#isaac is getting out of storage for sure

[the-insomniac-emporium]

SWORDTEMBER '24, DAY 3: SENTIENT

Item ID: PE-2403 Item Name: Cursed Sword Category: A-4 Origin Point: Unknown Owner:  Unknown Description: A large blade, roughly 100cm in length, with a slight curve to the sharpened edge. The handle is approximately 20cm long, with carved wood and leather straps around the tang. Biomechanical growth covers the spine of the sword, stretching over the flat at spots, a muddled red-purple in color. Attempts were made to collect samples, but the sword emitted a high-pitched screeching until the intern lost consciousness. It’s unclear where the sound came from, as at the time the sword did not have a mouth (it has since grown one, which it uses frequently). Although the weapon shows signs of sentience, it is impossible to measure the intelligence or determine the specifications at this time, due to the FPA’s lack of on-hand equipment. Several workers have filed complaints (see supplementary files PE-2403-■■ through PE-2403-■■) due to being “observed” by the sword’s eye(s). Cataloger’s Notes: Regardless of whether or not any officials believe in the possibility of “curses”, I feel this sword is doomed to end up getting passed back and forth between dock workers before eventually disappearing altogether. Perhaps it will get dumped in the woods, perhaps it will be given false records and donated to a charity auction, or maybe someone will just pass it on to their least favorite witless cousin. Either way, I fear the poor thing may never overcome its reputation. Can’t say I’ll miss it too much. Probably. It’s a surprisingly good conversationalist, when it wants to be.

-----

Dealing with living items tends to be… complicated. Lots of paperwork, usually needing to be filled out at least a few weeks prior to shipping, and even then there was a chance it would get flagged for further inspection upon landing on Katal. Things only get more complex for items that only meet partial criteria for being considered “alive”. Such as the sword currently staring Cynthia down from across her office. Yes, staring. Something it is, evidently, capable of doing.

“Swords aren’t supposed to have eyes, you know,” she says, sparing it a single glance. Despite the lack of brow, it manages to look almost forlorn. Quite the odd disposition for a weapon. But it’s been stuck in her office for close to a week now, with no signs of getting moved, and she can only assume it is unused to simply resting endlessly. Truthfully, she knows almost nothing about it.

Unlike the majority of items that pass through her office, the sword (which she has nicknamed Isaac) was not technically confiscated. Rather, it was simply found. Left behind, in between a few boxes, without any documentation. That certainly leant to the immediate rumors involving a curse. Clearly, folks said, someone was desperate to be rid of the blade. Cynthia still wasn’t sure why the thing caused everyone such distress.

“What am I to do with you, poor little Isaac?” She muses, then takes a long sip from her tea (another blend from Naomi, naturally). The sword blinks at her. Once. Twice. Even opens up a second eye to watch her. Then the air is filled with a soft humming, low and soothing, before the flesh along the blade’s spine shifts and splits open. It would be horrifying, if Cynthia’s job hadn’t given her a high tolerance for the absurd.

“AM. I. ISAAC?” Ah. Well. Now, that was something she hadn’t anticipated. Always hard to tell how intelligent these sorts of things are; hard to tell what kind of intelligence, too. What kind of computer lives within this creation? Mechanical, or flesh and blood, like her own brain?... Questions that will never get answered. At least she can answer Isaac’s.

“That’s what I call you, but it doesn’t have to be your name. I certainly can’t make it your name, not even on your official paperwork,” Cynthia explains with a reassuring tone. There’s no way she can put any of this on Isaac’s official record- too many unknown details, all pointing towards the poor thing getting locked away somewhere far worse than her office.

“ISAAC. HMM. A GOOD NAME, CYNTHIA DELABAUNTE. I CONSIDER IT… A GIFT,” Isaac answers. Something about its voice sends a shudder down her spine, yet she feels no ill will from it. At most, a sense of loneliness.

“I’m glad, Isaac, but I must ask a very, very important question… what do you want? What fate do you yearn for? I’m afraid my job may decide for you, but I can certainly influence it,” she says, slowly, softly, in between sips of her tea. By the Ancients, she can hardly wait to tell Naomi about this, even if she knows she’ll be crying by the time she explains what it is Isaac wants most:

“ADVENTURE.”

[olive-fics]

Cold Front.

𖦹 Synopsis: You never expected to be reassigned to the same WLF unit as Abby Anderson. — WLF's most popular soldier. . The same one who floods your thoughts at night and when you're most needy. . .

Content Warnings: NSFW, depictions of possessiveness power dynamic (??) WC:2107,slightly proof-read..

You’d been part of the WLF military for nearly a year now. You’d learned the ins and outs — who ran the patrols or which guards never missed a beat. You knew almost everyone... except for one. She was one of Isaac’s favorites. The girl with the long braid that nearly brushed her lower back, broad shoulders, and a stare sharp enough to cut through steel. The first time you saw her, she had a guy twice her size pressed into the dirt outside in the training ranges. You’d watched as the man tapped out quick, both of them bursting into laughter afterward. She was like the WLF’s own jock. You weren’t stupid. You kept your head down, focused on your assignments and drills. Staying quiet was safer.

Every year, Isaac made most soldiers move dorms due to storage needs or renovations around the base. You weren’t expecting to be reassigned, especially since your current dorm was barely bigger than a suitcase. It didn’t need fixing or changing. But your heart clenched the moment you saw your badge number next to a familiar one... You were finally getting a roommate. Packing a bag and carrying a small box of your current dorm stuff, you climbed the flights of stairs to your new room — number 203. Your new roommate hadn’t arrived yet. The room was completely empty and colorless, stripped down to bare walls and cold carpet. You set your boxes down onto the floor, then decided to grab something for breakfast since you had some time to kill. No drills or assignments today—just catching up on sleep and unpacking your new space.

Taking your time in the mess hall, you waited in line for nearly fifteen minutes before finally getting a sad, tiny serving of food. Looked like everyone had the same idea, half the base was crowded in, moving their stuff, catching up, or socializing. Seattle's overcast sky barely bled through the WLF base's skylights, putting dull, pointless shadows across the floor. Eventually, you got your breakfast burrito and a small cup of watered-down coffee that tasted as tired as you felt. There was no reason to sit in the mess hall. You weren’t much of a talker anyway — why sit around and look awkward when you could be unpacking instead? By the time you made it back to dorm 203, a bag had already been tossed onto the bed across from yours, a heavy-duty WLF duffel, halfway unzipped and slumped open like it had been thrown from the door to the bed. Then you heard it. The low click of the bathroom door. Your stomach twisted. You didn’t need to see her to know who it was. You could feel it — the air had shifted the moment you stepped inside. Sure enough, when the door opened, there she was. Abby Anderson. A towel hung loose around her neck. Her face was still damp, hair slicked back but braided messily. Her eyes met yours immediately. “Hey,” she said. You nodded, fingers tightening slightly around your burrito. “Hi..” Her gaze didn’t move. “Didn’t know they were putting anyone with me.” “Didn’t know they were putting me with anyone either,” you replied softly. She stepped further into the room, beads of water still dripping from her shoulders. She shrugged, then collapsed onto her bed, arms tucked behind her head. “I don’t snore,” she added. Her tone was dry, almost deadpan but something in her hinted at a smirk. “Good to know,” you muttered, sitting on the edge of your bed. The silence that followed wasn’t exactly... awkward. It was more dizzying. Quiet in a way that made you too aware of your own breathing. You stole a glance at her. She wasn’t looking at you anymore — just staring up at the ceiling like this was any other day. Like you weren’t strangers who would live together until switched. You peeled back the foil on your burrito and took a bite, pretending not to notice her presence. Abby Anderson. You’d heard plenty about her, seen her in passing, always surrounded by noise, voices, movement, power. And now you shared a room with her. Night came quickly. The clouds outside stayed thick, making the base dim even before sunset. Your side of the room was mostly unpacked. A few shirts folded into the drawers, boots tucked beneath the bed, photos hung up, etc. Across the room, Abby didn’t bother unpacking much. Her duffel remained half-zipped on the floor, her only real addition to the room being a spare towel hanging from a hook and the scent of her pine soap. She moved with quiet confidence. not loud, not cocky. Just aware. You noticed it in the way she reached for the light switch, how she didn’t ask if you were ready for bed before flipping it off. You didn’t mind it. The dark made it easier to breathe. You lay there for a while, turned toward the wall, staring at a crack in the paint that curved just slightly. You couldn’t sleep. Not with her so close, but yet so far. The room was silent, but not still. You could hear Abby shifting, the fabric of the blanket rustling, the creak of the mattress under her weight. .

“You’re not sleeping,” she said, her voice low. Not accusatory. Just… knowing. You hesitated before answering. “Neither are you.” A beat passed. “Long day,” she muttered. “New roommate, guess I’m adjusting.” You let out a small huff. “Sorry to ruin your space.” She shifted again. “Didn’t say that.” You turned to lie on your back, staring at the dark ceiling. “I’ve seen you around before,” you admitted, voice just above a whisper. “Everyone talks about you.” There was a pause — then the faintest hint of a smirk in her voice. “Yeah?” “Supposed to be scared of you, I think." The silence that followed was thicker than before. Again, not awkward — just weighted. Like something unsaid was settling between the two beds. Like you were both suddenly aware that the stretch of air dividing you wasn’t as wide as it had felt before. You could practically feel her looking at you now, even in the dark. Her stare had weight. You cleared your throat. “Do you always talk to your roommates at night?” Abby’s voice was quieter now. “Only the interesting ones.” You couldn't help but smile, interesting? Abby. found You? interesting?

That shouldn't have made your chest feel tight. Or your skin warm. You rolled onto your side, back facing her now, hoping the darkness hid the way your lips were still twitching with amusement. “Didn’t think I was your type.” She let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. “What makes you think you know my type?” You shrugged into your pillow. “Don’t. Just a guess.” “Guess again,” Abby said, and this time, her voice was lower. Less guarded.

That sent something sparking straight down your spine.

You stayed quiet, not trusting your voice, not trusting the way your mind was starting to wander just like it used to when you were all alone in your last dorm, touching yourself to just the thought of Abby's strength.. You heard her shift again in the dark, the rustle of sheets, the faint creak of her bed. “I don't bite,” she said. “Unless you ask.” Your heart skipped. You didn’t respond right away. .because what the hell was that ?? Your pulse was quick now. Drumming right against your ribs. Then, lightly, almost breathless, you ask, “That supposed to scare me Anderson?” There was a pause. Then, with that same maddening coolness, Abby muttered, “No. I think it turns you on.” The sheets felt too hot. The air too thick. You’d shifted at least five times, pulse still thudding from that last exchange. Abby hadn’t said another word since. But she hadn’t fallen asleep either. You could hear the difference in her breathing; Shallow. You stared at the ceiling, biting your lip. Every inch of you was wired. Your mind racing through things you shouldn’t be thinking. Then you heard it. The sound of her bedsheets moving. Of skin against fabric. Of breath catching—just once.

You froze.

You hear her again, barely above a whisper. “You still awake?” You rolled to face her, trying to sound bored. “Couldn’t sleep.” A beat of silence. Then: “Yeah. Me either.” You could barely make her out, but your eyes had adjusted enough to see the way her body shifted under the blanket. Her arm draped lazily across her stomach. The rise and fall of her chest “You keep making those little sounds,” she said. “Like you want me to hear you.” You blinked. “What sounds?” A low chuckle. “You know which ones.” Your breath hitched. She sat up slowly, the blanket sliding off her shoulders, revealing her toned, bare arms. “I’m not gonna touch you,” Abby said, voice thick with something heavier now. “Not unless you tell me to.”

The room spun. Or maybe that was just you because now she was standing. Stepping closer. In a breath, she was kneeling at the edge of your bed.

“You said I’m not your type,” you murmured, tilting your head. her lips parted. But no sound came out. Your thighs clenched under the blanket. She leaned in just enough for you to feel the heat rolling off her. . Abby then whispered, "Definitely my type."

Abby’s smirk curls into something darker in her eyes. Before you can think, she reaches forward and tugs the blanket down, the thin layer pools at your waist. The chill of the room grazes your skin, making you shiver, but the warmth of her gaze thaws every nerve. She leans in, and you feel her breath on your inner thigh, warm and intoxicating. Her fingers press lightly against your hip, hitching your pajama shorts just enough to expose more skin. Your pulse spikes as you instinctively part your legs, offering her the space she wants. Her other hand trails up your thigh, fingertips ghosting over your sensitive skin. You can’t see her face clearly, but you sense her tilt her head, catching the faint moonlight through the window. Her lips brush along the same path from your hip to where you ache most. .

When her mouth finally meets your skin, it’s electric, soft and intentional. She works slow, her tongue tracing the crease where thigh meets pelvis, teasing just the edge of your panties. Your back arches into the mattress without thought, nails dragging along the sheets as the warmth of her mouth sends heat straight to your core. She lifts her head, eyes glinting in the dim light. There’s a hunger there, a raw need that presses down on you like weight you didn’t know you’d been holding. Abby’s fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pajamas, brushing over damp skin. Her fingers trace circles over your soaked folds, gentle at first, slowing your breathing. You whimper. Your head tipping back against the pillows as she curls one finger inside of you, moving with slow, measured strokes. You hadn't realized how much you’ve wanted this, how much you’ve craved her touch, her taste. .

Abby doesn’t hurry. She holds you apart with one hand, her fingers sinking deeper. She pushes you closer to your edge, steady and relentless. You grip the mattress, knuckles whitening, back arching again as she finds just the right spot. When she withdraws that one finger, you feel empty, aching. But the moment is saved by her other hand slipping beneath the edge of your shorts and brushing over your clit, rubbing slow, firm strokes that make you whine. The friction builds, you can feel the heat pooling as her tongue returns. When you finally come, it’s a shuddering rush, a wave of heat and sound that has you clenching around nothing, shaking beneath her, your breath ragged. Abby murmurs softly into your skin, listening to every small cry and whimper you give her. She stays close, breathing on your inner thighs as you ride out the orgasm. Her mouth gently tasting you until you’re trembling with satisfaction and bliss. When Abby finally pulls away, you feel spent.

For a moment, neither of you speak. You lie there, chest heaving, eyes closed, Abby still tasting you on her lips. Abby slides back up the bed beside you, draping an arm across your waist, fingers brushing over your covered stomach like she’s afraid to let go.

“Thought you weren’t my type,” you whisper, voice thick with satisfaction and something softer, something like admiration. She is everything you never knew you needed. .

[overwhelmed-alien]

ER Nurse/Firefighter Hangster 🧑🏻‍🚒❤️🧑🏼‍⚕️

Inspired by an episode of “The Pitt”. You’ll know which one.

The hydraulic doors opened with a whoosh of air and immediately the din of the waiting room assaulted his senses. Bradley Bradshaw sighed as he pocketed his keys in his hoodie. No matter what day - no matter what time of day - he visited his husband in the emergency room, the waiting area was packed to capacity. Over-capacity most times. Babies screaming, children crying, adults griping and complaining about the extended wait times. Coughing and hacking and moaning and yelling into phones. He didn’t know how the ER staff did it day in and day out without going crazy.

He stood behind a frantic mom bouncing a feverish toddler and waited his turn at reception. This was Jake’s third double this week. All hospitals in the area were severely understaffed, but two maternity leaves in day shift threw this one into an upheaval trying to keep up.

Bradley hadn’t seen Jake much lately; he’d come in shuffling like a zombie with just enough energy to shower and eat a little of the dinner Bradley had put away for him - more than likely his first meal in twelve hours - and then stretch out on top of Bradley on the couch to watch a movie. He’d usually be fast asleep within the first ten minutes. But Bradley didn’t care. Not about the drool on his chest, or the damp hair tickling his chin, not the quiet snoring or being pinned bodily to the couch by dead weight. He loved quiet nights cuddling in their pajamas, getting to hold that precious being in his arms, close to his heart, exactly where he belonged. He knew they were each other’s safe place. He knew that because Jake always held him after particularly difficult shifts, as well. Would make him his mom’s banana nut bread and thread his fingers through Bradley’s curls. Jake was everything to him. His safety, his sanity. Bradley knew Jake felt the same about him because he’d said so in his vows.

“Are you gonna just stand there looking dopey, Fireman, or do you got somethin’ to say?”

