#planetside engineer

[emma-dennehy-presents]

Started playing Planetside 2 again. Had to post one of my favorite memories. Really wish i still had the original image instead of just this from my old 9gag account. Dont remember the region but we dropped over 200 people from my outfit onto the same bio lab, during an alert. This would have been about 2016. I was Squad Leader for some light armor, and it was basically a second full time job. (Engi 4 life) Really wish i got into things like that still.

[kabr0ztrousers]

I have a desire for a faceless alien to invade a ship to mass reproduce with the crew, and reader tries to hide as everyone’s rapid pregnancy causes bellies to explode with offspring around them, until reader is found and bred themself. And they are absolutely helpless as they know their fate from being bred by one of these things.

Kabr0z Writes episode 117: Deep Space

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes Anthology Here!

The AO3 series is here!

CWs: Oviposition; intoxication; implied group sex; facehuggers; feral x human; oral sex; heavy noncon; it's a horror story

A/N: Do you realise how hard it is to write "Alien, but make it sexy"

Taking objectively the hottest thing in sci-fi horror and trying to somehow make it hotter? Impossible.

To that end, what follows is a love letter to the facehugger, with a lot of the serial numbers filed off

Have a request? An idea? A kink? Send me a request!

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Six months into deep space, delivering Hell-knows-what to Hell-knows-where. The company never tells you anything they don't consider need-to-know, and normally even that's only half true. Still it's a gig, and they're not easy to find planetside any more. Besides, what's a few months in cryo between friends? At least you didn't have to worry about making rent.

The cryo pods weren't meant to wake you this early. You'd dropped out of hyperspace prematurely, and the readouts were clueless as to why. You looked a your crewmates: Leibniz, the huge German man with the military haircut who never seemed to smile, except after a few beers when he'd start singing bawdy folk songs; Clarke, the shaven-headed enby who derived endless enjoyment from watching dockworkers deciding whether or not it's gay to catcall them; Niven, the twitchy chief engineer who you've literally never seen outside of an exposure suit besides from when you're settling into the cryo pods, or when you're riding her face; and you.

You're the mission commander, ostensibly in charge of keeping everyone safe, fed, and working together. Granted, ninety percent of the time that just meant keeping the logbook of who cut what on which piece of exposed metal, how many nutrient bricks a day were being eaten, and which one of you the company had underpaid that trip. Still, nobody else would deal with the asshats in Corporate, so it fell on your well-muscled shoulders.

You pressed some buttons on a computer readout, watching the CRT display flicker through a few screens of data. Something was definitely alive on board the vessel, roughly the size of a large cat, and had eaten through some of the linkages on a secondary drive coil. Instead of carrying on and risking smearing you across several lightyears of interstellar space, a failsafe kicked on and pulled you back to relativistic speeds. You sighed, knowing full well that it's not you the failsafe is there to protect.

"Right you lot. We've got a spaceborne organic on board, and it's eaten some linkages. Niven, you get to the drive plates and fix it, Clarke, Lorenz, mount up, you're with me."

It felt a waste to pull the foam guns out of storage, most of the critters out in deep space aren't worth dealing with, and the few that are wouldn't have gone for drive linkages with four tasty hibernating humans aboard. All that said, they'd dock your pay if you couldn't produce the whatever-it-is that's delayed you and cost you valuable oxy-scrubber time.

You covered Niven on her way to the drive room, nothing en route as expected. You planted a kiss on her visor before she slid under the drive, ignoring the disapproving look you got from Leibniz. You left her to it, stepping out of the engine bay with the others

"You know that's a conflict of interest, right?"

You sighed animatedly at the German "You're just salty you're not getting any"

The slight huff he gave at that was the closest you'd ever get to a laugh from him sober. You pointed down a hall and off you went, each scanning the walls with your flashlights, looking for signs of movement or damage to the tubing running along the sides. Whatever this thing was, it had eaten just enough of your drive systems to get you all up and about, it could definitely have got into the wall cavities, but if it had then it would’ve already been entombed in expanding foam. No, it had to make it difficult.

A scream rang out. Niven.

You bolted for the drive bay. She was still under the drive, twitching and thrashing. You pulled on her leg, Leibniz grabbing the other and heaving her out. The glass in her visor was shattered, her face a pattern of tiny cuts, vivid red blood on her skin. That’s not what worried you. Her eyes were half-open, glassy and unresponsive when you waved your hand in front of her face. You clipped the torch off your rifle, shining it in her face, watching the pupils contract as the beam passed over her. Still alive, thank God. You pulled over a flatbed, Leibniz and Clarke helping you get her on before you wheeled over to the crew quarters.

A first aid kit came off the wall, and you started to cut her out of the suit. Inch by inch the sharpened shears parted the kevlar blend, releasing the smell of sweat into the air. She wore practically nothing underneath, a tiny crop top and short shorts preserving her dignity. No cuts, only some minor bruising from where she’d hit her arms and legs on the drive housing. Her skin was slick with moisture, heat radiating from under her skin. You set some fans on her, trying to cool her off and contemplated giving her an IV of saline. You knew you wouldn’t be able to find a vein, so you decided against.

You sat around a table with the rest of your crew. Each clutched a beer bottle, musing over what the hell you’d do.

“We need to wait for Niven to wake up before she can fix the drive. Either way.”

You nodded, Clarke was right. If either of you three tried messing with that drive, you’d just as likely blow up the entire vessel.

“We still haven’t caught that beastie” you chimed in, though you were all thinking it.

“Nein. Is there any chance that’s what got to Laura?”

You looked up at Leibniz, he never used first names, even when he was blackout drunk and telling you you’re the only real friends he’s ever had. He was rattled

“Doubt it” Clarke broke the tension “The suit she wears is rated for bear, you said this is the size of a cat, skip?”

