He wraps his arms around Matt. He feels Matt mimic his positioning, like he wasn’t sure where he was supposed to put his hands. Like he hadn’t had much experience with hugs.
Just that thought alone was so saddening that Foggy made a note to hug Matt more often. The guy clearly needed it.
“Man, you’ve got some solid fucking muscles under that sweatshirt of yours,” Foggy comments thoughtlessly, patting Matt on his shoulder. “How do you even fit sporting in that schedule of yours?”
Matt laughs, softly, and Foggy can feel it throughout his whole body. “I box, sometimes. It helps me relax.”
“You know, I’m really glad you told me that after explaining your super senses, because I would’ve been really worried otherwise.” He grins against Matt’s shoulder, wonders if Matt knows, can tell. “You should show me, sometime. I bet you look really cool.”
He can feel Matt stiffen against him, and he worries, for a moment, that he misspoke. But Matt relaxes again, and laughs quietly against Foggy’s neck. “I wouldn’t know, would I?”
“Oh, walked right into that,” Foggy mutters without heat. “But?”
“But it sounds… good. Fun.” Matt sighs, and it sounds happy. “You’re… taking this really well.”
“You made it sound like a way bigger deal than it was.” Foggy scoffs. “Seriously, the way you were apologizing, man. I was starting to worry that you had, like, killed a man and hidden him in the walls.”
Matt laughs again. “Nah. Wall’s too thin for that.”
Foggy pauses, but Matt’s posture remains relaxed. “Oh, come on, don’t even joke about that.”
A loud sound shreds the peace, suddenly, and they jerk apart. It takes him a moment before he recognizes the sound—his alarm.
“Shit,” he swears, already moving to turn it off. “Sorry. Totally forgot I set it.”
The quiet returns, but Matt has already wandered back to his side of the room. “It’s fine,” he says, rubbing his ear a little. “Just surprised me.”
“Well, that makes both of us.” Foggy lets himself fall back on his bed, grabbing the previously abandoned shirt. “Now I’ll need to hurry to get all this packed before my parents get here.”
“Want me to help?”
Foggy looks over at Matt over his shoulder. Then back at the stuff he still needs to pack.
“Yeah, that sounds great, actually.”
23 notes · View notes