Mary the receptionist was Brooklyn to her bones. She’d worked at this San Diego hospital longer than Bradley had been alive and hadn’t lost a bit of her accent. He was pretty sure after these three years of him being a regular (both visitor and patient) that she knew his name, but she still referred to him simply as Fireman. Her Coke bottle glasses emphasized the blue eye shadow as she raked her gaze down his body appreciatively. He suppressed a shudder.

“Mary, sweetheart!” He smiled at her. He knew this song and dance by heart. “How are you, beautiful?”

“I’m almost as full’a shit as you are, bub. This is my third break.” She gestured to the Check-In window to emphasize she was, in fact, still working. “What brings you to my humble domain? Don’t tell me, don’t tell me. Ya wanna scoot back here “real quick” to definitely not defile the storage closet with the life size Ken doll again, huh?”

“That was one time, and there was no defiling. I told you, he was looking for gauze and tripped-“

“-face-first into your crotch, yeah yeah. What do I know about gravity, right, I’m not Isaac Neutron or whatever. Meanwhile, he probably needs some stress relief after the incident earlier.”

Bradley frowned. “Incident?”

“Oh yeah, some asshole built like an Oakland linebacker came in a few hours ago screaming about having to wait so long, and your boy toy flew out here like an avenging angel and chewed his ass out in front of everyone. It was like David and Goliath all over again. Your boy can string some inspiring words together when he wants to. Gigantor turned tail and walked out, quiet as a rat. People, am I right?”

He nodded, brows still furrowed. That did sound like Jake. As sweet as he usually was, he had no tolerance for rudeness, and held no qualms about confrontation. “Yeah. People.”

“Go on, get outta here, Fireman. Anyone asks, I didn’t see you.”

The door to the right unlocked with an audible click. He beamed and gestured a quick but genuine “thank you” before heading through the door to the emergency floor.

He’d just gotten off his shift and had swung by the Hibachi place Jake loved for a couple takeout plates. If Jake wasn’t busy they could eat together in the break room, if he was, he’d stick the box in the communal fridge for later and head home. Mostly he just wanted to lay eyes on his husband and make sure he was taking care of himself. When Jake got busy he always forgot to eat. Forgot to stop and rest. Bradley took his job to remind him very seriously.

Almost immediately, Bradley clocked something was off on the floor. There was always an air of frantic anxiousness back here in the ED, but it felt different tonight. The hairs on his neck bristled. He disregarded the patients and locked onto the different faces of the personnel, their body language as they hovered over screens and flitting around the stations.

They were angry. A cold, quiet, seething anger, kept at bay by professionalism, but it was there, and it was obvious.

He didn’t see Jake.

He did see Beau. It was hard to miss Dr. Simpson, he was a big man, a Navy man as well, one of his godfather’s good friends. Well, Ice’s good friend, he tolerated Mav. His handsome face was pinched tight as he rushed out of the corner unit in the back and wheeled around the main nurses station in the middle of the floor. He’d just picked up the phone when he met Bradley’s eyes. He put the phone down.

“Rooster.” Beau looked grim. There was blood staining his scrubs. “Who called you?”

Bradley’s heart sank into his stomach. “Wha-…nobody called me.” He shook the bag in his hand. “I - I brought Jake food.” He looked around again for a familiar blond head. “Beau, where is he.”

Beau could read him as well as Bradley could read everyone else. He probably sensed the impending meltdown because he was in front of Bradley in two long strides, strong hands gripping his shoulders. “He’s okay. He’s gonna be fine, son.”

The bag of hibachi dropped to the floor. “‘Okay’ and ‘gonna be fine’ are two different things, which is it.” He could see the pulsing of his heartbeat in his vision. Nurses were avoiding his gaze. “Where is my husband, I’m not asking again.”

Beau sighed, rubbed his hands down his face. He looked exhausted. “Dr. Benjamin is checking him out now-“

“-Why is Penny-“

“-Because she’s a neurologist,” Beau cut him off. Bradley fell silent and let the older man guide him through the nurses station toward the corner unit. “There was an…altercation…in the waiting room earlier. Jake confronted an erratic man causing a scene. You know how mouthy he can get. The man left, we thought nothing else of it. Jake…he went outside for a break a few minutes ago, the guy snuck up behind him and sucker punched him in the face like a fucking coward.”

He drew the curtain back and Bradley felt his knees give out. He caught himself on the foot rail of the gurney in front of him.

There was so much blood.

It covered much of his husband’s beautiful face, wrapped grotesque tendrils around his slim neck. The scrubs he wore were soaked. In Jake���s blood.

Bradley saw red.

“Hey baby.”

Jake’s tired, slightly slurred voice cut through the wrath-fueled haze in Bradley’s mind. He hadn’t even noticed the pretty green eyes - swollen and blood-red and wrapped in bruises already turning shades of blue and purple - staring up at him. Awake and alert. He was awake. Bradley shook out of Dr. Simpson’s hold and frantically reached for his husband, knocking the empty chair out of the way in his rush. He stopped short, not knowing where to put his hands that wouldn’t cause any more pain or damage, but needing to touch him more than he needed oxygen.

Jake must have sensed his desperation. He reached out with both arms and pulled Bradley in by his hoodie, forcing him to sit beside him on the gurney. He was sitting upright, not lying down, and he squirmed until Bradley’s arm was wrapped around his shoulders. He leaned into his husband and breathed a deep sigh, the tension melting out of him.

“Would you please be still,” Dr. Penny Benjamin was as beautiful as ever, even with the tight jaw and furrowed brow. Bradley hadn’t even noticed her sitting in a rolling stool beside the gurney. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and winked at Bradley. “Hey, Roo. Think he’s trying to absorb you through osmosis.”

“I’m fine with that.” Bradley croaked, his voice cracking, and squeezed a little tighter. He looked down at the love of his life. He closed his eyes. He couldn’t wrap his head around all the blood. Jake wasn’t supposed to be hurt. He had the dangerous job, not Jake. Never Jake. Jake was supposed to always be safe. He could be tired or angry or upset, but never hurt. “…Honey?” He didn’t even know how to speak to him in this state.

Jake held no such reservations. “I’m fine, B. Fucker blind-sided me like a pussy. Sorry, Penny.”

Penny huffed, but she was smiling. Bradley understood why Mav walked nose-first into a door when Penny smiled at him that time. “He’ll be okay. Took a hard fall, and head wounds tend to bleed a lot, but he doesn’t need stitches, just glue. His nose took the brunt of it, but thankfully it’s not broken. His stunning good looks will be intact once the swelling goes down, everyone will be happy to know.”

Beau let out a breath like he’d been holding it. “We’ll get him cleaned up and you can take him home.”

“Bullshit, I’m staying. I’ve got four hours left in my shift.” Jake sat up straighter and glared at Beau through his bruises. He looked exhausted and miserable. Bradley drew him in closer.

“You most certainly are not-“

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been punched in the face, Cy.”

“While that doesn’t surprise me at all, we’re still going to follow concussion protocol-“

“I’m a fucking combat medic, not a fucking candy striper, I’m fine.”

“What’s a candy striper?” A young med student walking by whispered to another, who shrugged. Beau shooed them away and pulled the curtain closed.

“Jacob,” Penny gently grasped his chin and shined a light in his eyes, gauging pupil responses again. “Straighten up or I’m taking you down to imaging and stuffing you into a CT scan.”

“But I can-“

“Bradshaw!” Both Jake and Bradley visibly flinched. Penny Benjamin was scarier than any drill sergeant. She pocketed her penlight and stood up to lean over him. “Sensitivity to light and sound. Anxiety and mood swings. You’re a little uncoordinated, a little slurry, and I bet you have one hell of a headache. I love you kid, and nobody is denying that you’re tough as nails, but you have a concussion, and you need to rest.” She reached over to pull Bradley in by the scruff of his neck. “Let your adorable puppy of a husband take you home and fuss over you for a change.”

“Go home, son.” Beau added. “I don’t want to see you in here for three days unless you’re getting checked out.”

Jake shook his head, drew in a sharp breath. Bradley could see the tears in his eyes, hear them in his voice. “We’re so short-staffed already.”

“We’ll survive three days without the mighty Jake Seresin Bradshaw, I promise.”

Bradley was elbowed in the gut as Jake flailed to stand up and prove his capabilities. He stood up, too, and caught Jake by the waist when he wobbled precariously. Blond hair tickled his face as Jake leaned his forehead into Bradley’s neck seeking comfort. A single, strangled sob escaped his throat before he tamped it back down. Bradley knew. These tears weren’t from pain, or even anger. They came from a place of helplessness and frustration and exhaustion. He’d had this conversation with Jake before.

It never ends. He was there to help, spent his time trying to make people feel better, live a little longer, and all he got in return was sucker punched. Spit on. Yelled at. Cursed at. Day in and day out. He saw the absolute worst in people, and fought like hell for them anyway. They all did. Every doctor and nurse and receptionist and janitor in this understaffed emergency department had a desperate need to save people, and it was taking its toll, some days more than others.

“I’m taking you home, sweetheart.” Bradley’s tone left no room for discussion. Jake just nodded against his neck, his exhaustion suddenly palpable. He sat the blond back down on the padding and dropped a lingering kiss to his forehead, making sure his mustache tickled Jake’s skin. “Let Penny clean you up a bit, okay, hon? I’m gonna step outside and talk to Beau a minute. Be right back.”

He gripped Dr. Simpson’s bicep and pulled him away from the cubicle. “I need a name, and I need it fucking now.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Beau don’t fuck with me, I’m gonna find out anyway, you may as well save me a few minutes of interrogation.”

“We’ve already got the police involved, let them handle it.”

“What, for him to get a slap on the wrist? Fuck no-“

“Need I remind you that the last time Jake got hurt here and you went all “Navy SEAL” on everybody, Ice had to get the fucking governor of California involved to keep your ass out of jail? Hmm? You think that’s gonna happen twice? Who’s gonna look after Jake if you’re in prison for attempted murder?” He stopped before he was actively shouting and took a deep breath. “You are one of the most intelligent people I know, but when it comes to that boy in there you turn into a knuckle-dragging dumbass.”

Bradley opened his mouth to defend himself but Beau cut him off. “This isn’t the first time one of my staff has been assaulted, and it won’t be the last. Understand that. It comes with the territory. We’ve all been hit and kicked and pissed and spit on. Every one of us. Jake doesn’t need a knight in shining armor to fight for him. He’s a tough kid, respect his capabilities. Right now the only thing he needs is a caring and attentive husband. Be that for him, Bradshaw.”

Simpson was right. Of course he was. Bradley knew he was a hothead when it came to Jake and his safety. He’d wanted to protect Jake Seresin the first time he’d ever laid eyes on him, even though it was, in fact, Jake protecting a wounded Bradley at the time. Every cell in his body vibrated with a primal need to protect that man, the love of his life and every life beyond.

The curtain pulled back and Jake was there, a little unsteady, Penny guiding him. Most of the blood on his face and neck had been wiped away; his scrub top was missing, the white undershirt a little less gruesome. Bradley met Beau’s eyes and nodded, reached out to shake the man’s hand briefly before hurrying over to Jake’s side where he belonged. He unzipped his Station 86 hoodie and wrapped it around Jake’s shoulders before zipping it up to hide the bloodstains on his collar. Jake looked up at him and smiled. “I would’ve stolen it anyway.” The Texas twang heavy on his lips. God, he looked so tired. On a soul-deep level.

“I know, angel. You wear it more than I do, anyway, guess I stole it from you. Just giving it back.”

“You know concussion protocol, I’m assuming,” Penny handed him a packet of papers with a knowing smirk.

“All too well, ma’am.”

“He’ll sit here and you can go get your car and pull it around to the ambulance bay. We’ll meet you outside.” Beau pushed a wheelchair behind Jake, who balked for a second before admitting defeat and flopping down into it.

“Yes, sir.”

“And then you’re going to take him home and put him to bed, and I don’t want to see him for three days. At least.”

Jake whined petulantly. Bradley bent down and dropped a peck to his hair, smiling into it. “Three days of couch cuddles. I’m totally down for that.”

Jake perked up significantly at that. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound too bad.”

Beau nodded sagely. “As long as you keep the supply closet shenanigans to a minimum.”

“Oh shit-“

The End

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Aftermath au: Red Letter Day

Barney gets a call that Gordon Freeman had been found after ten years of being missing in action.

Word count: 4382

Notes: Another fic for my au "Aftermath" because I think its neat. I'm not sure what else to put here, enjoy the fic

Barney was beginning to remember how much he hated Winter as he stared through the warehouse window in front of him. Despite it being the beginning of March, spring was yet to come, meaning the snow was still falling with the temperature following suit. Barney had always hated the season, and as much as he tried, he could never come up with a proper reason. Maybe it was the fact it was cold, wet, and dreary, making any trip outside miserable, or perhaps it was the fact he was mainly cooped up inside all day, leaving him to get cabin fever. Or maybe it was a mixture of those two at the same time, along with the loneliness that came from them. No matter the reason, Barney kept quiet about it, realizing he had no ability to change the weather. All he could do was drink his hot coffee and put on a few more layers than usual. 

Barney took a sip from his mug as he looked away from the window, instead focusing his attention back into the room he was in. It was a storage room, full of random junk and scientific doodads Barney had no knowledge of. Boxes and crates were stacked up in piles taller than he was, stacked in such a way that it made Barney nervous even being near them in the case of them toppling over. Due to the lack of a radiator in that room, it was even chillier than the rest of the refurbished warehouse, making Barney glad he was wearing the warmest sweatpants he could find in his closet, along with a worn out grey hoodie, with the logo on the front being so faded that it was hard to make out as Black Mesa’s logo.

As he looked around, he was startled by the sound of a box slamming against the concrete floor, along with a short exclamation. “Oh, blast it!” “You alright, Doc?” Barney asked the other man in the room, watching as he bent over to pick up the fallen crate.

“I’m fine, just…hoping whatever was in here isn’t fragile…” 

Dr. Isaac Kleiner, or “Doc” as Barney referred to him as, was wearing a white lab coat over a robin-egg-blue dress-shirt and black tie, trading warmth for safety at his place of work. His glasses were slipping off his face as he moved boxes and rummaged through everything in the storage room, making it even more of a mess than it was before. 

“Where on earth could she have gone?” Kleiner asked, not necessarily expecting an answer. “There aren’t any vents she could have crawled in, are there?”

“I hope not,” Barney stated. “Last thing I want is that thing to fall on someone.” As Kleiner looked under a table, Barney spoke up again. “You think it ran off or something?”

“Oh no, I don’t believe so,” Kleiner stood up straight, “I’m sure she wouldn’t. After all, she needs to get fed eventually, so I imagine she’ll come out for that.” “If the thing didn’t eat someone's cat or something.”

“Hush!” Kleiner held a finger up to his mouth, causing both he and Barney to become silent as he listened closely. Barney attempted to hear what Kleiner was listening for, but to no avail, hearing nothing but silence. “Fie! I could’ve sworn I heard her moving around…”

Barney let out an exhausted sigh, “Doc, please, there’s plenty of those pests out there–”

“But there’s only ONE Lamar!”

“...Right.”

“Now, are you going to help me look?” Kleiner adjusted his crooked glasses, “Or are you going to simply stand there, doing nothing?”

“Uh…” Barney glanced away, thinking for a moment. “...No thanks.”

“Oh, you act like she’s some kind of wild animal.”

“It kinda is.”

“She’s been de-beaked and trained, and you know this!” Kleiner stated as he walked towards a filing cabinet near the corner of the room.

“‘Trained;’ I don’t think that thing is really…trained. My dog is trained, and I know you can train cats, but I don’t think you can train a literal parasite–”

“Oh! I think I’ve got something!” Kleiner said excitedly, “Help me move this cabinet, would you please?”

Barney reluctantly approached the metal cabinet as Kleiner positioned himself to the side of it, ready to move it as soon as Barney was. As soon as Barney placed his free hand against the side of it, he pushed, with Kleiner on the other side pulling it towards him.

Barney let out a loud yelp when something leaped at him from behind the cabinet, causing him to fall on his back and drop his mug on the floor. It was Lamar, the “Pet” headcrab that Kleiner had lost, and it was even uglier up close. As it laid on Barney’s chest, its six small, beady eyes stared back at him as he remained absolutely still, afraid of it trying to attack him. Its teeth on its stomach prodded at his stomach, along with its chipped, large front claws, which had colorful duct-tape covering the tips of them to prevent them from being too sharp. After a few moments of tense silence, Kleiner came to the rescue, picking up Lamar from where it rested on Barney’s torso, allowing him to take a breath.