“Yeah. And don’t call me skip” you leaned back. These old cargo scows were built to last, but they were still unreliable and dangerous to work on. Nobody gave Niven any shit for her suit, not on your crew or ashore, everyone had seen what happens to engineers when they get complacent.

You finished your beer. “Right. You two roshambo for who’s staying here on babysitting duty, I’m going to find whatever asshole piece of space trash hurt my girl.”

They didn’t actually play for it, Leibniz was halfway out of his seat before Clarke had registered you’d got up. They nodded at the hulking man stood over them, who nodded back and grabbed his gun from where it hung on the seat, plugging a can of foam in and priming the pump “Good hunting, you two”

You stepped back into the hallway, cranking the lights to their maximum. The bulbs buzzed angrily, producing a sickly-yellow glow that only seemed to deepen the shadows cast by every pipe and hatch. Leibniz stood back to back with you, carefully mimicking your steps to make sure nothing could get past you. Together you stalked up the corridor, checking the corners of every broom closet you passed, looking under bunks, peering around the hyperdrive, opening every cupboard, cabinet and panel as you passed them. The ship felt pokey normally but now, when you had to cover every square inch to get to whatever-the-fuck it was hiding from you, it was huge.

The cargo bay was, mercifully, not breached. It was built like the bank vault to end all bank vaults, thick titanium alloy walls, a couple of tonnes of reinforced, hermetically sealed door, and an alarm so finicky it would go off if someone passed gas too aggressively near it, as you’d once found out to your embarrassment. Finally you reached it, the computer core. A great sphere of incomprehensible boxes, doused in a tank of coolant, kept at a balmy -240 celsius. It hurt to touch the several-inches thick perspex that housed the core itself, so you kept your distance. The ship was a single corridor. Nothing should have been able to hide from you.

You checked the screens set into the wall of the circular chamber. One had a heat signature reading, overlaid on the ship. There you were, Leibniz standing in the doorway to the core, there was Niven and Clarke, in the crew compartment…

Wait. What was that? Clarke’s heat signature split in two. Either they’d just vomited something fierce, or whatever it was was in the crew compartment. You yelled for Leibniz to move, taking point as you hot-footed it back. You knew Clarke had probably dealt with it, but there’s no harm in-

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Fuck

The crew compartment was strewn with foam. Clarke was sprawled on the floor in front of you, gun still hissing as the last of the propellant left the can, their finger pressed hard against the trigger. You rolled them over, looking into glassy eyes. Again, you shone your torch into them, watching the pupils contract. Alive, at least. You motioned for Leibniz to cover you, and stepped over Clarke’s unresponsive body. Sending an SOS was your responsibility. The keycard you wore around your neck slotted into the terminal. Emergency lights flashed as it locked in place, bathing the quarters in red and sealing the doors. O2 recycling was restricted to here now, the emergency beacon was lit, protocol is to get everyone to pods and sleep it out until help arrives.

You turned to Leibniz. You screamed. A spiderlike creature was clinging to his head, pushing a long, pulsating tendril down his throat. He wasn't fighting it, arms hanging limply by his sides. You levelled your weapon, then thought better of spraying your friend with the smothering foam. You ducked around him. Good old Leibniz. The dagger in his boot was as sharp as ever.

The creature screamed as you cut the tendril. Foul smelling ichor sprayed from its wound as you pulled the tentacle from your friend's mouth. You grappled with it. The knife wedged between two plates of chitinous armour on its back. It fell away.

You stood victorious. The squirming creature a mass of legs and oozing fluid on your knife. It fell still, dripping the last of its life essence down your arm. You took it to the table, stabbing the tip of the blade into the cheap fibreboard before finishing it off with a healthy measure of foam, setting rock hard in seconds.

You turned your attention to your fellows. They were all the same, catatonic, glass-eyed, shallow breathing. The lights are on, but nobody's home. Leibniz would be hardest to move, so you started with him. The hulking man was almost twice your weight, a mountain of muscle and stern practicality, now a drooling dead weight to be hauled to a cryo pod.

You'd managed to drag him over to the pod when you heard a noise. You looked. Niven was choking on something. You ran to her, propping her up. You hammered on her back. Trying to bring up whatever it was she'd swallowed.

A ball shot from her mouth. Then another, and another. You bear hugged her, pushing in her belly as a dozen of the balls plopped from her mouth. Then Clarke started too, one after another they coughed them up, another dozen added to the collection. Then the tapping started. The eggs were rocking around on the floor, membranes splitting open.

Each one produced another of the spiderlike creatures, soft-bodied and quivering, shells hardening by the second. They weren't as large-bodied as the one you prised of Leibniz, but each one had long, spindly legs, more than enough to hold on to you.

One went for Niven again. You kicked it. A crunch from the other side of the room. They swarmed you. One leaped at your head. You screamed.

It landed on your face. Your fingers clawed at it but it was stuck tight. The tendril extended from its abdomen, pressing against your lips, seeping a sour, burning liquid into your mouth. Your jaw went numb, you felt your teeth part for the appendage. It slipped in, force-feeding you the anaesthetic as it pushed into your throat. More and more of the liquid flowed into you. Your mind slipped away, as though you were outside yourself. The numbing slime was accompanied by something else. The ovipositor thickened as the eggs dropped into you, stretching your numbed throat as it force-fed you its young.

One by one the eggs fell into you, you obidently swallowed each one, feeling them nestle in your belly, bloating you to make space for them all. As quickly as it started it was over, the ovipositor withdrew, and the creature skittered off you.

You lay there, drool dripping from your mouth, glassy-eyes staring at the ceiling. The eggs shifted in your belly. Getting comfortable.