“LAMAR!” Kleiner exclaimed, looking at his pet with relief in his eyes, “Oh, delightful! I’m so happy to see you weren’t left out in the cold somewhere…”

“Mm-hm…” Barney lifted himself off the ground, looking at his feet to see his knocked over coffee cup, with its contents spilled over. “Ugh…” 

Barney picked up his cup from the floor as Kleiner let Lamar go, watching as it waddled across the floor before jumping up onto one of the tables. Barney stared at it with contempt, the opposite reaction to Lamar’s rediscovery compared to Kleiner’s joy. 

“Do you even have a license for that thing?” Barney questioned as Lamar sat down on top of some loose documents. “If you don’t and animal control finds it, they’ll kill it–”

“I’m…in the process of getting one,” Kleiner stated, voice stumbling slightly. “And I hope no one finds her, cause if they do…I’m afraid of what you said coming true. I’m sure it will be fine regardless, at least she knows to stay inside.”

“...Sure.”

“Is everyone safe?”

Barney and Kleiner turned towards the doorway that led to the rest of the warehouse, seeing a lone, albino Vortigaunt staring back at them with her four maroon eyes. She was wearing a similar lab coat to Kleiner’s, with a borrowed pair of black dress pants, along with a fitted light brown sweater, with a hole in the middle of her chest for her third pseudo arm. She stared at Kleiner and Barney for a little while before Barney answered her question. 

“Yeah, we’re fine…” Barney sighed, glancing towards Lamar, “We just found Kleiner’s…pet.”

“Everything’s under control, Violet, you can get back to work!” Kleiner added.

“I see.” Violet’s gravelly voice seemed quieter than usual, making Barney’s brows furrow a bit.

“You alright?” He asked.

Violet seemed puzzled. “Hm?”

“Are you doing alright? I have noticed you’ve been a bit…closed off for the past few hours.” Kleiner inquired.

“We have been…distracted…” Violet responded. “I imagine it will be cleared up soon.”

“We?” Barney asked.

Violet didn’t answer. “I must get back to helping the others…the teleporter is nearly ready for its first test...”

“Oh! Wonderful. I’ll be there in a little bit.” Kleiner stated as Violet left the room. Barney remained puzzled, looking back at Kleiner with a feeling of unease in his chest.

“She said ‘we’.” Barney stated.

“I’m aware,” Kleiner responded. “You see, the Vortigaunts are able to tap into something they refer to as the ‘Vortessence’, and are thus all conne–”

“I know, Doc, I just…” Barney paused for a second. “If she’s talking about all the Vortigaunts, then wouldn’t that be a bit worrying?”

“...Maybe, but I'm not sure.” Kleiner stated. “Though, one of the members of the survey team we sent earlier today was a Vortigaunt, and that team hasn’t returned yet so…maybe there is a connection there.”

“Maybe.”

“Either way, I believe i’ll go and speak with her, just to make sure everything’s alri–”

Barney’s phone ringing from his pocket interrupted their thoughts, and when Barney pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open, he saw the number was from one of his coworkers at the hospital. “Sorry, I gotta take this.”

“You’re fine, you go ahead and I’ll go check in with the others.”

Barney nodded, watching Kleiner leave the room before he answered the call and put his phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

Barney listened closely to the person on the other end of the phone, barely processing what they were saying. 

“What’s going on? 

Not going to believe what? 

So what, why are you telling me this?”

Barney listened closely, all before he felt his heart skip a beat. The sinking feeling in his chest was enough to render him silent, all before he let out a meek “I’ll call you later.”

Barney rushed out of the room, running past Kleiner in the process, nearly pushing him over as he approached the exit. “Barney? What’s going on, are you alright–” “They found him.” Barney’s voice shook as he spoke, with him barely being able to make out the words from how tight his throat was.

“Found who?”

Barney was already out of the building by the time Kleiner asked the question, leaving it unanswered.

Barney saw his own breath clouding in front of his face as he sprinted across the parking lot of the warehouse, nearly slipping on ice multiple times but not giving any time to care. When he reached his car, he swung the door open and crawled inside, starting the engine and speeding off without a single word. His thoughts ran through his head faster than his car was capable of going, slurring together without a single cohesive thought coming through. He didn’t care if he was a few miles above the speed limit; he needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible. He needed to see if what his coworker said was right.

If it was truly Gordon Freeman that was brought into the ER, he needed to be there.

When Barney made it to the hospital lot, he rushed through the front doors, looking around before approaching the front desk, out of breath from both the physical and mental strain that was put on him. Through harsh breaths, he asked, “Is Gordon Freeman here?”, with pleading eyes focused on the woman behind the desk.

“Oh, hello Mr. Calhoun, I can look through the system for a ‘Gordon Freeman’, if you’ll sit tight for a moment.” She looked towards the computer in front of her, typing in something and looking through files as Barney waited, his impatience building up inside of him.

“Fuck this.” He pushed himself away from the desk, storming down one of the hallways despite the woman at the front desk telling him he wasn’t allowed to as he was off duty. Barney rushed past hospital workers, asking them if they knew where Gordon was, only to be met with worried and frightened looks along with no answers. Barney’s frustration only grew as he ran through the hospital halls, with the familiar building beginning to feel like a maze meant to confuse him. As he ran further into the hospital wing, he slammed against one of the doctors in the hall, causing him to topple to the ground as Barney tripped over his own feet.

“Sorry, I just have to–”

“Barney? What the hell are you doing back here?” The man questioned as Barney sped past him.

“I’m looking for Gordon Freeman,” Barney answered, turning around. “Have you seen him?”

“He’s in the ER right now,” The man snapped back as he slowly stood up. “You can’t see him until he’s out of surgery.”

“Surgery? Is he safe? Is he alright?” Barney questioned, walking closer to the doctor. 

“Yes, he’ll be fine, just…” The doctor let out a tired sigh. “Get out of here, you’re off duty and risking your job with a stunt like this.”

“I need to see Gordon, alright?” Barney explained. “He’s been gone for a fucking DECADE, and he’s been found again, I can’t just leave him–”

“Calhoun.” The man raised his voice as he glared at Barney with a look of both contempt and pity. “...Listen, just wait until he’s out and I’ll see what I can do, do you understand?”

Barney remained silent for a moment, letting out a sharp breath before nodding. “Alright,” He stated, defeated. “But he better be getting the best treatment in there.”

“I’m sure they’re doing all they can, they understand his reputation–”

“I don’t care about his reputation, if i’m right, that’s my goddamn friend in there.” Barney spat. “...Let me know when he’s out. I need to at least…make sure it’s…the right guy.”

“I’m sure someone will let you know.” The doctor stated. “...Now please go back to the waiting room before I call security.”

Barney did as he was told, reluctantly walking across the hospital premises and back into the waiting room, where he will stay for another few hours. He paced around the room, bounced his foot up and down, fidgeted with his hands; anything to try and pass the time as the minutes passed by agonizingly slow. After he had already been there for what felt like days within the timespan of a few hours, he saw a nurse walk towards him. “Mr. Calhoun?”

Barney’s head lifted up, looking towards the nurse before following her down a hallway. After a couple-minutes walk, they stopped in front of a door leading to a recovery room. “He’s in there,” The nurse stated. “He’s currently sleeping, so I ask you to be quiet and not attempt to wake him up.”

“...Yeah.” Barney hesitated before walking through the door, stepping into the room, seeing a curtain blocking his view of the bed. He paused, standing in place for a moment as he wondered if the face he was about to see was truly Gordon, or simply someone mistaken as him. He wondered if he wanted the answer, or if he’d rather live in ignorance, avoiding the crippling disappointment if it wasn’t the man he thought it was, but as he walked past the curtain, every worry in his mind ceased and his thoughts became silent as he looked at the man on the bed.

Sure, his body was covered with blood-soaked bandages, his right leg was in a cast, he had medical equipment around him, and he was missing his glasses, but his face was painfully recognizable. Barney choked back a sob, covering his mouth when he saw Gordon’s face again.

“Are you alright?” The nurse behind him asked, noticing Barney’s teary-eyed look.

“I’m fine.” Barney whispered before letting out a short chuckle and a forced smile. “It’s just…he didn’t change a damn bit.”

Barney hadn’t even noticed it had been an hour since he entered the room, being surprised when he glanced at the clock and saw it was nearing 10 PM. He sat on a chair beside Gordon’s bed, having moved it from the corner of the room to right beside it. His leg bounced up and down as he looked at Gordon, all before lowering his head and letting out a deep sigh. He wished to speak to him but he was out of words he could possibly say at that very moment, not to mention the wish to stay quiet so Gordon could recover without being woken up. He wanted to tell Gordon everything that had happened in his absence; how Kleiner started up another lab to continue Black Mesa’s studies, how Eli also set up one on the other side of the city, and how Barney had finished college and was able to become a nurse. Gordon missed so much, and even though Barney wished to dump every piece of information onto him, he realized that even the realization that it had been ten years would be overwhelming enough. Thus, Barney figured to start simple, and just talk, like friends, for the first time since the Black Mesa incident.

As Barney leaned back into his seat he felt the back of his head hit something that wasn’t there before, feeling bitter cold yet organic at the same time, like a corpse’s fingers curling around the top of the backrest. He swung around, half expecting someone to be there, yet he saw nothing of the sort, seeing only the beige wall behind him. Barney let out his breath, looking back at Gordon before realizing he should head back; his stress and emotional state must have made him paranoid, not to mention the feeling of his hair standing on end. He stood up, walking towards the door out of the room before taking one last look back at Gordon before he finally left.

Later that night, Barney paced around his living room, being watched by his pet rottweiler as he talked on the phone. “The Survey team were the ones that found him?” he asked.

“That’s what they said,” Kleiner stated from the other side of the line. “The Vortigaunt was apparently the one that found him, specifically.”

“I see.”

“Quite Miraculous,” Kleiner continued, “The fact that Gordon had survived there for ten years before being found.”

“Yeah…” Barney unsurely stated under his breath.

“Nevermind that, what are you planning now?” Kleiner asked. “Should we have some kind of party? A celebration should be in order for him being back, I’d say–”

“I think he needs rest, he’s…been through a lot.” Barney stated. “I’ve thought of him staying over at my place until he can find a place of his own or until he recovers, but we’ll see how he’s feeling.”

“Are you sure? I’m sure we can find a spare room in the lab for him.”

“I dunno if he’d wanna live in a loud lab with a headcrab, doc.”

“...I suppose you have a fair point.”

“It was just so…strange.” Barney stated. “They say it was a ten year coma, but I don’t buy it. I don’t buy it at all.” “What makes you believe that?” 

“The fact he was bleeding. The fact he had fresh wounds from Black Mesa,” Barney elaborated, brows furrowed and his free arm crossing over his chest. “Not to mention the fact he was found with that…suit on.” “What kind of suit?” Kleiner questioned. “Oh, do you mean the Hazardous Environment Suit?”

“Yeah. Why would he be wearing it ten years after the incident was already over?”

“Who knows,” Kleiner sighed, “I’m sure I can talk with Eli to see if he has any ideas on–” Kleiner was interrupted by a loud crash and squeaking coming from behind him, audible through Barney’s phone. “Goodness gracious, LAMAR, NO–”

“You alright Doc?” 

“I’ll have to speak with you later, Lamar got in the vents again–Lamar get DOWN from there, that’s not safe!” After that, the call ended, and Barney was left to himself once again. Barney sighed, putting his phone back in his pocket before he heard a deep ruff coming from his dog, who was laying next to the couch in the living room, with its white patches of fur on its snout showing its age.

“You hear that, Gordon?” Barney said. “You might get a new roommate…a…different Gordon.”

The dog yawned and rested his head on his paws as Barney walked towards the living room couch, sitting on it and resting his feet on the coffee table in front of it. He leaned over the armrest, scratching the top of the dog’s head. “Guess I’ll have to explain to him why you’re also named Gordon, huh bud?”

Gordon didn’t respond, instead just letting out a soft ruff again. Barney leaned back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling before folding his hands on top of his stomach. He wasn’t looking forward to explaining why his pet was named after his friend, he realized. After all, it’s not very easy to tell someone you thought they were dead for years.

As soon as Barney received the call that Gordon was awake the following evening, Barney rushed back to the hospital to visit him once again. As he drove across the city, worries he didn’t think about before began to creep up inside his brain. Even though he didn’t necessarily believe the coma theory the doctors had, nor did he believe even they believed it fully, he thought of the possibility of it being true, and if Gordon would even remember who Barney was after a full decade of sleep. It would be a surprise if Gordon remembered anything after that amount of time, but Barney pushed down his pessimism, trying to be optimistic just this once.

After making his way down the hospital hallway once again, he found himself back in front of the door to Gordon’s room, with a nervous feeling deep in his gut as he prepared to walk inside. He took in a breath and stepped inside, looking towards the bed in which Gordon was laying on, only to have his gaze met by two bright green eyes, ones Barney hadn't seen since ten years prior. Barney froze in place, staring back at Gordon, who appeared to be surprised to see him. As Barney sat down in the chair beside the bed, he swallowed hard, wondering what he could possibly say now that Gordon was awake. As he thought to himself, a question left his mouth that he wasn’t initially planning on asking:

“Where were you?”

The question lingered in the air like a foul odor, with Gordon’s brows furrowing lip quivering slightly, all while he curled his hands into fists. He turned away from Barney, looking down at his feet, thinking of something to say, though his hands didn’t once lift up to sign a single word.

“You…disappear for 10 years without warning,” Barney continued. “Leaving everyone to believe you were dead.”

Gordon didn’t make eye contact with Barney as he spoke.

“I thought you were dead and buried somewhere, Gordon,” Barney choked. “But…You’re here in front of me now.”

Gordon glanced at Barney before he felt arms being wrapped around his shoulders, tight, but not too tight to make it hurt.

“I fucking missed you, Gordon.” Barney said as he hugged Gordon, feeling the gesture being returned to him. Gordon’s hands shook, feeling weak and cold, yet he didn’t want to let go of the single shred of kindness he had felt since what felt like eternity. After a few moments Barney let go, sitting back down with red, tear-filled eyes. 

“...You…missed a lot.” Barney stated; Gordon nodded knowingly in response. “I’d tell ya’ everything, but…I don’t even know how to start.”

“Are they safe?” Gordon’s hands were shaking, but Barney could make out the message regardless.

“Who, like…Kleiner? Eli?”

Gordon nodded slightly, lips pursed in anticipation. 

“They’re alright,” Barney assured, allowing Gordon to let out a breath. “In fact…they’re excited to see you again. Kleiner especially, he’s hoping to get you back into his lab…don’t know if you want to do that, but the offer’s there.”

Gordon appeared to have had a weight lifted off his shoulders at the news, but the cold yet somber gaze didn’t leave his eyes. Barney planned to tell Gordon that they were among the few survivors of the Black Mesa incident, but he bit his tongue for the time being.

“...Never thought you’d be in the history books, did ya?” Barney let out a lighthearted chuckle in an attempt to lighten the mood. “You’re a hero in everyone’s eyes, now.”

Gordon shook his head, looking down and away from Barney’s gaze as he clasped his hands together on his lap. Barney stared at him with a look of confusion and worry, all before forcefully clearing his throat. 

“I’m just…happy to see you alive, Gordon.” Barney stated. “After…a few years I began to…to lose hope.” Barney paused for a second, realizing Gordon was still not meeting his gaze. “...Should’ve known you were a tougher son of a bitch than that, I guess.”

Gordon scoffed slightly before shaking his head again, still staring at his feet. Silence fell as Barney attempted to think of something else to say to ease the tense atmosphere, though his thoughts were blank and void of any ideas. Barney looked towards Gordon yet again, seeing he was raising his hands up to sign something:

“Missed you too.”

Barney smiled slightly, despite feeling as if he wanted to cry right then and there. He never anticipated he’d be this emotional in his life, yet here he was; about to cry for the second time that day. Seeing his legally dead friend after ten years of being missing in action was enough to warrant it, he supposed.

“I’m sure the others will be happy to show you everything they’ve been working on,” Barney said, with Gordon finally looking back up at him, before looking directly behind him, “They’ve been working on a new telepor–”

Gordon flinched, staring at something behind Barney before attempting to crawl backwards, nearly ripping off his IV in the process. Barney looked behind him, seeing nothing but the wall before he heard a loud thud coming from the bed. He turned, seeing Gordon had fallen off of the bed and onto the cold linoleum floor. “Gordon!” Barney quickly ran to his aid, holding out an arm for Gordon to grab, lifting him off of the floor. When weight was put onto his right leg, Gordon grimaced, using Barney as leverage as he was put back onto the bed. “Jeez Gordon, what got you freaked out so ba–”

Barney was silenced when Gordon hugged him without warning. Barney could hear him quietly sobbing into his shoulder, and as he returned the hug, he wondered if he had ever seen Gordon so touchy before; It was as if he hadn’t had human contact in days. This time however, Barney wasn’t quick to let go. The last thing he wanted to do was leave his best friend behind again.

Not this time.

[whalesongsblog]

I beg you

Use all your whale knowledge and make a nerdy little marine biologist au with omi and Mira please I beg

I want all the whale facts, cute fluffy sweetness

okay. omg, first of all- this was the sweetest, loveliest thing to ask. I’m so genuinely flattered like you have no idea.

that being said- did I go overboard (ha) on this one? Maybe. but marine science is my greatest passion in life and I got carried away 😭✋🏾

I hope you like it!!!!

Megaptera novaeangliae

“We should have low swell for the rest of the day. Wind speed isn’t supposed to kick up over 12 knots, and hopefully the conditions can be classified at level 5.” Sweeping her wild mess of ink-black hair into a ponytail, Dr. Miradevi Lakshmi tucked a baseball cap sporting the letters ‘NOAA’ over her unruly locks. “Sound good?”

“Sure.” Her intern, Isaac, was a bright eyed fellow whose work lived up to the usual starry credentials. Bless his heart, the boy got things done.

He nodded and scribbled quick notes into a battered notebook, brows furrowed slightly. “The hydrophones are on deck- yes, they are covered with towels. We have the GPS in the equipment cooler, and the first data sheet is ready to go.”

A gentle, cool breeze swept through the port, the pale blue waters of the Pacific coast lapping against the docked research vessel. The RV Davidson was a beautiful ship, just her speed. Not large enough to get lost on, but not small enough that one breaching whale would send the crew overboard- which had happened once, surprisingly.

“And-“ the intern’s lips curled into a grin. He opened up the bulky clipboard storage box, readjusting the mess of papers and pencils in it with a knowing air. “You have a data transcriber with you .”

“Please tell me they’re not saddling me with one of those university kids again.” Mira said, wary. “Much love to them, but their eardrums are atrocious. I’ve had to go back and re-write so much data.” She leaned closer, her voice lowering conspiratorially. “One of them heard a B- call clear as day and logged it as as ship noise.”

“It’s because we listen to music so loud, it blows our eardrums out of whack.” Isaac said sagely. “But you don’t have to worry about that. You’re getting a pretty good guy from what I know.” He gestured, and Miradevi turned around.

The telltale rattle of a roller against wood instantly gave the ‘pretty good guy’ away.

Shit.

Her gaze caught the figure strolling towards her, White Cane in hand. Mira took a shaky inhale, willing down the tidal wave of emotion the swept through her.

Say something. Don’t stand there and gape like a fish. Say something- 
“Well, look who it is.”

… Idiot.

“I’m quite unable to do that, darling.” Dr. Ominis Gaunt stood before her, and the air between them simmered.

“Hello, Mira.”

Miradevi stiffened at hearing her name on his lips, his lilting voice washing up a slew of memories that were best kept locked away in a tiny little box in her head.

“Ominis.” She returned, reaching out for a handshake. She could be cordial. She could be professional. “It’s wonderful to have you with us again.”

Ominis gave her a slow smile as his hand dwarfed hers, the familiarity of the gesture almost crumbling her resolve. To make matter worse, his touch wandered to her shoulder, down her hip. The soft fabric of her t- shirt snagged under his touch, a trail of sparks left in the wake of his roaming fingertips.

“Taking advantage of California’s sunny weather?”

Mira pulled away, needing quite a lot of effort to do so. “I’m not the only one. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wearing cargo before.”

“A necessary evil.” Ominis flashed her a grin, adjusting the black sunglasses that perched on his nose. “But I daresay I’m doing it justice.”

Mira tried not to let her gaze catch on the open top buttons of his cotton shirt, or the way the sunlight illuminated every handsome angle of his face.

Despite being in the United States for a decent amount of time now, Ominis had not lost an ounce of his refined British accent- another thing she tried to push away from her mind.

“Come on.” Mira managed. “We’re leaving port soon, and I can’t leave my precious equipment in my intern’s grubby little paws.”

“Hey!” 

“I’m joking, Isaac. You’re doing great.” Miradevi offered him a quick smile. Her arm almost raised to loop with Ominis’ as he readjusted the grip on his cane. Almost.

She lowered it the second she realized what she was doing, and awkwardly gestured for him to follow her onto the vessel. It seemed the universe was out to get her in one way or the other- perhaps this was payment for the weather conditions being miraculously perfect.

“I read your paper, Dr. Lakshmi.” Ominis’ voice lowered to a murmur. Seagulls cried overhead and the clamor of fishermen, researchers, and tourists bustling around the ports muted to a dull echo. “On climate change influencing poleward shifts in the migration patterns of Grey whales. It was.. fascinating.”

Her response was less than enthused.

“…Yeah.” Her words were quiet, heavy with bitter dissapointment. “It was- it was fun to write.”

Ominis paused just short of the gangplank, gripping Mira’s upper arm. “Don’t do that.” His voice was quiet, but firm. “Not this again. Look-“ Ominis tilted his head slightly. “Is anyone around?”

Mira darted her gaze over the deck, before shaking her head. 
“No. But-“

Ominis cut her off, his voice low.

“You are making an impact, Mira. I promise. No legislative action can be taken without data, and without the work we do, policy has no legs to stand on. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, but it doesn’t seem to register with you how important the works we do is-“

Mira turned to face him, the wind sweeping pieces of her hair out of her ponytail. She fought the urge to snap back, old emotions returning full force at the familiar dance they were falling into. He seemed to know it too, his shoulder stiffening as she began to talk, his lips setting in a thin line.

“The Atlantic is exploding in boundary conflicts over who gets to plunder Tuna stocks before they move into some other countries’ geographic jurisdiction.” She turned away at the look on Ominis’ face, not wanting to see the irritation in his eyes. “Trade wars over who gets to decimate commercial- and highly endangered, mind you- fish populations first, and here I am writing another goddamn paper that’ll sit somewhere collecting digital dust.”

“Is that really what you think you’re doing?” Ominis snapped as he followed her into the ship, his cane feeling for obstacles in his path. “What we’re doing? That it’s useless to do the sort of research we do?” 

“No, of course n- that’s not what I’m saying.” Mira pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m just saying that the things we do need to go further. We can’t stop at producing the data and hoping someone in Congress will do something about it. Gods know they barely read the memos we send them-“

“I know. Trust me, I know. But- gods, we’ve talked about this, Rara. You’d be giving up everything you’ve worked for to do what? Play kindergarden teacher for a bunch of legislators that need to be walked through the reasons that climate change is real? It’s a waste of your intelligence.”

“Thankfully you don’t really have any ground to give me life advice, Ominis.” Mira hissed, stung. “What I do with my career is my business. Not yours.”

Her mild surprise at his silence was short lived because the next thing she knew, he had pushed her into one of the cabins, slamming the door shut behind them. A table stood in the corner by the porthole, a chunky laptop sprouting wires firmly attached to it. 
Ominis snatched the sunglasses off his face, folding them and tossing them onto the table where they fell with a clatter. Mira took a step back, faltering at the glint in his star- streaked eyes. 


“Not my business?” He growled, stalking forwards. “I think you’ll find that what you do is, in fact, very much my business.”

“Is that why you turned and left the second we got back on land after the Antarctica mission?” Miradevi asked drily. “Also, you’re not exactly giving off intimidating vibes right now, Mr. Cargo Pants.”

“You were the one telling me that you weren’t interested-“

“I- I was interested! I was very much interested, I didn’t know you needed more proof on top of all the things we did on that ship!”

“You- frustrating, aggravating woman.” Ominis snarled, striding forwards. “You were scared. You were scared and it threw me off, and I was stupid enough to believe that you preferred me out of your life. But I know that’s not true anymore.”

“Presumtuous of you. And things have changed, clearly.”

Ominis gave a low, derisive laugh.

“Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me the truth, and say that you’re scared to go all in and explore what we have.” He took another step closer. His hand reached up and brushed her face, tentative.

Miradevi fought not to lean into his touch, her lashes fluttering slightly.

“Mira.”

He spoke her name like a caress. “Tell me.” Ominis repeated, voice softer. “And I’ll walk away.”

“I-“ Mira paused, head spinning wildly. The fact that she was here to do research was quickly taking a back bench, which was unnacceptable. “Ominis. Not now, alright? Please. Let’s just talk about this later.”

Dr. Ominis Gaunt listened as the woman he was madly in love with gathered her things and swept from the small cabin room, the iron door slamming behind her.

“Fuck.” He hissed, frustration lacing his voice as he dragged a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

xxxxxxxxxxxx

“The UAVs are picking up Humpback whales about a hundred meters at our three o’clock.” Captain Sharp of the RS Davidson pointed out the drone footage on their screens. The ship pitched slightly from a rolling wave and Mira gripped the edge of a desk, squinting at the computer.

“That’s a pod, with two potential Young of the Years. Can we head for their direction? We’ll kill the engines when we reach within a few yards, and I’ll deploy the hydrophones.”

“Are they travelling?” Ominis leaned back, arms crossed. His mind still hung on the heated words he��d exchanged with the other marine biologist- the way her breathing hitched as his hands brushed over her face.

“No, they’re- ah, that’s cute.” Mira’s voice softened, taking on that tone he knew so well. The soft, reverent lilt in her voice that one might use when speaking to a baby. “They’re spyhopping.”

There was a reason Mira had a bit of a reputation in the cetacean research community. Tagging whales was notoriously difficult, and collecting acoustic data was a hit or miss. Unless you had Dr. Lakshmi on board. Then, somehow, the gentle giants would behave beautifully, the spectograms thrumming with their songs echoing through the vast ocean. Mira brushed the praise off with a blush and a muttered excuse, but Ominis knew better.

She loved whales, beyond anything. They were her pride and joy, the sole focus of her career, her life. She’d told him that they were just returning the adoration she had for them.

Once, one of the many occasions they’d ended up tangled in bed together, he’d pulled her closer and joked that she’d go and live in the ocean with a pod of whales if she could.

“Endlessly swimming the vast oceans, singing to each other.” He’d murmured, tracing his fingertips along the curve of her hip, along her upper thigh. “You’d love that, I bet.”

Her eyes had unfocused slightly, gazing off as she thought about it.

“…Yeah.” She agreed, voice quiet. “I really would.”

“Isaac, get Dr. Gaunt a pair of headphones, please.”

“Oh, yeah- of course.” Isaac darted off, balancing against the swell of waves gently rocking the ship as he rustled in the equipment cooler for an extra pair. Jogging back, he handed it to Ominis and quickly plugged it into the hydrophone equipment.

“Thank you.” Ominis murmured, clicker at the ready. Another scientist sat on a low bench, pen poised over paper. Ominis pressed the headphones over his ears, waiting for the telltale crackle of the equipment turning on.

“There.” Mira brushed her hands off, pulling back from where she had leaned almost dangerouly close over the ships railing, deploying the mic underwater and dialing up the volume on the connected radio. Ominis’ headphones washed to life with a burst of static, then-

He closed his eyes, not that it made a difference. But his shoulders relaxed as the sound of the ocean filled his most trusted sense. Rapid clicks, snaps, and pops- the distant thrum of the engine, the occasional thump of some geological shift in the cracked volcanoes and rifts far beneath the surface. And-

there. The sound he’d been waiting for.

Ominis pressed the clicker once. “Upsweep.” He murmured, as his words were hastily recorded. “Repeating phrases- it’s a pod of mostly males. They’re not too far, and are possibly feeding.”

Miradevi snuck a glance through her binoculars, catching sight of the pod of whales. She whistled softly, impressed. “And they call me the whale whisperer. The title should go to you, Dr. Gaunt. You’re practically speaking their language.”

Ominis laughed softly, barely hearing her words over the sounds of the ocean through the headphones. “High praise, Dr. Lakshmi.” He murmured softly. He wanted to take her wrist and tug her down to sit beside him, to kiss every inch of her exposed neck and draw those soft gasps of his name from her lips-

He shook his head, blinking. His thumb snapped down on the clicker again. “Social call. Possibly a whup or a growl, I didn’t quite get it.”

“Did it have an upsweep?”

“I’ll have to go back and listen to it again.”

Focus.

Ominis shifted slightly, brows furrowed. Focus.

There was a sharp huff, accompanied by the splash of water- and a Humpback surfaced beside the ship, exhaling a puff of water vapor before slipping back down beneath the waves.

And Mira’s delighted laugh carried over his headphones, burrowing into his heart.

xxxxxxxxxx

Miradevi scrubbed her eyes slightly, her vision blurring. The jagged, colorful graphs of the spectogram were hurting her eyes at this point, the peaks melting together in a headache-inducing mess. She slipped off her glasses and winced at the sharp pain in her head, the uncomfortable throb behind her ears from wearing the headset for so long.

She groaned softly at the knock on her cabin door, massaing her temples. 
“I’m sleeping. Unless you have a cup of hot chocolate and an Advil, then I’ll tolerate the disturbance.”

“Hot chocolate, yes. Advil, no.” Ominis nudged open her door, letting it shut behind him as he took a seat beside her. “Looking over the data?”

“Mm.” Miradevi gratefully accepted the warm cup, the scent of chocolate soothing her frayed neurons. “They were chatty today.” She took a sip, leaning back in her chair. The silence stretched for a moment, before she hazarded an attempt at breaking it.

“You’ve recorded everything beautifully, as usual. I don’t know how you manage to hear every little thing, but-“

“Makes up for not being able to see, I suppose.”

“Ha.”

The faint roar of the engine droned in the background, accompanied by the rush of water cleaving around the ship.

“I thought you wanted nothing to do with me after Antarctica.” Mira’s voice was quiet. “And even if I was wrong- Ominis, we’d never work. I’m thinking about restructuring my career, your job at Duke is going great- what if we mess it all up?”

Ominis was silent for a moment. 
“Whale songs can travel 10,000 miles underwater.” He finally said, without preamble. His voice was quiet, his gaze fixed slightly to the left of the port window. “They used to be able to hear each other across entire oceans, before humans came in with our… noise. Our drilling, our military equipment testing, our SONAR. Now, they probably can’t hear across those vast distances anymore.”

“… Right.” Mira said, brows furrowed. “Anthropogenic noise pollution. It’s a pretty big conservation concern.”

“I feel like- I’m saying things but you’re not hearing me, Rara.” Ominis finally turned to face her. “And there’s no noise between us. There never has been. What are you not hearing, my love?”

A lump tightened her throat, a sudden burn of tears in her eyes as Ominis took her hands, leaning closer. “Listen to me. I- you are- everything, to me. Do what you want with your career, Mira. I’ll be the wind under your wings, I swear it. I just- I can’t do this.” He laughed, but it wavered slightly. “I’d be another 52 Hertz without you, love.”

“Oh, don’t you dare.” Mira whispered, her voice cracking. A mix of amusement and emotion caught her voice as she tried to speak. “You can’t get me in my feelings by using the 52 Hertz whale, that’s unfair.”

“Ah, well- what can I say? That’s what I am without you, my heart.” Ominis pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. “As I said before- say no, and I swear I’ll walk away. But I have to ask, Mira. Please.” He stood, gently tugging her to her feet.

“Let me ask.”

The terrifying part was that she knew her answer. Since the moment he’d kissed her in a flurry of joy at capturing precious data on elusive Fin whales in Antarctica. She knew.

“Take a chance.” Ominis murmured. “Let us try. I won’t let it crash and burn, I promise.”

His heart slammed against his ribs as her breathing wavered, her fingers reaching up to fist in the fabric of his shirt. 
“Mira-“

“Ominis.”

She surged forwards, her lips capturing his. A breathless gasp escaped him, his hands falling to her hips, tugging her closer. 

“That’s it.” He breathed, kissing her again, again, again- “My stunning, incredible girl-“

“Promise me it won’t go bad. Promise me we’ll be happy.” It felt like a childish question- a juvenile request in the face of something they couldn’t control. But Ominis nodded, his forehead resting against hers, barely able to hold himself back as he felt her soft huffs of air against his lips.

She tasted like chocolate.