A hail pinged on the screen. Your SOS had been received. Rescue ETA, three days.

"Sit tight, Captain"

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This is another one of those "is this hot, or am I just a little broken?" episodes. There's definitely sex, of a sort, but it's more horror than porn.

Unless you're into that kind of thing. Which I am.

Anyway, do feel free to send a request if you want to see something in particular, and I'll make sure it gets written 😁

[omagpies]

What would Anya get Curly for Christmas and vice versa? (And I also am curious what would happen if in an alternate universe to your AU if Daisuke also survived how he would fit in to all this?)

Anya gets Curly things that are geared towards sensory experiences and comfort, like cozy clothes and good pillows (it’s also how he discovers the beauty of a weighted blanket), events like the petting zoo at the oceanarium, anything that grounds him/reestablishes his flimsy contact with the physical world

Curly gets Anya practical things, noting stuff she mentions off-handedly and extrapolating from there, like building shelves for her ever growing collection of books and getting thick non-slip socks. Goes out of his way to get more obscure ingredients for dishes she mentions having in her childhood and does his best to wing them with varying degrees of success

(also there’s, of course, lingerie for extra special occasions. who wears it, you ask? yes)

as for Daisuke: i know art school is a popular hc for him, but from the way he acts on the ship it seems to me he does actually enjoy learning about mechanics, so i could see him going into engineering, both to honor Swansea and because he actually enjoys it. maybe he goes on the same campus as Anya and crashes at their place now and again. maybe Curly rustles up his old contacts and helps him find an internship that Doesn’t Suck (and is planetside). maybe Daisuke synthesizes his education and artsy inclinations and welds totally epic sculptures from scrap metal, that would be neat :)

[ziggarts]

Star Trek AU

Lt. Toris Vika works in DS9's engineering crew. Why on DS9? Because his level of engineering expertise lends itself to Cardassian structures and machines, leading him to be selected by O'Brien himself. Also, it's my favorite (shoosh).

He's a Bajoran, who, because of the Cardassian Occupation, did not receive medical assistance for his condition (caused by exposure to Cardassian biological weapons in utero) until adulthood. He was hidden away to keep him from being executed for being an "undesirable" laborer.

While hidden, he was smuggled books and discarded materials by his parents, and found himself proficient in and passionate about Cardassian mechanical engineering. He fashioned not weapons, but life-preserving inventions, like shields, protective masks, and air filtration systems for the underground resistance tunnels as a eenager. He even accompanied Kira Nerys over comms on a mission to shut down a Cardassian power plant and liberate a group of captured Bajoran Resistance fighters.

When the Bajoran Militia was increasing its numbers, he was offered a position as an engineering officer, but initially turned the offer down for fear of being forced into making weapons. It took the personal request of Kira Nerys for him to join, and under the strict condition that he would never be made to use or design weaponry. Later, a Kira's further suggestion, Chief O'Brien personally requested Toris for the team.

With aid from the Bajoran Republic, he's undergone spinal replacement, organ replacement, and genetic therapy for his condition, so he's in a much healthier spot now, though he requires regular treatments to keep his symptoms managed, is prone to respiratory flares, and can't go into poor air conditions. He still requires the use of mobility aids, which makes getting around DS9 particularly difficult, but he doesn't let it slow him down.

He's close friends with Kira Nerys, having known her through her work with the resistance. He's also becoming closer to his doctor, Julian Bashir. The two have bonded through their experiences with disability, and the way it affects their relationship with their respective parents. He and Garak have a unique relationship, as well, with him having been more receptive and kind to the Cardassian than was initially expected.

His main job aboard DS9 is optimization and invention for the station, creating new and efficient ways of maintenance with less chance for worker error. He also works on repairs, retrofitting, and in his spare time, development of new technology for Bajoran quality of life planetside. Many of his designs are regarded as safety gold, though he sometimes dips into grey ethics in the pursuit of efficiency, sacrificing sentient input for mechanical certainty.

One of his inventions, a rudimentary android meant for surveying and repairing damage in decompressed areas of the space station, has shown signs of sentience after coming into contact with one of the Tears of the Prophets. Terrified for his creation, as well as the implications this could have amongst the government and spiritual branches of his homeworld, Vika has chosen to hide his invention, which has named themself 'Kosst' (meaning, "to be" in Bajoran).

[solarmorrigan]

space au neighbor au steddie

So I wasn't actually sure what a space AU is meant to entail, so I hope a little vaguely Star Trek-inspired AU is okay?? This was a challenging combination, but it was fun!

Fanfiction Trope Mashup: 22. Space AU + 11. Neighbor AU

cw: vague mentions of injury, mentions of background character death

-

Lieutenant Steven Harrington transfers from the U.S.S. Nora and onto the U.S.S. Forrest about six months into the Forrest’s mission. He works in security. He can usually be found stationed somewhere on the ship, but sometimes he’s called up to go planetside.

(He’s also too pretty for Eddie to believe he’s one hundred percent human, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Eddie knows all of this because Harrington gets the previously vacant room right next door to his.

It isn’t bad, really; sometimes the sound of someone shuffling around on the other side of a wall that had previously been silent is comforting. Much as Eddie loves the hum of the ship around him—you can’t really work in engineering and not be a little enamored of the sound of the engines purring—sometimes human noise is what he craves.

(Particularly out here in the void of space. Eddie loves his job, loves working in the guts of a starship, but he wishes sometimes it didn’t come against the backdrop of an endless dark nothingness.)

Eddie doesn’t have reason to see Harrington very often during the day, but they work the same shift rotation, and they catch each other coming back to their rooms now and then at the end of a shift. They mostly exchange nods or waves, brief pleasantries if one of them is in the mood, but that’s really it.

At least, that’s really it until a few weeks in, when Eddie gets back to his room and sees Harrington still standing outside his own, mashing the buttons on the keypad and swearing quietly.

“Everything alright?” Eddie asks as he draws up at his own door.

Harrington lets out a long sigh. “Uh, yeah, just–” He shakes his head. “Apparently if you get your code wrong too many times in a row, the keypad locks you out. And you can’t get into your quarters. Which is… great.”

“You forget your code?” Eddie can’t help but ask.

“No,” Harrington snaps, then softens a little, looking sheepish, even a little embarrassed. “No, I just– sometimes the numbers get a little jumbled.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I’m gonna have to go find someone from maintenance to reset this and let me in, so…”

“Nah, don’t bother. You’ve got in-built tech support right here.” Eddie gestures for Harrington to move aside and crouches down in front of the keypad to reset it; doors and security locks aren’t technically his remit, but it’s not like they’re hard. It’s the work of moments to get the keypad to unlock, and Eddie shuffles back out of the way. “Go ahead and try it now.”

Harrington steps up to the keypad and slowly punches in the six-digit code that should get him into his quarters, and this time, instead of beeping angrily and flashing red, it chirps and gives him the green light. His door slides open and Harrington sighs.

“Thank you,” Harrington says, turning a smile so bright on Eddie that he momentarily forgets how to function. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Nah, t’weren’t nothin’,” Eddie says for some insane reason, slipping into a ridiculous accent like he does when he’s running tabletop games in the rec room with a couple of other guys from engineering.

If Harrington thinks he’s being weird, he mercifully doesn’t mention it. Instead, he sticks a hand out towards Eddie, still smiling. “I’m Steve, by the way. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

“Eddie,” Eddie says, taking the hand to shake (Steve’s hands are big, and strong, and warm, and Eddie tries not to think about it).

“It’s nice to meet you, Eddie. And not even for the obvious reasons,” Steve says, nodding towards his door.

“Yeah, you too,” Eddie says.

He then realizes that he’s still shaking Steve’s hand. He lets go, but Steve is slow to draw back. They’re quiet for a moment, both unsure how to end the encounter, before Steve lets out a little huff of a laugh.

“Well… have a good night,” he says, backing away towards his door.

“Yeah, you too,” Eddie says again, wondering where the hell all his eloquence has gone to.

With one last dorky little wave at Eddie, Steve disappears inside his room, and Eddie does the same.

They talk more, after that. Whenever their schedules coincide, they spend an extra few minutes outside their doors, learning more about each other, bit by bit. Eddie talks about why he’d joined up with a starship even though he really hates space (he’d had to get out of his small-minded hometown), and Steve talks about how he’d ended up really enjoying his work even though he’d only joined to appease his dad (captain of another ship, one Steve prays he’ll never, ever be assigned to).

Their conversations edge past five minutes, past ten, past fifteen. Eddie talks about his uncle, who taught him at least half of everything he knows about fixing things, who had encouraged him to reach for the stars. Steve talks about his best friend in the galaxy, who works up in communications and speaks “about a million languages.” He mentions that they’d met as ensigns, both stationed on the U.S.S. Butterscotch, but he doesn’t say much more than that (and Eddie won’t make him; he knows the story already. The ship might have had a ridiculous name, but the fate that had befallen it had been anything but: it had been taken over by hostiles and eventually gone down in flames. The number of survivors had been abysmal, and fact that Steve is here at all is a small miracle).

Steve learns that Eddie loves music and roleplaying games. Eddie learns that Steve has a knack for avoiding medical staff after altercations planetside and for brushing off minor-to-moderate injuries.

He’s not as good at avoiding Eddie, however, who makes a point of dragging him down to medical one evening after spotting a still-bleeding gash on Steve’s arm.

“One of these days, you’re gonna come back with something you can’t walk off,” Eddie warns him, “and I’ll be there to say I told you so.”

“Well, as long as you’re going to be there, I guess it won’t be so bad,” Steve replies, and Eddie tries not to be swayed by the flirting.

When Eddie turns out to be right, though, he doesn’t even have the heart to say I-told-you-so, which he feels a bit cheated about later.

The evening starts out so promisingly: Steve and Eddie are loitering outside their doors, Steve gravitating further and further into Eddie’s space as they talk, and Eddie is just about to pluck up the nerve to invite Steve inside when Steve’s communicator goes off.

He frowns, pulling it from his pocket to check the message, and his demeanor immediately turns serious. “I have to go,” he says, and apprehension prickles at the base of Eddie’s skull.

“Everything alright?” Eddie asks.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Steve offers Eddie a brief smile. “We can pick up where we left off as soon as this is taken care of.”

Eddie wants to ask just what “this” is, but he finds out soon enough. The promising evening turns into a hellish night with too little sleep and too many hits to the machinery for comfort, under attack from some unknown, hostile force. When things finally calm down and reports start rolling in, things aren’t as bad as they could be. No casualties, minor damage to the ship, and minimal injuries. It sounds reassuring, until Eddie finds himself standing next to Steve’s bed in the infirmary.

“I’m going to be fine. Stop looking at me like that,” Steve says, even though his eyes are closed and he can’t possibly know how Eddie is looking at him.

And the thing is, Eddie knows he’s right – Steve might sound an awful lot like he’s in pain right now, but the medical tech on the ship is top of the line, and the staff is equally good. Steve will be fine, but that doesn’t give Eddie any comfort right then, realizing how lost he would feel without his and Steve’s hallway conversations every day.

How lost he would feel without Steve.

It scares him– for a moment, it scares him enough that he wants to run from it, to put a halt to things before they get too serious, before this really hurts him. But even more than that, there’s a feeling greater than the fear: one of rightness when he’s with Steve, a feeling that’s worth the risk, that’s worth holding onto.