“I promise we’ll be happy. And if- if anything ever happens-“ he kissed her again, relishing in her sharp intake of breath. “We’re scientists. Problem solving is our forte.”

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Mira gestured at the slideshow, the meticulously arranged graphs laid out before her. Ominis stood beside her at the head of the conference table, head tilted slightly as he heard her speak.

“Data that we have collected through our research cruises show that Blue whales are moving further towards busy shipping channels as the waters get warmer. They seek out colder, nutrient- rich water closer to the coasts and run the risk of entanglement with fishing gear, or getting struck by ships. We have an easy fix here-“

“Dr. Lakshmi, the global economy is run on maritime trade. We cannot compromise the income generated from the smooth running of our commercial vessles for- whales.”

Ominis bristled, lips curling slightly into a snarl. “Then it is a good thing we are not suggesting bringing shipping activity to a screeching halt, sir.”

Laying a gentle hand on his shoulder, Mira gave what she hoped was a winning smile to the man who’d spoken up. Getting a group of business executives and government officials to do anything was like herding cats. Bespoke-suit- wearing, very uncooperative cats. And it didn’t help that Ominis was rapidly losing his patience with them.

“What my colleague-“

“Fiance.”

Miradevi nudged him slightly, but couldn’t do anything about the grin on her face or the heat on her neck.

“Right. My fiance. What he means, what we are trying to say- is that there is a solution. We establish Traffic Separation Schemes, and keep ships away from known whale migration paths. It would also increase maritime safety, and reduce risk of ship collision.”

Silence, from the men in the room.

“How much will this cost us, Dr. Lakshmi?” Congressman- well, she hoped his name would not come up because she’d forgotten it already- spoke up, folding his arms across his chest. “Rerouting ships, establishing new routes? Do you have approval from the IMO?”

“Yes, sir. And from NOAA, as well as the National Marine Sanctuaries. A few shipping companies are also on board, based on preliminary surveys. We just need your cooperation.”

Please. Mira crossed her fingers behind her back. Please, please-

With a snap of the black folders before them and a rustle of fabric, the assembled members in the conference room stood. The congressman whose name she still did not remember nodded slightly wearily, and shook her hand. “Very well, Dr. Lakshmi. Dr. Gaunt.” He nodded at Ominis, who gave him a wry smile. “We look forward to your cooperation on this endeavour.”

“Wh- thank you. And- yes, we- we’ll be in touch.” Mira tried to calm the slam of her heart against her ribs, the ecstasy pounding through her veins.

Ominis shook the congressman’s hand, practically feeling Mira’s waves of hyperactive energy, her joy at getting something done. As soon as everyone had filed from the room, she laughed, breathless, and he lifted her into his arms as a grin curled his lips.

“Congratualations, my love.” He murmured, peppering kisses along her neck. “What shall we do to celebrate your first big win?” 

“Maybe my future husband can take me to the aquarium?”

He heard the smile in her voice, and fell in love with her all over again.


“He certainly can. And a long walk on the beach afterwards?”

“While looking for weirdly shaped seashells?”

Ominis laughed, almost dizzy from how much he adored her.

“Of course, my love. Of course.”

xxxxxxxx

The sun burned a brilliant orange as it dipped over the sky. Mira was a few paces ahead of Ominis as she examined the wet sand, digging for little creatures and shells to bring back to him.

As stars began to shine in the darkening sky, and the promise of returning to their shared flat together hung in the horizon, Mira allowed herself a moment to relish in the peace of what she feared she’d never have.

But Ominis was her peace. A song, reaching across an expanse of ocean to find her, and draw her back home.

Somewhere, the boundless ocean echoed with the haunting melodies of the largest animals in the world- songs of their love, joy, and fear resonant in their undecipherable music. A hidden testimony of a world so far beyond our own, wrapped in a language only the vast sea will ever know.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

AN: AAAAA I HOPE I DID YOUR ASK JUSTICE! Its my first writing ask omg

Anyways uhhh whales make me SO emotional I love them so much. If anyone wants to yap about the ocean or marine animals, feel free.

Marine biologist Ominis my BELOVED. I feel like he’d be an incredible acoustician

[missin-you-already]

Hi... I am requesting headcanons about clones. Pls and thank u ❤️

OKAY!! Below the cut because like always, I wrote a lot <3

Clones were used much more sparingly prior to the apocalypse because, y'know, it was harder to hide. Umbrella killed off most of their surviving paramilitary once the new world plan was in motion. Who needs 'em when you have their DNA on file and can make endless, more loyal copies of them to do your dirty work? Most of the helmeted/gas mask-wearing U.S.S. members we see after the second film are clones.

No clone knows they're a clone. They're not supposed to, anyway. U.S.S. clones like those in Prime operate under the belief that they are the original and the majority of those around them are the clones. It's not something they're allowed to openly discuss, so their bubble remains unpopped.

Dr. J. Isaacs comes from the era of more sparsely used cloning. You only did it if somebody useful died unexpectedly or if the original was in no position to end up in the room as the copy (i.e., Alice/Alicia or Dr. Isaacs/Dr. J. Isaacs).

Clones can be grown to any age. Many clone children used in simulations are young versions of people currently or previously under their employ.

However, they do occasionally combine DNA to create children. Depends the on the facility. Becky is made from Alice and Carlos'.

Clones have perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth straight out of the cold storage. This is one way to tell them apart from who the real deals!

U.S.S. clones in particular often end up with slightly unsettling smiles. There's just something off about them. It's largely to do with their programming.

They also have retinal implants similar to what you see Jill and Nemi have. The ones in Prime can be directly fed orders by RQ this way.

Clones used for bioweapon testing are programmed to instinctively want to stay away from the boundaries of testing floors. It gives them that awful gut feeling they're in the wrong place or something terrible will happen. Some still occasionally slip through, though. Like Good Rain!

U.S.S. clones are programmed to have muted emotions and not form attachments with others. They end up with a lack of comradery that often gets them killed quicker as a result.

The memory imprints given to soldiers are often negative. Stuff that paints Umbrella as a savior who came along and made their shitty lives better.

Some thoughts I have about individual clones + more stuff about names:

RAIN

Okay, before I talk about her clones, I'm actually gonna ramble about how I HC her surname. In the films, it's Ocampo. In Genesis, it's Melendez. I write it as Rain Melendez Ocampo. It is a double-barreled, unhyphenated surname. It's often been shortened to just Ocampo or M. Ocampo because of the length, or because people confuse Melendez as her middle name. Melendez is one of her father's last names and Ocampo is her mother's.

For Bad Rain, I call her Rain Melendez. She's Rain without the heart, manufactured to be a cold and efficient soldier. More of an actual bitch, if you will, so she gets the last name of her Genesis counterpart.

She's fourteen when the apocalypse starts. Or she thinks she is, anyway. False past and all that. She's about the age the real Rain was when she died.

Rain Melendez has always been terrible with people. She didn't have any friends as a kid, or any family aside from her mother. Their relationship wasn't great. Rain wanted nothing more than to join the military at 18 and get away.

Her mother was killed by the infected during her hometown's evacuation. After that, she survived on her own until she got caught stealing supplies from an Umbrella van. They offered her a job. Sure, it was dangerous, but they would be supplying her with the best weapons on offer, a solid roof over her head, and food. She thought anybody would be stupid to say no.

She's gone through more reprogramming sessions than other clones because of disobedience.

Good Rain gets the film last name. Rain Ocampo. She's all heart.

Unlike the other two Rains, whose full first names are simply Rain, hers is Larraine. She doesn't like it. Don't call her that <3

She's an environmental activist in her free times and works at a recycling plant.

She lives in one of those one-story apartments with her best friend. He's a J.D. clone, of course. Their next-door neighbor is Bart Kaplan.

Rain loves outdoorsy shit like hiking, climbing, and biking.

She also didn't have friends in her false childhood. She sure tried to make them but was viewed as the weird/dorky kid.

ALICE

Like most people, I use Abernathy as her last name 'cause she doesn't have one in the films. She is a clone of Alicia Marcus, though, so the shared part comes in the middle name.

Alice J. Abernathy.

Alice Janus-Prospero Abernathy. Taken from what was originally meant to be Alice's full, real name in drafts/a piece of Apocalypse promo material, of course... Soooo... I just say Alicia's middle name is Prospero.

Alice figured out she's a clone shortly before beginning her mission against Umbrella, but promptly forgot because... y'know, she got hit with nerve gas and lost her memory.

She doesn't relearn her full name until seeing it in files about her.

Because of her marriage to Todd, Suburban Alice took his surname. Oliveira.

The idea of a "Bad Alice" clone is fun, I think. Alice is supposed to be a "basic model", after all. I like the name Alice Prospero for her.

KAPLAN

I just made a post about regular IT guy Bart Kaplan in Suburbia haha. I probably never would've guessed Kap's first name in the films, but it's actually crazy they called him Bartholomew in Genesis.

The U.S.S. clone is named Joseph Kaplan. Taken from his middle name in the first novel.

BECKY

Her surname is Oliveira.

CARLOS

In these films, the spelling "Olivera" is used, but I still use the game spelling (Oliveira) for him.

The U.S.S. clone gets the Olivera spelling.

He comes from the U.S. like the Carlos of the novels, but the actual film version was born in Brazil.

As you may have gathered, I use Oliveira for Suburban Carlos (Todd) as well.

J.D.

The U.S.S. clone is named Jason Hawkins. Jason is what I HC J.D.'s first name to be, and Hawkins is taken from his Genesis counterpart.

The Suburbia clone is J.C. Salinas. His first name is also Jason, he just uses a different nickname.

He's Good Rain's roomate/best friend.

He's sort of a more stereotypical hippie. I found a pic of J.D.'s actor with chin-length hair and a short beard, and that's how I imagine him looking.

WARNER

The U.S.S. clone is Alfred Warner. No special reason why, just think it has the same energy as Alfonso :p

The real Warner preferred to either be called by his surname or a nickname (Rain often used Alf. Like the puppet!), and the clone is the same way. His most commonly used nicknames are Fred and Al, the latter of which the real Warner did not like.

DREW

Vince Drew is the name of the U.S.S. clone. Again, similar feel to Vance Imo.

Like the real Drew, Vince has no actual preference between being called his first or last name, but most people use his his last.

WESKER

I have never thought about Wesker clones until I was writing the part where Alice asks why Leon started working for Wesker, and I had Good Rain internally question why they were talking about "the weird dude who works at the pharmacy where they get Becky's scripts" lol.

I also considered making him a cop (because of course).

Suburbia Wesker goes by Bert, which is a nickname I imagine the real Wesker fucking hates <3

ISAACS

The difference in what the two clones are called comes in the middle names. The original Isaacs is Dr. Alexander Roland Isaacs.

The Isaacs clone in two and three is Dr. Alexander Jason Isaacs, named partially after the unnamed doctor in RE his character later became. He was played by Jason Isaacs.

The TFC clone is Alexander Samuel Isaacs. It comes from the name Sam Isaacs in the novels.

Don't really have anything to say about clones of One, Spence, or Olga :/

[jjtheresidentbaby]

Hiiii!!! Sorry to be sending in a request at the moment as I'm pretty sure I already sent one in earlier 😅 but I just read your Kira bedroom Headcannons list and absolutely loved it!!! And I was wondering if I could request the same thing but an Isaac version??? <3

Hope you're having a good day/afternoon/night!!!

🫐Little Isaac Bedroom Headcanons 🫐 ➢ event masterlist

a/n: I’m on season 5 of tw & I haven’t seen Isaac in a bit so please forgive me if this is a bit ooc

1. What kind of bed do they sleep in? What size is it?

- he sleeps in a full size bed that has a brand new mattress per Melissa, he’s still living in Scott’s guest room but overtime it’s really just become Isaac’s room instead of the “guest room”. the bed frame is wood and really sturdy, it’s nothing fancy, Isaac doesn’t mind and he likes that there’s little marks from when Scott was younger as the frame used to be his, when he’s regressed he’ll sit up by the headboard and trace over the small divots left

2. How many pillows do they sleep with? What’s the color of their pillows?

- only two pillows, but a million plushies. he has grayish blue pillow cases that match his sheets and were a gift from Allison

3. How many blankets do they sleep with? What colors are they?

- his comforter is actually Scott’s old one but that only maybes Isaac love it more. when he’s regressed he likes to huddle under it and just bask in how safe he feels, it feels protecting in a way. he also has a couple throw blankets that he’ll drape over his comforter before going to bed but most times he just wants his comforter, yes this means he’ll drag the whole thing into the living room to watch a movie

4. Where do they keep their clothes? How are their clothes organized?

- he has a wood dresser that was already in the room when Isaac moved in, he makes sure his clothes are folded as in his childhood home it was always very important to be as neat as possible. Melissa tells him he can relax here, the most he ever does is leave a hoodie hanging from the post of his bed frame

5. What kind of light sources do they have? How many do they have? Why?

- so so many light sources. he has a nightlight plugged in at all times, his main lamp, fairy lights by his bed, a little lamp on his window sill — if it can light up Isaac wants it. anything that keeps the darkness away is going to make him happy

6. What colors are their bedroom walls?

- a cream color that’s a little darker than the normal cream color most think of, Melissa picked it out when Scott was a kid and they had just moved in but she offered to repaint for Isaac, he politely declined. he really likes how bright the room looks when the curtains are open and lights are on, it’s comforting for him

7. What does their bedroom look like? What kind of furniture do they have in there? How big is it?

- his bedroom is a little smaller than Scott’s but nothing major. his bed is against the wall on the right, a window on the back wall between where his bed is and where his dresser is, and then a small desk is on the side where his dresser is. he never really uses the desk for anything but more storage but occasionally he’ll play army men on it while regressed

8. What kind of floor does their bedroom have? What color?

- he has wood floors like every other room in the McCall house (bathrooms not included) and Isaac actually really likes the wood floor because it allows him to slide on his socks across his room

9. Do they have any toys? Do they sleep with any of them?

- he has a lot of plushies but also a ton of those little toy cars, Scott even gets him the tracks that lets him race them! the plushies are mostly gifts from Allison or Lydia, there’s no real theme to them just anything the two deemed cute enough for Isaac to have. he only really sleeps with whatever one’s happen to end up in his bed that night, he has no preference and loves them all equally

10. Do they have any rugs? If so, what color are they?

- he has a small blue rug by his bed but most times he kicks it under his bed so he can zoom around on his socks or so he can set up race at tracks across the entire floor

11. Are there any decorative elements to their bedroom? What are they? Why?

- he has a mobile hung above his bed that Derek got for him, it’s peter rabbit themed as Isaac really enjoys the books & Derek got him a matching nightlight too, he cherishes them both

12. What are some of the things they do in their bedroom?

- he likes to read, yes okay cars & toys & mess around too, but reading isn’t something he ever got to fully relax into as a kid so he appreciates being able to now. sometimes he regresses too small to read his books himself so he’ll ask Scott or Allison to read to him and of course they both jump to do it, sometimes they read together and switch off doing funny voices for characters which always has Isaac laughing

13. Do they share their bedroom with anyone. If so, who?

- technically it’s his own room but occasionally Theo or Scott will end up asleep somewhere in it, whether it be on the floor (probably theo) or next to Isaac in bed (definitely scott), Isaac actually really likes having other people in his room as it reminds him he’s not alone

[wolfbaenes]

my centerfold | pack

when the pack had grown big enough, derek had tucked the camaro away into a storage unit.

he'd never had any real attachment to the car; it was something he'd bought between new york and beacon hills, a band-aid he'd haphazardly placed over the bleeding wound that was his missing pack. it hadn't done much of anything for him; it hadn't brought back his family, hadn't gotten rid of the smear that was kate argent, hadn't removed that sad edge to his sister's smile. if anything, he thought, it just made laura even sadder; his overcompensatory attempt at making himself seem better than he'd ever been was glaring and embarrassing. but the act of admitting that⎯of quietly turning in the camaro and getting something more reasonable, something that'd just as easily and more comfortably cart the two detached spirits that carried the legacy of the hale pack now⎯felt even worse, so he didn't.

not until scott mccall. scott and stiles and allison⎯then erica and boyd and isaac and lucy, and all of the others that poked their heads into his life after them. not until he regularly found himself picking up unlicensed high schoolers and driving them home after full moons, or chauffeuring ice cream adventures, or taking road trips at three a.m. just so that atticus could listen to that coldplay song on repeat for three hours without bothering anyone. then it didn't make sense to keep the camaro; not when his life had expanded beyond two souls⎯when so many people now carried the hale legacy, in name and blood and every other thing that mattered even more⎯and the world was too full for such a compact vehicle. so he'd gotten a storage unit to hide the camaro in and he'd bought (what scott liked to call) a soccer mom car. and he could take the teasing; as long as allison was sitting in the passenger seat, twisting around to jump into whatever story lydia and quinn were telling, and kira was nodding off against the window with liam's jacket around her shoulders, and bailey was sticking her tongue out at isaac before giggling⎯⎯he'd take all of the teasing in the world for that.

sometimes, though, he did like to pull the camaro out of hiding. it wasn't fit for what he had now, for a family, but⎯sometimes, it worked.

jude had spent the first handful of minutes of this trip looking around in awe and poking every button derek let her get away with. luxury was not familiar to her; the mayers drove a beaten down volkswagen and jude had been riding the same bike since she was eleven. ("it helps that i haven't had a growth spurt since then, either," she'd joked once.) the camaro wasn't the height of opulence, not for derek, but it was new for jude, and he allowed her to poke around with curiosity. it was rare that he got to be alone with her; partially because of the people who loved them, but partially because he went out of his way to make sure they weren't alone. but he'd told himself that he wouldn't run away this time; there were things he couldn't say in front of everyone, not yet, but he wouldn't hide them from jude. not if she needed him to say them.

after ten minutes, jude leaned back in her seat and fell into silence. it wasn't often that she did that, but derek didn't push her out of it. she'd speak eventually.

sure enough, when the hale house was less of a destination and more of a nearing landmark, jude spoke. "professor hale," she said softly. she always called him that; no matter how much derek told her she could call him by his first name, she never did. she was a lot like xochitl in that matter; small, too, like she'd wither and fall away if derek stopped looking. but he thought maybe there was a difference in that. he hummed. jude took a breath. "i've been reading over the memoir you gave me. i mean⎯⎯you know me, i'm a slow reader, so it's taking forever. but i've been reading it."