Eddie reaches out and takes Steve’s hand where it rests on the bed.

Steve cracks his eyes open to look at Eddie.

“You know…” he says slowly. “They said I should be fine on my own by tomorrow, good to go back to my own quarters, but– I’d feel a lot better if there was someone nearby. Just in case.”

“Like someone right next door?” Eddie asks, a tease of a smile beginning to grow on his face.

“Maybe a little closer than that,” Steve says, squeezing Eddie’s hand in his own.

“I think I can do that,” Eddie says, finding that he’s prepared to do a lot of things, if it means he can keep Steve close.

[colonel-dynamite-gun]

On the SR-1, Shepard comes down with 'Spacer's Sickness' (Essential the flu, Spacers who spend little time planetside are very susceptible to certain ailments but the term itself is used generally for any minor bugs one night catch aboard a spacecraft) and the crew have to deal without them since Dr. Chakwas gives the order that their CO is confined to the Captain's cabin till they get better.

The nonhumans are intrigued over human sickness and each react differently to seeing what's happening to Shepard.

Garrus is worried about Shepard"a status. Him having no frame of reference for most symptoms means that the ideas of "burning up" or being "congested" all sound horrific, like they'll go critical at a moment's notice. He can't tell what symptoms Joker is making up or are real when he asks the pilot about it.. Eventually Wrex eases his fears.

Tali wishes Shepard a fast recovery well also worrying about her own health, if one human can get sick...? She badgers Chakwas over symptoms to look out for and begins eyeing anyone who coughs or sneezes well working in the drive core. Engineer Adams eventual just takes her aside and explains humans just sometimes cough or sneeze well healthy and she's being overly paranoid.

Liara is shocked that the most capable soldier she knows is suffering, and offers to bring meals to Shepard since Asari biology isn't suspectable to human germs. Shepard sleeps mostly, more then they have in weeks in fact and Liara realizes that Shepard's actions are even more admirable. They aren't superhuman, in fact quite falable yet they've accomplished so much regardless.

Wrex is Wrex. When asked why he isn't worried he shrugs. When pressed by Garrus, about how he's so calm over Commander Shepard being laid low he stops cleaning his shotgun and glares at the Turian. He knows exactly how dangerous illness can be. He's a damned Krogan, his homeworld is a pile of radioactive rubble, not exactly a high level of healthcare to be expected. Sickness is common amongst the clans. He also knows Shepard's a formidable warrior. The strong always survive, and no case of the sniffles is going to kill them so stop whining like a varren pup.

Shepard recovers after three days and the hunt for Sarren continues.

[divineturtle]

Doctor McCoy's (still rough) timeline in my fanfic:

-meets Jocelyn when they're 17, marries when they're 18 and have Joanna right away.

-He's attending school at Ole Miss and juggling family life. Jocelyn wants to go to school but feels like she can't with a baby

-they realize they married too young and are holding each other back, get divorced when they're 23

- Leonard gets an apartment in San Francisco where he's working through his specializations; his daughter stays every weekend

- dates nancy when he's 25 Canon compliant

-After Nancy, he gets into this really toxic relationship with a hot guy that's finishing his training as a Starfleet engineer

- Kirk becomes his roommate when he's 26; this is when Kirk is a lieutenant at the Academy. It's only for like a year and half but during this time they become friends, and Kirk convinces him to join Starfleet

-also Joanna calls him "Uncle Jim" 🥺

-Small Note: it's still important to note that McCoy never attended the Academy. He was already a doctor. This is TOS fanfic

- for a while, he takes exclusively planetside missions so he can up and leave for his daughter whenever, or so Jocelyn and Joanna can visit him

-This changes when he's 35, and Jim Kirk sends a request for him to accept a position as his Chief Medical Officer for the 5 year mission. Since Joanna is now in her teens, they agree as a family it would be OK for him to accept

-Well, a year and half into this mission that he's FUCKING REGRETING (not really, but sometimes) he gets pregnant

(Record scratch- "Yes, that's me, Leonard McCoy. You might be wondering how I got here.)

-So he gets pregnant by Spock by accident. Vulcan magic fuckup during a medical emergency (Don't tell them I called their baby a fuckup tho). He finds out 7-8 weeks ish, it's a total journey getting there because the poor dude thinks he's fuckin dying. And has an identity crisis because he's a doctor and can't even diagnose himself.

-He chooses to keep the baby and him and Spock decide it would be logical to sort of move in together platonically. As friends who are gonna be dads together? It's weird for them.

-His toxic ex shows up just to be a dick (and refit the enterprise for their baby)

-Spock and McCoy get together at like week 14, right at the beginning of his 2nd trimester. Jim has gray hairs.

-Joanna goes missing??? The enterprise goes on a mission to find her and she meets them halfway in a stolen shuttle. She missed her daddy and ran away during a field trip 🥺

-He loves watching Spock and Joanna interact irl because they've only met like twice on vid and it means a lot to him

-He realizes he LOVE loves Spock 🥺

I don't know what else yet. I haven't written half of this yet. I just got to the chapter where him and Spock are telling Jim about the pregnancy and Jim is like "No seriously, what did you actually get diagnosed with." Also these notes are mostly for me so i dont forget, I just don't keep inside thoughts inside, so enjoy 💗

Notes about Jocelyn and Joanna:

Jocelyn is a black woman, so Joanna is mixed, she's about 16/17. Joanna mostly looks like her mom, except she has her dad's gapped teeth and wide smile. She has aspirations of going into musical theater/singing/acting/performing arts, but it's kinda a Thing with the school because they're like "Your mom is the most badass architect (or something else I'm not sold yet) ever and your dad is already a legendary surgeon in his 30s, you should Aim Higher" and both Jocelyn and Leonard have to be like "no??? She's her own person." Just so you can visualize who they are.

There's also gonna be a moment where Spocks like, so are we going to raise it Vulcan or human and Leonard is like?? Hey I know your parents didn't expose you to both of your cultures but I have a daughter from two different backgrounds already, and you don't just choose to raise the kid one way OR the other. It's both. I'm not going to pretend our kid isn't Vulcan or isn't human. K? K.

And yes I made Bones a little younger than he is in TOS- by two years approximately, he's supposed to be 37 in the first episode, but that's only because I really wanted to make him be a teen dad and I wanted his daughter to be a teen. Arrest me if you must for youthening the old man

[sprintingowl]

High Voltage Bundle

The High Voltage bundle has launched, and is running until the end of January 2024.

It's 20 TTRPGs, 87% off, and it's primarily robust core systems.

For example, there's:

Planet Fist - A feature length Fist hack where the occult espionage action system is being used to run Planetside 2.

Vibe Check - An extremely gorgeous high effort street art take on The World Ends With You.

Bloodbeam Badlands - A vampire cowboys rpg.

Blazing Hymn - A giant homage to Symphogear.

ProtoDrive - An Initial D rpg running on the Lancer engine.

And, again, there 15 more titles on top of that, including a giant beetle befriending simulator that I wrote.

If you want to dip into the deeper indie, this is a very solid place to start!.

(And if these sound too weird for you and you want other rpg reccs, lmk. I think the games in this bundle are great, but I'm also super happy to suggest other rpgs that might match what you're looking for.)

[startrek-phoenix]

Painful Reality

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1568

Read on AO3

“Would you trust me to take care of you?”

That meaning, too, was clear. If Jim said yes, he was surrendering himself to Spock for the remainder of the night. Letting go of command, letting go of the persona, letting go of the requirement that he be constantly prepared, constantly on alert. The flare of fear in his belly wasn’t unexpected, but he squashed it ruthlessly. He trusted Spock above all else. He wouldn’t do anything to suggest otherwise.

“I would,” he said. “I will.”

Spock shifted and kissed him again, right at the base of his spine. “I know what it is you miss from the Academy, Jim.”

***

Returning early from the strange 'amusement park', Jim struggles once more to relax.

That sounds like a painful reality.

-Spock, Shore Leave

For a moment, Jim had really considered staying.  Staying with Ruth, reliving the sweetest memories of his youth, the gentle lovemaking and balmy summers of their time together, a nostalgia unspoiled even by the bitter recall of their eventual parting.  Spock had even given his tacit permission; if he’d been unhappy with the idea, he’d never have left Jim alone there. 

But it wasn’t the same.  Now the shock had worn off, now the explanation had been given, it was near-impossible to see her as Ruth.  He’d looked behind the curtain, spoiled the magician’s trick.  She was no more the real Ruth than the Black Knight had been a nobleman, and he couldn’t delude himself.  That part of his life was gone.  There was no going back.

He’d paced the land a while longer, thinking as deeply as he could without summoning a replica.  Why was it he wanted to go back?  Was there anything, really, that he had at the Academy but lacked now?  In truth, he had a great deal more than he’d had at the Academy.  He had command.  He had Enterprise.

And he had Spock.

Scotty seemed surprised to see him when he beamed back aboard, but he didn’t ask questions.  Perhaps there was something in Jim’s manner that told him not to, perhaps he simply knew his friend and captain well enough to know when he wouldn’t want to talk.  Either way, Jim was relieved, and he offered his chief engineer a smile as he left.  A silent promise that he hadn’t left because of any trouble.  If Scotty ever decided to take a break from his beloved technical manuals, the planet would be waiting for him.

Spock, too, seemed surprised to find Jim at his door.  He raised an eyebrow, though he let Jim in without question, and he joined him at the chessboard when Jim sat.

“Do you wish to continue our game, Captain?”

“Not just yet, Spock.”  Jim couldn’t explain it, the contemplative haze he seemed trapped in.  What was it he wanted?  What was it he lacked?  “How do you think Bones is getting along with Yeoman Barrows?”

Another raised eyebrow, but Spock seemed willing enough to speculate.  “I should imagine they are getting along adequately.  Miss Barrows is an intelligent woman, despite her interest in the doctor.  They shall have plenty of conversation topics available to them.”

“I’m not certain conversation was what they had in mind, Mr Spock,” he said, which earned him a quiet huff from his favourite prude.  Though perfectly willing to engage in sexual behaviours himself, Spock hated nothing more than being forced to discuss it aloud.  It was entirely unclear whether this was a side-effect of his upbringing, or simply Spock’s own personality.

“I had thought that you intended to remain planetside,” Spock said, neatly changing the subject.  “May I ask what changed your mind?”

“You may,” said Jim, neatly ignoring Spock’s eyeroll.  

“What changed your mind, Jim?”

“I’m not sure,” he confessed.  “It all suddenly seemed… insubstantial.  Unreal.  I wanted…  I needed something that was real.”

Spock watched him for a long moment.  Jim tasted his own heart in his throat.

“I need something real, Spock.”

Spock rose silently, with all the grace of a cat.  He moved until he was standing behind Jim’s seat, hands on his shoulders, fingers pushing just slightly into tense muscle.  An echo of what happened - what Jim had thought was happening - on the bridge that morning.  Spock’s clever hands pushed and pulled and caressed their way over Jim’s back, soothing away aches and worries week’s in the making.  Jim started to slump, a wordless groan building in his throat, and Spock finally spoke.

“I could work more efficiently if you were lying down, Jim,” he said.  He trailed a finger down the back of Jim’s neck.  “Would you use my bed?”