"...okay."

jude pressed her lips tight together. "is⎯you never answered me before. why did you give it to me?"

derek's hand tightened on the wheel. he didn't mean to. he'd known that jude would ask eventually; he'd been banking on it. he'd been hoping that she would figure it out herself, so that he'd never have to say the words. he still had not worked up the courage to ever say the words. but it was just the two of them here, and if he was ever going to be brave enough to admit it, then it would be now.

kind of.

"i was hoping," he said slowly, "that you'd figure that out for me."

jude stared straight ahead. out of the corner of his eye, derek saw her mouth open, saw her tongue peek out and drag across her lips. he saw her blink a few times, wet and stubborn. "did you know kate?" she asked, her voice scarily quiet. "before the fire, before⎯⎯" she blinked again, harder. "did you know her?"

from this distance, derek could hear the pack, just faintly. hardly, over jude's beating heart. "more than i wish i had," he confessed.

and he heard jude's heart break, right in his hands.

they didn't say anything else in the few minutes that passed before they pulled up to the house. he pretended not to see jude roughly wipe her hands across her face, though it hadn't been wet in the first place. when he killed the engine, the two of them sat there for a moment. "i'm sorry," jude whispered. he thought she might cry, for real this time, but she didn't. "professor."

what was the right thing to say to that? i'm not⎯well, that would be a lie. i am, too⎯and what would that do to her?

derek placed a hand over jude's wrist and squeezed. "come on. atticus takes these things very seriously."

jude smiled, tight, and sniffled.

they got out of the car. derek grabbed jude's bag out of the trunk; it'd taken more work than he'd ever expected, but they'd finally convinced jude to spend a few nights at the pack house. they'd missed the new moon by a week, so atticus was overcompensating by making the moon circle a week-long retreat of sorts, even though they would be staying at the house they already lived in. what mattered, though, was that jude would be there the entire time, just like the rest of them. and after much pleading and wheedling, jude had agreed.

derek didn't know if his admission had anything to do with that. he didn't know how to feel one way or the other.

the house was fully in motion by the time they stepped inside. the scent of hot food hit derek like a particularly delicious train and he started salivating in an instant. laughter poured out of every corner of the house as everyone put on their pajamas and grabbed their most prized stuffed animals in anticipation for the night. a fair number of them had never sat in for a moon circle before, but they'd been warned about how emotionally taxing it could be; any sort of comfort was encouraged.

coming down the stairs in a pair of his most comfortable sweats and a hoodie that derek would swear used to sit in his closet, camden grinned at the sight of them. "jude, hey! you made it!"

"as if i'd ever turn down a moment with my favorite firefighter," jude said around a grin of her own, stepping into camden's offered hug. no one mentioned that jude had, on many occasions, turned down moments with camden and the pack in general. "ooh, something smells good. who cooked?"

"the usual suspects. come on, i'll make you a plate." with his arm around jude's shoulders, camden led her towards the kitchen in search of food. if he noticed her red-rimmed eyes, then he had enough kindness and tact not to point it out.

"here, i'll take that," alicia said, taking jude's bag from derek. "i'm heading upstairs anyway. she's staying with malia, right?"

"i think so⎯thanks." derek watched as alicia took the bag upstairs to drop off, before he made his way back towards the backyard, where people were gradually trickling in.

atticus had been particular about the details for their moon circles. the fact that the timing was off already didn't sit right with her, so they warded off any meltdowns by agreeing to whatever else she wanted. they couldn't have it inside, because the living room was a space where they should always be comfortable and feel at ease. even though the moon circles would eventually bring them peace, it would also bring up a lot of bad feelings that she didn't want them to necessarily associate with their own home. the sunroom wasn't big enough for all of them, and atticus had waved away the witches' offer to make it bigger. in mid-march, it was still a little cold for everyone to be sitting outside for hours, but cass and cecelia had worked their magic to create a warm bubble that'd keep them all at just the right temperature without making them freeze or sweat. as people finished eating and ventured out of the house, they took their spots in the bubble, naturally forming a wide circle that would hold them all.

as scott rushed past him to tackle daryl into a hug⎯which the man pretended to hate, but that did nothing for the fondness in his eyes and scent⎯derek looked at his gathering pack. he loved them. he loved them so tenderly, so wholeheartedly, he could barely breathe around it. and he'd driven the camaro tonight, because it'd afforded him a private moment with jude, but he thought he'd might the right choice. he'd trade it in again, a hundred times over, just to have more space for all of them.

sipping from a thermos of steaming tea and drowning in clothes that did not belong to her at all, lydia paused, then pointed a manicured finger at him. "whose turn it is with the emotional support parents, by the way?"

"mine!" suzy declared, dropping down beside lydia. "i never get to sit next to derek and allison at these things. that's a hate crime. derek, come sit next to me."

"that's rich," danny said, leaning against theo. "especially considering you've gone on record to say that you don't need emotional support."

"record? what record? i know nothing about a record," suzy sniffed.

danny raised an eyebrow. "no? someone pull up the record, i need to make a point."

"don't you dare!" suzy glared and pointed a finger at him. "lesbophobe. i know what you are."

danny grinned at her.

dominic wandered out into the backyard a few moments later and paused. "oh, hey, who gets the emotional support dallison this time?"

"please don't get them started again," kira pleaded.

dominic scoffed. "okay, well, i'm staking a claim on liam," he decided, sitting down.

tara blinked at him. "really? liam? how is that your emotional support person?"

"first of all," liam said, "fuck you."

tara blew him a kiss.

"fuck you twice."

tara raised her eyebrows. "and your second point?"

liam considered it. "no, i think i'm good. fuck you, no notes."

dominic pointed at him. "see? this is why i call dibs on him. he is so funny."

"i'm literally being serious."

shaking his head, derek sat down, swaddled in their warmth and love, and waited for everyone else to come join them.

[seraphicsage]

void stiles but you kill for him to prove you love him and are just as psychotic, maybe trying to get lydia to join too and teasing her coaxing her into being your good girl, almost like she’s yours and stiles pet or something, lots of rough kisses from stiles too

A/N in theory this is part 1 of a 2 part fic. I would love some kind of response from this! Whether you liked it, what you’d like in the second part etc, let me know what you think! (Not proof-read)

It was just so simple. All I have to do is kill someone. Then no one can deny that I’m not some innocent girl who knows nothing about the world. All I have to do is kill someone for him and I’ll prove myself, and prove that I’m not a liability, he’s not the only crazy one here. It’s just, so, simple.

The question is, who? Who can I kill that makes all of his plans so much easier? Lydia would be easy, but I have bigger plans for her. Scott… Allison… Isaac… god so many choices. I need to think about it carefully. If I kill Allison then Scott and Isaac will come after us a hundred times as hard. If I kill Scott then Allison will do the same. The only solution? Kill them both I suppose.

The best part is, they’re stupid enough to trust me. So it’s easy to spike their drinks. Honestly the hardest part was getting something that knocks out a werewolf. Once they’re knocked out I drag them to my storage locker outside of town. I take every measure I can to make sure Scott is as weak as possible when he wakes up.

God is it worth every moment I’ve spent faking a laugh and a smile to him and his pathetic pack. Waiting for something, for this. The look on his face when he realises, the look on both of their faces. And oh, they’re so trusting they think I’ve been possessed. I laugh and quickly stomp on that dream. Poor Allison tries to escape, clearly her hunter training isn’t as good as she thinks.

The next question is who to kill first. I’ve always hated them both, and their whole woe-is-me act. I want to make them suffer for everything they’ve done to me. But I don’t have time. This needs to be swift. I’ve decided I want this as bloody as possible, if I can’t play with them first then I can at least make a mess.

I take my knife out, my favourite one, the handle has such pretty patterns engraved into it. Stiles gave it to me, oh if he knew what his loving gift would be used for. Well, he’ll see soon. I decide to start with Scott, swiftly slitting his throat and watching the blood gush from it. I feel adrenaline rushing through me and fuck it feels good. I can see why people get addicted to this.

I turn to Allison, watching her sob for a moment, hearing her beg. For what? Mercy? Not a chance. I hold her jaw and lift her face so I can look straight into her eyes as I kill her, watching the life drain from her. God that felt good. I close my eyes and replay the moment in my mind, and look at their blood soaked bodies in front of me.

Then I feel him, standing behind me. He walks closer until his front of pressed against my back, I don’t dare lean into him, or look at him. “I was wrong about you.”

“I warned you.” I say in return. I did. I feel him nod, I can’t see his face but I know that it’s the picture of indifference. “I’m glad I don’t have to listen to their pathetic whining anymore.” I smirk, looking between their bodies again.

I feel him chucking and now I know he’s smirking. I turn around to face him, he looks satisfied. Like he got what he wanted without even having to ask. I suppose that’s true. He has.

He looks down at me and I feel him grip my waist. “I don’t usually like to be proven wrong.” He says as he leans down towards me.

“Usually?” I ask when his face is almost touching mine. I watch him glance at my lips briefly.

“Think you can keep up this innocent girl act with that pack if I handle the bodies?”

“I’ve been playing that act my whole life, nothing’s changed.” I confirm. “Besides, I have my own plan, and they need to trust me for it to work.” I would have expected him to be against me having my own plan, my own want out of this. But clearly I was wrong because the next thing he does is curses through his breath before pressing his lips firmly on mine, pulling me closer to his body.

I bring my arms up behind his neck and pull him in further, taking everything he gives me. He pulls away from my lips and starts pressing kisses against my jaw and down my neck. Sucking and leaving marks, I’m not sure how that would go down with the pack but right now I can’t make myself care.

Then he stops and brings his mouth close to my ear. “He’s screaming.” He whispers, and I can feel his grin. “You hurt him.”

“He hurt me first.” I whisper back, teeth clenched. His kisses continue, but softer this time, almost like he’s trying to provide some comfort.

“The screams are getting louder, it’s like he’s sobbing now. He’s begging for you.” He pulls back and grins at me. “He’s apologising.” He says in a teasing voice, like he’s making fun of Stiles. The idea of Stiles apologising, of begging and screaming for me, that only spurs me on further and I pull Void’s head back to me, this time taking control for myself. And he lets me.

We spend the rest of the night together, he takes care of the bodies the next day, leaving me in the clear, and back to the innocence act.

The pack is in panic of Scott and Stiles’ disappearance. I take advantage of the panic by making moves on my plan. I had been working on it for a very long time, before Void even, this just meant I could move the plans forward.

Since Lydia and Jackson broke up, me and her have been very close. It started off as a normal friendship, study sessions, sleepovers, girl talk, the normal. Then I started amping it up, flirting. At first subtle, so subtle she’d feed into it without realising. Then I would build it up, I started being more touchy. Acting more comfortable around her, and she’s done the same.

She even changes in front of me, which is quite the show. She’s so comfortable that I’m able to distract her mid-change so she ends up staying out of her clothes longer than she would think.

One thing I’ve noticed about Lydia over the years is that she doesn’t get much approval from people other than teachers, for anything other than her looks. And as much as she is a beautiful woman, that’s not her whole personality. So, I started praising her for things. Starting with the big things, a good grade, an achievement, that kind of thing. Then I did it more, whenever she did an assignment, whenever she ate, whenever she drank water, literally anything.

And then, I took it away. I stopped. Sure I still came over and spent time with her, but I wouldn’t watch as she changed, I wouldn’t praise her for her achievements, I completely pulled back on all the affection. And it was so pretty how quickly she crumbled.

After a week of this I go over to hers unexpectedly and let myself up to her room, where I hear her crying. I knock lightly and open the door. “Lyds? It’s just me.”

Her body shoots up to look at me and after a moment she starts sobbing harder. I rush over to hear, pulling her in closer asking her what’s wrong, what’s happened. Of course, I already have a pretty good guess but she didn’t need to know that. I feel her pressing herself harder and harder into me, like she’s trying to soak in my touch before it leaves again.

I let her, stroker the top of her head and lightly shushing her until she calms down. When she eventually stops crying I get her to sit up and make her explain why she’s so upset.

“You- you-” She stutters over her words, avoiding looking at me, until I grip her jaw and bring her face towards me.

“Me what Lyds?” I ask gently.

“You don’t want me anymore.” I let my face relax, looking sympathetic.

“What are you talking about? Why would you think that? Why would you even care if I did?”

“I-I didn’t think I did, I thought I just liked the attention but I need it. I know it’s pathetic but I just- you make me so happy. And you’ve stopped paying attention to me. And I don’t want to do anything if you’re not there helping me.”

Her words made a very twisted part of me, very satisfied. I use my grip on her jaw to pull her closer to me. “Darling, I want you. I’m sorry I stopped giving you the attention you clearly need, I’m here now, and I don’t need to leave.”

She looks at me, like she’s checking that this isn’t a trick, I don’t falter. “Thank you.” She whispers.

[yesterdanereviews]

Jason X (2001)

Film review #571

Director: Jim Isaac

SYNOPSIS: Serial killer Jason Voorhees is being held in a top secret underground facility. Orders are given to move him out for study, but the facility's director, Rowan, believes he is too dangerous to move. Jason manages to break out anyway, and is only stopped when Rowan traps him in cryogenic storage, and unwittingly, herself too. Rowan awakes in the year 2455 on board a spaceship orbiting the Earth, but the people who brought her to the ship also brought Jason too, and he has thawed and ready to kill...

THOUGHTS/ANALYSIS: Jason X is a 2001 film and the tenth film in the Friday the 13th film franchise. The film opens up showing Jason Voorhees being contained in a secret research facility, as previous attempts to kill him have failed thanks to his ability to regenerate. The director of the facility, Rowan, is given orders to transfer Jason out of the facility for study, but she believes Jason is too dangerous to transfer, and wants to cryogenically freeze him. It doesn't matter anyway, as Jason breaks free of his confines and gets busy cutting through everyone he sees. Rowan manages to lure him into the cryogenic chamber and freeze him, but an accident means she is sealed in and frozen too. Over four hundred years later, Rowan (and Jason) is discovered and brought aboard a spaceship to be revived. Not realising that they have brought aboard a relentless killing machine, Jason picks up where he left off and goes about slaughtering the crew, while the survivors try and work out a way to stop him. The film is about what you'd expect from a slasher film, as Jason mows down people constantly without any rhyme or reason. The sci-fi twist to the typical Friday the 13th film could have two outcomes: it offers a fresh take on the formula, or it can be a travesty of messing with a tried and tested formula that shows a series has run out of ideas. In this case, it is certainly the latter. The sci-fi setting is barely explained: humans have moved to a new planet called Earth II because Earth has become too polluted, but this is mentioned about once. We don't know anything about this future, and what technologies exist, and not knowing what is possible just leaves things very confusing as if the film makes it up as it goes along. It feels like the film just doesn't try to take advantage of it's new setting, and just sticks to filling the film with sex scenes, partial nudity, and slashing without really giving anything new to offer.