“I would,” said Jim, throat slightly dry.  He walked over dazed, as if he were in one of those Vulcan trances, and settled himself on his stomach.  Spock tutted at him.

“Shirt, Jim.”

Oh. 

Jim slipped his shirt off and resettled.  He could hear Spock’s footsteps behind him - Spock must have been doing that on purpose, wary of startling him in this strange mood - and hid his face in the pillow.  Something about this…  He had never felt so vulnerable in his life, not with phasers to his head or knives to his throat.  No one had ever been so capable of utterly destroying him than Spock.

He trusted Spock unconditionally.

He felt the bed dip under Spock’s weight, felt him arrange himself so he had best access to Jim’s body.  Spock lowered himself enough that he was almost seated on Jim’s backside, except Jim could tell he hadn’t let even half his body weight fall on Jim.  He ought to have said something, urged him to relax more, but he didn’t.  Couldn’t.

“You have been too long on duty,” Spock said, working him over again.  He seemed lazer-drawn to every strain and knot.  He pushed just beneath Jim’s shoulder blade and Jim hissed.  “You are Human.  You require regular rest.”

“I’m fine, Spock,” he said into the pillow.  He wasn’t sure if Spock’s swift movement to his lower back was punishment or not, but he moaned all the same.  The stiffness intensified and then suddenly released; the relief was overwhelming, heady, made him dizzy.

“You deserve regular rest,” Spock said.  His movements were gentle now.  Every ache was soothed; he merely caressed Jim’s bare skin.  Jim wondered what it was he felt in those Vulcan-sensitive hands.  “You are as worthy of care and rest as any other man aboard this ship.”

“Spock…”

He was silenced as Spock pressed a kiss to the centre of his back.  What could he say in the face of such treatment?  He lay, silent and boneless, letting Spock kiss down the line of his spine.  It was easy to imagine the look on Spock’s face, eyes half-lidded, mouth twitching into that slightly crooked smile he sometimes wore.  That was why he allowed it, the unbalanced focus on him and his body; because it was so easy to remember that Spock wanted it.  Was enjoying it.

“You are worthy of being taken care of,” Spock said.  “If you will not do so yourself, I will do it myself.”

“I don’t need-”  He broke off in a yelp as Spock nipped at his flesh with sharp teeth, then lapped apologetically at the place with his roughened tongue.  The meaning was clear; objections would not be tolerated.

“Would you trust me to take care of you?”

That meaning, too, was clear.  If Jim said yes, he was surrendering himself to Spock for the remainder of the night.  Letting go of command, letting go of the persona, letting go of the requirement that he be constantly prepared, constantly on alert.  The flare of fear in his belly wasn’t unexpected, but he squashed it ruthlessly.  He trusted Spock above all else.  He wouldn’t do anything to suggest otherwise.

“I would,” he said.  “I will.”

Spock shifted and kissed him again, right at the base of his spine.  “I know what it is you miss from the Academy, Jim.”

“What?”

“The Academy is guarded, watched over, protected.  You rested knowing that you were safe.”  There was sympathy in Spock’s voice, but it wasn’t overwhelming.  Jim could not have accepted his words if they were born of pity.  “Here, you are the last line of defence.  You watch over the crew.  You feel as if you cannot rest, for their sake.”

“I…”

“I believe your mind conjured Ruth because you recall her as a protector, a healer, as much as a lover.  Someone who would watch over you as you watch over the ship.”

Jim swallowed.  It was true that Ruth had been both guard and lover to him.  She had been solace, a balm after the hate and rage that had characterised the last days - months - of his liaison with Janice.  He had trusted her with his dreams, which at that time were rarely pleasant.  He remembered that he woke, sometimes, to find her cradling him, attempting to soothe him.

“I am not she,” Spock said, with slight amusement, and Jim felt it too.  No, Spock certainly wasn’t Ruth, or even like her.  For one thing he couldn’t imagine Spock lounging in flowers - not without scientific reason, at least.  “I am not she,” he said again.  “But I will watch over you as you rest.  If you would permit it.”

Was that what Spock wanted tonight?  Jim had thought…

But it made sense.  All at once the exhaustion overwhelmed him, and for the first time in far too long he lay there without pain.  He could sleep. 

“And what will you do?”

Spock didn’t answer immediately.  He lay down first, on his stomach too, half his body on the bed, half draped over Jim like a weighted blanket.  Jim had to admit that he liked it, the gentle pressure, the proof that someone was there.

“I will meditate,” he said.  “It will be restful to me, but I will be aware.  If there is danger, I will attend to it.  If difficulties arise, I will solve them.  You may rest, Jim, knowing that I have the watch.”

Jim swallowed thickly.  “Alright.  Alright, Spock.”

And he slept.

[endy-merimo]

Many of you may know me as a guy who loves Marius and my whole thing being obsessed with drawing Marius and taking both of his tags. But I wasn’t always like this and all my fame and love for this character comes from another person, who introduced me to Marius’ personality and lore: @allthedoorsareopennow with his ao3 myhandisfatemywordislaw (@myhandisfatemywordislaw on tumblr as well!!)

If you are interested in rp side of the mechs fandom you might as well know the rp between my oc @researcher-4e69636b and @doctorbaronmariusvonraum (@von-raum-rp for when we do long rps) with other rp blogs from the same au occasionally showing up: @captainjonnydville and @engineer-nastya which are both from Doors as well!

And so today I’ve decided to show some appreciation and transfer the title “Baron Marius Von Raum fan #1” to its actual proper owner by making art for almost all marius fanfiction from myhandisfatemywordislaw and from all chapters of 4e rp on ao3 that are up there right now (the 7th chapter will be there hopefully soon, we need to finish the long rp with it but you can check it in progress on either @researcher-4e69636b or @von-raum-rp wink wink)

Starting with probably my favourite of their Marius fanfics Loose Screws. If you love some psychological horror with violence - that’s a perfect match!