I'm not really sure what the film wants to do: it's obviously not meant to be a really gritty horror film, as there's no real suspense, overly visceral gore, or jump scares, and as mentioned, just falls back on randy young people having sex to appeal to it's young adult audience. There's no creativity with the kills (maybe one or two) or anything unique about them that the setting gives them. I feel like it would probably be easier to stop Jason on a spaceship, as there's nowhere to really hide, doors can be secured pretty easily, you could lure him out an airlock and wouldn't have to confront him at all. But I suppose that wouldn't make an interesting film. I'm not even sure the film wants to be taken seriously. It does try to inject some comedy by having the characters say really awkward puns and quips, but they are all just so oddly timed and out of place that it's baffling what you're supposed to take away from the film.

There's quite a large cast of characters, most of whom you'll never get to know because Jason kills them off fairly quickly. You can tell right from the off what cliché character they are meant to be. There's no real development in any of the characters, even the lead, Rowan, just doesn't have any personality, and we have absolutely no idea about who she is and any details about her life. Jason is more or less the same as he has always been, which is good, but the "Cyber Jason" that emerges when Jason's body is repaired by the cyber nanobot...things isn't going to become the new Jason: he just becomes a cyborg which is pretty silly and over-the-top, but again, that might be what the film is going for?

The setting of the spaceship has a fair amount of detail, but the CGI is fairly dire. I don't think it would have been good even in 2001. The whole film just feels like an episode of a TV series, from the sci-fi corridors which could have easily come from an episode of Star Trek, to the threadbare plot that would have fit neatly into a forty minute episode: the film itself barely stretches over the ninety minute mark. Overall, Jason X just seems like a bit of a mess: it doesn't have the suspense, jump scares, or gore to make it a decent horror movie, but it's attempts to be funny and poke fun at the franchise, whether deliberate or not, are never delivered at the right time, and your often left wondering just what the aim and tone of this film is meant to be.

[thatforgottenbasilisk]

Jonathan Sims Is Dead In The End

Chapter 6: Asch et al (1951) (AO3)

chapter summary:

The Asch conformity experiments (1951) were on how likely people were to conform to something that they know is incorrect. Participants were given a simple line-measuring task, and asked to determine which of the lines out of a series of options was the same length as a sample line.

The groups were composed of one participant, who said their answer aloud after most of the other people that they believed to be participants as well, but were actually confederates for the researchers. In the beginning, all said the correct answer aloud, until all confederates chose the incorrect answer; often, the real participant would choose the incorrect answer as well, in order to fit in with the rest of the group.

Sasha's standing in line at her usual coffeeshop on Wednesday morning, staring very intensely at the menu they've got written above the coffee machines. She's looking nowhere near the barista who's got a dark burn crawling up his neck, one that she Knows was the result of barely escaping something to do with the Desolation.

She hadn't seen anyone else with a Statement on Monday after work, nor had she seen anyone like that yesterday, so of course she's going to be subjected to it for an extended period of time today. She doesn't remember seeing him later on, when the hunger had first set in, but she supposes it's more likely than not that he'd simply quit before she would have had any idea that he had a Statement to give. The turnover rate at customer-facing jobs is much higher than at other sorts of places, so he'd probably just been lucky and dodged her when she'd been at her worst, last time around.

She doesn't want to change breakfast places, though, because she's been going here since before she was transferred out of Artifact Storage, but she might go back to eating frozen foods at home in the mornings for a while until she's sure she won't see him again, won't be tempted to take his Statement.

She's only got one person ahead of her, it's fine, she can manage for just a few more minutes while she gives her order and then stares at her phone for the rest of the time. The cashier takes the order of whoever's in front of her, and he pays in cash; she's waiting anxiously for her turn, hoping to just get it over with so she won't have to keep studiously ignoring the man.

The cashier dismisses the man in front of her, then turns to the man with the burn and goes, "Yo! Isaac! I'm taking ten, you got till?"

To her horror, the man with a burn waves off the cashier and moves to the till next to hers. She tells herself to suck it up, it's just a damn coffee order, it'll take two minutes! Two minutes of not taking a Statement, that's it! Doesn't matter that the three that she's had in the last two days have felt staler than ever because she's read them already, doesn't matter that Beholding's practically clawing at the back of her mind begging her to take it, she can't. She won't. She refuses to be like that again, become the thing she was, the thing that led to the end of everything as anyone knew it.

She says her coffee order too fast for the man- Isaac- to catch it, so she has to repeat it twice over. It's just a damned latte and a bagel, but she's so desperate to get away from the situation that she's managed to fuck up saying even that. She takes out her card with a trembling hand, staring down at the card slot, making sure she doesn't look up. Finally, the transaction is over, and she feels like a complete mess of a person but at least she felt no fear coming from the new cashier.

The coffee and bagel don't take too long, and she walks out of there like she's trying to politely run- which, to her credit, she is. She walks the rest of the way to the Institute, passing the metro exit she'd climbed up yesterday and the day before. She eats the bagel on the way, trying not to drop too many crumbs, not wanting to attract pigeons to get trampled underfoot in London morning foot traffic, and finishes it just as she gets to the doors.

The paper that the bag came in goes straight into the bin just as the clock above Rosie's desk ticks to 9:00, and she ducks quickly past with a wave as she practically dives through the door to the Archives.

She's got a plan for today. She couldn't enact it yesterday, still too early in the week, but today she can make an attempt. She'll have to act fake casual, which she practiced all of yesterday to mixed success, given that Tim was clearly still jumpy around her, but she also doesn't have much of a clue why that originated in the first place, so. Mixed success.

She goes into her office with a soft greeting to everyone else in the Archives, keeping with her "night-owl" sort of attitude that she'd had at this point in the timeline- it wouldn't do for her to "suddenly" get very used to being an insomniac and act awake at all hours of the day. She puts her bag down and starts poking through some papers from that box Elias had pushed at her on Monday, grabbing a few fake statements that she'll spend until lunch disproving.

She puts her purse in the way of the door, a temporary doorstop for until she gets a chance to go out and buy some general office supplies. She'd been using the communal ones in Research for far longer than she's proud to admit, and borrowed enough pens from Tim that she probably owes him a decent debt already.

Speaking of Tim... he's still uneasy around her. He's somehow managed to shift himself and his desk so that he constantly has a clear view of her in her office, without seeming at all odd to the others. She hasn't got any idea why he would be doing this, what she managed to do wrong in just a moment or two on Monday and continued to do wrong since, but she hopes there'll be a way to fix it. Their communal spiral into suspicious paranoia about one person hadn't gone well last time, she highly suspects that it won't go well this time, especially if she's the object of suspicion this time.

All of this is why, come lunch, she waits until all of the assistants are in the breakroom before going in herself, and clears her throat to get Tim and Martin's attention. She waits for Martin to nudge Jon, and for him to take his headphones off, before she tries out what she's been planning since Monday evening.

"I know that Tim, Jon, and I have already known each other for a while, and I don't want you to feel like you're being excluded or anything, Martin, so... do you all want to go out for drinks on Friday night? I'm hoping this isn't going to seem like a- a sort of 'boss' thing, because I just want us to be friends down here. It's a small department, so there's no reason for me to be stuffy and uptight about things like this, and we could all benefit from getting to know each other a bit more now we don't have any other coworkers, so... yeah?"

Contrary to how she's saying it, she'd actually worked on the phrasing of this request for much of last night, making sure it sounds just casual and unsure enough to be nonthreatening for Martin, as well as to convince Tim and Jon that she actually does want to go out instead of making it a 'team-building' thing like their old Department Head at Research had done sometimes.

Martin doesn't hesitate for long before nodding his assent, because he'd always been that kind of social person who wants to be invited somewhere but won't make his own events- anxious and extroverted at the same time, she remembers when she'd been like that, when she'd first started out and hadn't known anyone. Tim is quick to agree, too, just after Martin does, and the quick, near-unnoticeable glances he throws between the two of them betray that it's intentional. He's probably trying to ensure that Martin doesn't end up alone with her, judging by his hushed conversation with Jon on Monday.

Jon waits a little longer to agree, as well, and Sasha smiles to herself. She knows that it's probably going to be awkward, at first, but she wants things to be different from last time. She wants there to be a trust between them that wasn't there last time, she wants that spiral into paranoia that most of them had had to be damn near impossible this time around.

She wants to integrate all of her assistants into this group, into trusting each other and her, so that one suspicious event- or even a series of them- doesn't put one in isolation from the others, doesn't lead everyone into thinking that they're going to be the next Jane Prentiss, no matter how true it ended up being. The suspicion and hostility, though as subtle as they could manage, hadn't done Jon any favors last time, and she doubts that it will again. The events that followed, the consistent isolation of everyone by the end hadn't done Tim or Martin any favors either.

She smiles, a nice, normal smile, and says, "Great!" before grabbing her own lunch and bringing it to her office.

She won't force herself on them now, not when Tim and Jon know that she's a workaholic and Tim clearly started looking more and more nervous the longer she'd been in there. She knows, once the door to the breakroom closes, that he's probably whispering his suspicion of her to the others, but she hopes to be able to fix whatever she'd done on Friday, and she doubts he's being specific on why she isn't to be trusted, anyway, if Monday was any indication.

She goes back to the fake statement she'd been pointing out inconsistencies in earlier, and hopes that maybe, just maybe, this'll be the start of a happier ending.

[neonthewrite]

Grey Landing

Today's prompt is "Beach" and I pictured less of a sunny, blue skies/blue ocean aesthetic and more of a foggy shore and mountains kind of vibe. Might continue this particular story for tomorrow's prompt, we'll see how it goes.

(Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10)

~~~

After so long adrift at sea, Isaac thought he might weep at the sight of land on the horizon. He couldn’t be sure if it was a mirage or a trick of the clouds at first, with how much fog obscured so much of the world around him. The large, slow waves sent him up and down in a slow, vertiginous cycle that also played tricks on his mind; he’d lost count of how many times his stomach had bottomed out and he’d felt weightless in the last hour alone.

Even knowing the land before him was dominated by enormous, fog-covered mountains, he rejoiced. If he could find himself some food and a way to get fresh water for himself, he’d be okay. He had to be.

He had no radio after the storm. He didn’t even have most of his mast anymore, and what remained stuck up like a broken bone in the middle of his craft. What was left of his sail was folded up and tucked away in one of the storage compartments under the bench. He still had his oars, at least, though he was rapidly losing the energy to use them. Though the shore was miles away and he felt like collapsing and letting the sea take over, he rowed on, telling himself just one more stroke, one more push towards safety.

A while after noticing the approach of land, Isaac made another relieving discovery. There was a plume of smoke on that shore, feeble and thin but standing out from the wispy fog all the same. That meant people. That meant help. He rowed on, his arms and back screaming for relief. Soon, he told himself. Soon he could collapse on that beach and either wait for whoever caused that smoke to find him, or he could rest and go find them himself.

~~~

The smoke came from a cabin, Isaac realized later. He spotted the wooden structure nestled among the trees when he squinted through his glass. It was beyond a stone shelf among the forest, though, so he’d have a bit of a trek to reach it even after he arrived on land.

That was okay. He was coming closer. He could even see a dock and a boat further up shore from where he was set to land.

~~~

It felt like an age before Isaac’s boat scraped against the shore at last. Grey, gravelly sand dispersed before the bow of his small vessel and the waves sloshed so much more benignly than they had when he was still adrift.

He hopped out of the boat into the shallows so he could push it further up onto the gloomy beach, despite his strength threatening to abandon him at any moment. His trousers and boots were waterlogged, but he already smelled strongly of the salty sea thanks to the storm. The dry comfort of land was just within reach for him, after this task.

The rock shelf loomed overhead, a wall that closed off his landing on the beach from the forest sloping up into the mountains. It loomed oppressively over him, but Isaac only grinned. He’d reached solid land at last. He couldn’t be angry with it for looking so foreboding. He hadn’t been dashed against those rocks in his little broken sailboat, so wherever this was couldn’t be that unforgiving.

Once he was sure the tide wouldn’t steal his boat away again, he collapsed into the sand. His chest heaved and his arms ached like they’d fall off. His stomach pined for food and his lips rasped for water. He was alive, and he’d have a chance to stay that way.

Staring at the cliffs overhead and the gulls that drifted to and fro on the rocks, Isaac let himself rest.

~~~

That dock is closer than I thought, he realized, staring upshore from where he lay. He admired the ship tied there, an impressive sailboat that rocked gently with the waves. The design was similar to his own, though this one had to require a crew of at least twenty sailors by the look of it.

~~~

He woke sometime later to a dense, booming sound, more of a tremor in the earth and the air than a real noise. The beach and the sky and the fog remained, grey and gloomy as when he’d collapsed. His boat still lay on the sand looking as weary as he. He blinked a few times and rubbed a calloused hand over his face as he tried to figure out the source of the sound.

Turning his head, he flinched in surprise to see that someone stood on the dock. They were loading bags onto the sailboat, but something wasn’t quite right. That boat should require a full crew, but that was one person standing there next to it.

Isaac blinked several times, scanning the beach from where he lay to where that dock stood. The perspective proved difficult to shake, but something like dread coiled around his middle when he realized his mistake.

That dock really was quite a distance away from where he’d landed. The fog and the curve of the shore and the size of that sailboat had all combined to confuse his ability to tell how far he’d have to walk to reach it, but it would be a lot farther than he’d want to go. The boat that he thought would need a crew and a captain and all working together just to direct it out onto the sea could actually probably be crewed by the one person standing on the dock.

Which meant that person tossing bags onto the boat with the sound of thunder … No! Impossible!

A crash sounded in the forest somewhere behind him and in the opposite direction of the dock. Loathe as he was to take his eyes off that impossible being and its enormous boat, Isaac had to turn away. The cliffs that had loomed so protectively over him sloped gently downwards in that direction for probably a mile or more, creating an easier path up the mountains from the beach in that direction.

And another giant, for they must be giants, he could no longer deny, had just stepped out of the woods and onto the sand.

[reneebrxndxn]

It was hot. Worse, it was hot and humid. By the time she stepped outside to take her boys to their respective cares for the day, Renee could feel the mugginess and knew she would be sweating extra by the end of the day. And she was right. The clinic was cool but considering she was doing inventory to make sure she wasn't low on anything, she had to tie her hair up into a ponytail to get some air on her neck and shedded her over shirt.

She heard the door open to the clinic but not wanting to lose her count on the pills she had, she didn't turn her attention to them until she wrote down the amount. Then she heard Ermano and smirked as she closed the cabinet. "You can never have enough supplies nowadays," she said as she nodded to her storage. "I'm making a list for Isaac again, although I don't know what we're gonna do once we run out of medicine. There's only so many pills in the world now." She wiped the sweat from her forehead before nodding. "What can I do for you today?"

@reneebrxndxn — clinic

The days really got away from him. Ermano had done everything he possibly could to keep his mind and hands busy, forgetting to catch up with those around him to ensure they were okay. The grief didn’t feel as heavy when he woke, so Ermano decided to take advantage. After finishing his readying chores, he stepped down from the airstream, instantly slapped by the humidity - beads of sweat forming along his hairline. Days like these are brutal. Still, Ermano trucked along as … that’s what he had to do.

Arriving at the Clinic, he slipped through the door to find Renee hidden behind the cupboard doors. “We have enough supplies?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded across his chest.

[arithecreatorsstuff]

Bad Call

I board the derelict planet cracker, and already... I have a really bad need to be elsewhere. The ship is wrecked, blood, guts, organic sludge on every single surface. Yeah... whatever the Ishimura was up to... it went bad fast. Which is the speed I should be heading back to my ship with. I hear a groaning in the overhead vent, and I'm groaning to myself. But... I have a job to do: salvage what I can, and survive. Doesn't look like I can save much here. Come to think of it, several tons of heavy explosives would make quite an improvement. Maybe a miniature black hole generator? Meh. Like my asshole captain wouldn't just shoot me for that crap. Stupid fucking rockhugger. I'm starting to hate Unitology.

I get on with it, making my way through the twisted carcass of the ship. And lo... my first useful bit of salvage, a plasma cutter. No rounds, though. Bound to be some around here someplace, it used to be a mining ship after all. I try looking in a storage locker, only to have a weird, pissed off blob leap at my helmet. I catch it and fling it to the floor, then stomp it. Ew. I hate this place already. I continue on with my search, and... jackpot! A full plasma clip. Yay! I can shoot stuff now. And what's this? More kinesis? Yes, please. Ooh, stasis mod? Don't mind if I do! Wait a minute... this is too convenient. I'm a pirate, I'm more used to sneaking about, conking people on their head, then looting them. I should be way more alarmed about this. Especially with the medkits strewn about. None are used, I'm nowhere near medical... this may be a very bad omen. The area now devoid of any useful items, I head onward.

Wow... so many dead bodies. I... I... should not be here. They're all over, none of them look like they died peacefully, some are half gone, others started to change. One of them now has literal shoulder blades. I shoot the limbs off that one, not taking chances on it playing possum. The first shriek tells me that was the smart monkey option. It never gets to emit a second. I pause to breathe... and hear something big, pounding on the door. Shit. Time to leg it, I do not want to know what the hell that was. I bolt deeper into the ship. I'm running blind, not good.

After several confusingly similar corridors, a few encounters with stabby undead freaks, a long fall off a shorter than expected ledge, a whole lot of swearing, and one too many weird noises above me... I find the mining deck. What a surprise, another bloodbath. And look here, more stabby things. I shoot first, decide apologies are useless, and bolt. And run right into the first actual human I've seen since boarding. Whomever they are, they wisely kept their helmet up.

"Uh, hi? I honestly was not expecting any survivors. I'm Winter Rose."

"Isaac. Nice to meet you, now get out of here. It's not safe."

"Yeah... can we put that in a shipwide memo, call it 'Things We Already Know?'. Besides, it's not safe here for... well, anyone. Safety in numbers and all."

Our little chat is interrupted by a big, angry dead brute. I start shooting. Huh. Isaac's armed too, he knows these things are dangerous... why isn't he shooting? Never mind. Shooting it just made it mad. Time to go. I grab my new sort of friend by the elbow and run. We wind up in another endless grey hallway. But, it's mercifully stabby undead freakless.

"Isaac?"

"Yeah, Winter?"

"What the hell is going on?"

"Let's just say the planet crack didn't go as planned."

"No kidding." I sigh. "We're gonna die here, aren't we?"

"Maybe."

"Not filling me with a lot of confidence, Isaac."

"Don't have a lot to spare. Frankly, I'm not even sure you're real."

"According to my Riglink, I must be. Can't seem to pick up yours, though." I was going to question him further about that, when I get hit with a migraine. Ouch. I'm nearly crying from pain. Weirder still, I can hear my mother. She's been dead for 10 years. Aneurysm.

"Winter Rose, you need to leave." No kidding, Not-Mom. How?

"Take the tram to the Executive Flight deck, there's a shuttle. Go now, or it will be too late." Another wave of searing ouch, then a cacophony of voices.

"Make. Us. Whole." My blood suddenly turns to ice.

Isaac is shaking me out of it. "Winter? You with me?" I nod. "We should go." We run for it. We make it to the Executive Flight deck... but there's no shuttle. I slump to the floor, defeated.

"It's not here. I'm gonna die on this godsforsaken hunk of space junk because for once in my life, I listened to my mother. Well, it sounded like her." I stand up. I think I know the truth, at least about Isaac. He's not real either, most likely. I'm not only going to die, but I'm going to go mad first. And, if by some miracle I do survive, first thing I'm going to do is punch my captain in the balls. I tell Isaac this. For a potential hallucination, he's got a laugh I can listen to forever.

"Hey. Isaac? I know we just met, and there's a chance you're not real, but... can I give you a hug? Don't know about you, but I could use one." He sighs.

"Sure. C'mere." We embrace as a klaxion starts blaring. Ship's gonna blow. Don't care. I knew I was dead when I stepped aboard. I rest my head on his shoulder, and wait for the big kaboom. The last thing I'll ever experience, I guess. Beats dealing with the undead stabby things, or worse. At least Isaac was okay. And, for a hallucination a very good hugger.

[heliads]

I Need a Savior

Based on this request: "A songfic for My Demons by Starset? Stiles and the reader are twins. She’s a witch and part of Scott’s pack. The reader helps Scott and the others get rid of the nogitsune and save Stiles."

masterlist

There’s a video playing on your computer. You’re sitting before it, knees tucked up to your chest like you’re a child right now instead of watching yourself as one on the screen in front of you. Your eyes are glued to the two playing figures as if they’ll find some way to save you from the mess you’ve found yourself in, as if by watching what you used to have you’ll be able to have it all back once more.

You’re not alone in the video. The four-year-old Y/N rarely was, and in this particular video her laugh is joined by someone else- your twin brother, Stiles. He’s racing after you in a grassy backyard, in the midst of some no doubt momentous game of tag. He’s shouting something at the top of his tiny lungs as he goes, something about how he’ll always get back to you in the end. If only you could make that same promise now.

The video ends, but you still sit there, unable to move. It’s barely been a few days that your brother was fully possessed by the Nogitsune, but the loss still cuts at you like a knife. Stiles is your twin brother, older only by ten minutes or so. You’ve never had to go without him for longer than a few hours- he’s always there, at home or at school or at your father’s station. This, knowing that he’s somewhere within Beacon Hills but utterly gone to you, is an entirely different kind of pain.

A knock sounds at the door, and you look up to see your father hovering in the doorframe. His attempt at a reassuring smile drops as he sees the video still up on your screen. “I thought I heard voices.” You sigh. “I miss him, Dad. I miss Stiles.” Sheriff Stilinski sighs, walking inside the room at last. “So do I. We’re going to get him back, though. Don’t worry about that.”

You throw your hands in the air, frustrated. “We don’t know that! We don’t know that at all. This is so out of our range that it’s almost crazy. I mean, you barely even started to believe us about the supernatural. You didn’t trust us that werewolves existed, and now my brother has been possessed by a spirit that’s thousands of years old. None of us have any proof that we’re going to get him back.”

Your father winces for a second, then his expression smooths over again. “I’ve heard what you said about all your other exploits with Scott. He never gave up on anything or anyone, and I know you won’t either. None of us are giving up on Stiles, and even if it means that we have to play the long game to get him back, we will. Sure, I may not completely get why Scott McCall went from a kid with terrible asthma to a werewolf, but I know we won’t leave my son behind.”

His voice twists slightly as he says ‘my son’, and you’re hit with the distinct memory that you’re not the only one grieving someone you might have already lost. Yes, you lost your twin brother, but the sheriff lost his son. You can’t snap on him completely. So, you close your laptop screen, forcing the image of you and Stiles away into the darkness, and stand up. “What do you say we get some dinner? It’s late and I’m hungry.” Sheriff Stilinski nods, accepting this best attempt at an apology, and heads back downstairs. You’re left in the dark again, alone.

You can’t help but think through the whole thing over again. Your dad’s right- there’s no way Scott or you or anyone else is remotely considering letting Stiles go. You’ve seen Scott before, and you’ve known him for almost as long as he’s known your brother, so you know for a fact that he won’t give up until your twin is back and as he should be.

Besides, you’ve got another tool in your kit that will help you rescue Stiles- namely, your magic. You are a witch, just like the women in your family before you. Well, just like most of them. Your mother, Claudia, should have inherited the power of the family coven, but the magic seemed to skip over a generation and it went to you instead. Your grandmother kept the power of the witches a secret until it manifested in you a few years ago. You’ve learned spells from her, and you’re hoping that you’ll be able to use at least one of them to save Stiles.

This, actually, is what you find yourself doing the next day. Scott calls you up early, saying something in a rushed tone about how he found an old story about a healing spell in some dusty text in Deaton’s storage. You head over there immediately, and are surprised to find that Scott’s spell just might work. It’s fairly simple, as spells go, but it’ll take a lot out of you. In the spell, you’ll be able to peel back the Nogitsune’s control over Stiles, but you’re not sure that you’ll be able to completely eradicate the spirit’s presence from your brother’s mind, you don’t have enough power for that. Then again, even a brief reprieve for Stiles may help you save him.

So, you, Scott, Lydia, Allison, Isaac, Kira, and the rest head down to where Stiles was last spotted. Derek’s waiting for you there, and he points wordlessly into the Beacon Hills preserve. “I think the Nogitsune is trying to find the Nemeton. He just went in there a few minutes ago.” You nod your gratitude, already slipping between the trees. You used to play in these very woods with your brother when you were small, doing your best to escape your father’s watch long enough to have some fun before the rules came crashing back down around you.

When you see Stiles at once, you almost wonder if you’ve stepped back into your memories. It makes no sense- surely, you should be able to tell that this is an ancient spirit and not your brother. You should know your twin by soul and heart and word, shouldn’t you? Yet, for that one moment, you want to run over to him, sure that Stiles has managed to shake the spirit possessing him and come back to you.

Then Stiles turns around, and you’re hit by a wave of utter wrongness. There’s no other way to describe it- this being is your brother in flesh, sure, but in nothing else. There is no soul in the eyes looking at you, no love or even familiarity in the gruesome smile twisting this thing’s lips. The body is your twin brother, but the mind, oh the mind is so far from being him that it’s almost repulsive.

The Not-Stiles leers at you from where he stands amongst the trees, taking a few steps towards you as if relishing your horror. “Ah. I see my sister has come to visit me.” You shake your head. “I’m not your sister. You’re not him.” The Nogitsune shrugs. “Well, I see I can’t fool you like the others. Unfortunate.” Scott and the others have reached you by now, and your old friend hands you a scanned copy of the spells. You take it wordlessly, although you notice that the Nogitsune’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly at the transferral of the document.

Seconds later, its voice rings out across the forest again, and you swear you can detect an almost nonexistentant strand of nervousness in the spirit’s voice. It’s as if it’s woven trepidation in with the usual array of emotions as it toys with Stiles’ vocal chords. “What’s that about?” You ignore it, beginning to read the spell. You can only hope that it will work, that it will clear the Nogitsune from Stiles’ mind long enough to speak with him.

You finish reading out the spell and stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next. At first, it looks as if the spell hasn’t done anything at all, and then the boy in front of you that was previously not your brother spasms slightly, bending over at the waist. When he straightens, you know at once that Stiles is back. You run to him, unable to keep a slight sob from tearing its way out of your throat. “Stiles!”

He catches you in his arms. Stiles feels the same way he always has- your brother is well and truly back. He stammers at first, hand rising to his temples as if he can’t believe that he’s back in control once more. “Y/N- it’s me. I’m me.” You muffle another sob. “How are you? Are you okay?” A dark look crosses Stiles’ face now, so mute in its agony that you almost think the Nogitsune has come back to possess him once more.

“It’s bad, Y/N. It’s really bad. I keep trying to fight, but it’s like I’m going insane. Even now, I can feel it circling around me like a vulture.” He grabs at your hands now. “I need you to save me, Y/N. I’m becoming it.” You try to speak, but you can’t find the strength. Already, the power necessary to cast the spell is wearing at you; you’ll only be able to keep it up for so long.

Stiles seems able to sense this, and his voice takes on an additional note of urgency. “I need you to make everything okay again, Y/N. I can’t fight this forever.” You shake your head slightly, afraid to let him down yet knowing that you can’t do much more. “I’m not all-powerful, Stiles. I wish I was.” Something like a broken half-smile flits onto his face. “You’ve always been able to take my pain away, Y/N. Not like Scott, but because of you. We are one and the same, are we not? We’re twins. I know you can do this.”

The spell is clawing at you now, practically tearing you into pieces. You manage to fight it back. You can’t let him go yet- you just got Stiles back. “What can we do? How do I get you back?” Stiles looks panicked, as if he can physically feel the Nogitsune forcing its way back into his head once more. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I just need you, Y/N. Save me if I become this demon.”

Then you’re stumbling, lost in an intense thicket of pain. The spell is overwhelming you now, and through tears you release it, letting your thin veneer of control go once more. Scott and the others catch you before you fall, but you’re not paying attention to yourself anymore. No, you’re looking back at your brother, or the body of a boy that was once your brother. The Nogitsune is back, and all traces of Stiles can only be seen in his physical form once more. You feel like sobbing, like breaking down entirely, but you remember what Stiles asked you to do. You have to save him, and that is exactly what you intend on doing.

In the end, you do save him, along with Scott and the others. You barely have time to mourn Allison’s death before you’re plunged into yet another peril, this time to take the Nogitsune down for good. You end up separating from the pack as they go into battle, choosing instead to maintain protective spells around the area that will keep the Oni and other aspects of the Nogitsune from killing your friends. The cost of maintaining all of that magic is wearing on you, but you stand firm. When Scott calls out to you, asking you to give him one last ounce of strength or courage or anything, you do it. Anything to save your brother.

They come out of the school in the end. Walking with them is a dark-haired boy who’s been your friend since birth, someone who was there to take his first steps with you and make you laugh when no one else could. For a second, you draw back, terrified that after all of this the Nogitsune might still be lurking under some crevice of Stiles’ mind, ready to draw him back under again, but when your brother looks at you, you breathe a deep sigh of relief. It’s him. It really and truly is.

Before you can run to him, though, Scott is offering you a small container. “We trapped the Nogitsune inside it, but it could escape at any moment. Can you secure it?” You nod, the spell to contain the evil spirit already running through your head. A second earlier, you would swear that you didn’t have enough energy to levitate a feather, let alone trap a thousand-year-old spirit, but you’re not about to let any chance of harm come to your twin again.

When you finish the spell, you see Stiles straighten up beside you, as if one last chain binding him to the earth has been released, one final shackle broken. You carefully hand the now-bound contained to Scott, and wrap your arms around Stiles. He holds you tight for a second, then steps away, holding you at arm’s length as if he’s almost forgotten what you look like. “Thank you for helping me. Scott told me that you’ve been using your magic to save us.”

Scott nods fervently. “I don’t know that we could have done it without her. Her spells saved our asses several times over.” You can’t help but grin shakily at that. “I needed to get you back. Anything else didn’t really matter.” Stiles hugs you one last time. “Thank you, anyway.” You smile back at him. “Of course, we’re family. You’re my twin, I would do anything for you. Besides, you asked me to save you and so I did. We don’t have to be our demons anymore.”

teen wolf tag list: my savior @underc0vercryptid

[aresmelaina]

Ares stared at the head raider a little bit bleary-eyed, as if not quite sure what to make of the anger on his face. He'd imagined what was going to happen after his tongue healed - the type of fantasies that made you feel ashamed on a molecular level - but it didn't involve Ike scowling at him like that. Or maybe it did? Ares wasn't sure.

"Just a few drinks. Takes a lot more than that to get me proper drunk.. Youthful resilience 'n all that." Ares responded, watching Ike stride past him, a growl rising in the older raider's throat that made Ares feel uncomfortably hot even in his drenched clothes. He wasn't too drunk - just drunk enough to actually make it here instead of spending his time reliving what had happened in the storage room.

"Alright, alright. I'll help ya. Not trying to get rid of the damn monitor anyway." Ares grumbled, waiting for Ike to step out of the way, before throwing himself against the door. With two good attempts, it finally gave, and the raider found himself stumbling into a dark, empty apartment that looked like nobody had been living there for some time.

"Huh. This place's empty. What do ya even want in here?" Ares looked back over his shoulder, eyes slightly narrowing as he considered Isaac with some curiosity. "This the place you normally take your hook-ups too? You don't fuck people in your own apartment?"

"You expected me to just be sittin' at home twirling my ponytails waiting for you to come calling?"

It was the middle of what was shaping up to be a very intense downpour with no end in sight, but Ike didn't feel inclined to let Ares in. Not least of all because-- "Have you been drinking? Are you fuckin' loaded right now?"

Ike made an aggravated growl in his throat, striding past Ares to the door of one of the unoccupied apartments in the four-plex. He tested it, the aggravated sound getting louder when the doorknob gave but the door itself stuck.

"It got waterlogged and swelled up," he said, gesturing to it. "You might as well make yourself useful -- use all those muscles of yours and knock it open for me." He could kick it, but he didn't want to damage the door more than necessary, and his shoulder was still grumbling a little from being dislocated back at the brick pits. "C'mon, get the lead out. If you're trying to get that ankle monitor to short out, you're shit outta luck -- they're made to withstand god damn swimming pools."

Not the entire truth, but Ike was betting that Ares' time in the big house hadn't included this sort of thing.