Next is Nor A Doctor where Marius decides to get an actual degree! Struggles and help from Ivy included.

And Therapy where Marius gets to do therapy for Ashes.

Now to my beloved The Adventures of Marius von Raum and Nick the researcher aka the 4e rp!

Chapter 1: The Rescue

Chapter 2: The Aftermath

Chapter 3: The Introduction to Jonny D’Ville

Chapter 4: A Game (it's not an unfinished drawing I just like the vibe, okay?)

Chapter 5: A New Room

Chapter 6: A Planetside Trip

Again, enormous thank you to @allthedoorsareopennow for introducing me to my biggest hyperfixation in my life that is Baron Marius Von Raum.

You’re the one and true Baron Marius Von Raum guy and his fan #1

[xm0-m0x]

The many uniforms of Momo - she works basically as a Yeoman, being assigned into whatever department needs her that day, she has a wardrobe of every colour and every uniform variant so she’s always ready 💙❤️💛

Basically: normal uniform 1 (the only tri colour for when she’s unassigned and working all over the ship, but can be solid colour) , normal uniform 2, casual uniform (for planetside trips, mostly assisting medical or science), jumpsuit (mostly worn in engineering)

[kauriart]

Paragon, Renegade, Pilot

Chapter 6

A NSFW Mass Effect fic | Joker/Kaidan/f!Shepard | Read it on AO3

Joker doesn’t remember Alchera.

Not much of it anyway. He’d broken his–– well, a lot. Little hairline breaks skittering up the bones of his legs like burns from a lightning strike, and a pelvis fracture that was a burst of agony so bright he thought he was dying when it happened.

But he remembers what came before. The sudden blare of the warning siren that made his guts drop down to his toes. Bellowing Shepard’s name into the comm even as he wrenched the ship into a wild and completely hopeless evasive maneuver. The heart-stopping impact that had shredded the Normandy’s shields. And the next, that had torn through her hull with a sound as horrifying as a Reaper’s scream. The wash of red that had lit up his console even as several feeds had fizzled into static. The upper third of Engineering was gone. Gravity on deck two was flickering in and out. Oxygen levels compromised. Hull integrity compromised. Radiation spiking. Fires all along the third deck. And the tiny, heart-stopping blips of two more incoming barrages.

The Normandy was lost.

And it had taken less than two minutes.

Escape pod five deployed. Escape pod four deployed.

A third impact straight to Normandy’s heart. The death rattle of splintering steel and the strange pop of electrical fires bursting into the vacuum of space. Screams. Audible above even the din of the Normandy’s alarms; someone was screaming.

Escape pod two deployed.

And Shepard, cursing, hair slick-stuck to her face through her visor. Pulling Joker bodily from his chair, clapping an emergency ventilator over his face, and dragging him toward the last viable escape pod.

He remembers fighting her. Digging in his heels because he couldn’t — couldn’t walk away while the Normandy burned. It was so awful, and wrong, and undignified an end.

But he’d never been a match for Shepard in strength or in stubbornness. So she'd dragged him through the wreck of the Normandy, hallways dark with smoke and blinking lights, and bodies floating through them in slow motion like some terrible dream.

He'd laughed, he remembers. Nerves spilling over in the worst possible way. Good thing he can fly, he’d have made a terrible marine.

And then they’d reached the escape pod. Shepard had punched the button on the hatch, and the doors slid open. Built for twenty, the rounded dome of space inside seemed unnecessarily large. She’d pitched him in without ceremony, and hung back while he strapped himself into the narrow semi-padded seat.

Three seconds. Four?

Her face was turned away, hair loose and unruly inside her helmet. Like flames trapped in a bottle.

In that moment she had never been more beautiful.

And then something on the Normandy had blown up behind her, shoving her roughly into the doorframe of the escape pod.

The emergency lighting died abruptly.

Still, enough fire to see by.

A brief, horrid moment when their eyes locked.

Shepard’s silhouette, frozen. Wreathed in smoke and red and blue flames.

I’m sorry.

He couldn’t hear her, but he could see her lips move, see her punch the hatch again.

Then the door slid shut between them.

The sound of the locks releasing was the sound of his own heart breaking. He could hear it above the din of his own screams. Above the roar of the boosters beneath the escape pod. Above the concussive blast of the last salvo, as what was left of the Normandy exploded.

Thirteen minutes.

He remembers thirteen of the worst minutes of his life. Alone in the escape pod as it hurtled towards Alchera. Screaming for Shepard so hard he’d nearly thrown up all over himself. The constant jostle of descent and the impact of the landing were only half-dampened by the internal shocks of the escape pod.

He’d passed out after about three minutes planetside.

That part was nice.

The rest of Alchera was wrapped in cotton wool. No one else who escaped had been injured, bar some superficial burns and abrasions. And all of the pods that had launched had reached the surface without incident, so Joker had Chakwas’ entire emergency stash of painkillers all to himself.

(Yay.)

He doesn’t remember what the days between the crash and the rescue were like –– when rations were sparse and hope, even sparser. He just remembers waking up in some Alliance hospital on the Citadel to the glare of harsh overhead lighting, and the sharp smell of chemical disinfectants in his nose, and an entire galaxy in mourning.

Shepard was on every screen and omni-tool in sight, in every whispered conversation. Her name rippled across the hospital ward, caught in an endless current of shock and speculation.

He wishes he had never left the Normandy. He wishes he had never thought to try and stay. 

In his dreams, he grabs Shepard, pulls her into the escape pod, and never lets go. In his nightmares… it ends differently, but not much worse than what actually happened. Shepard dies. Shepard always dies.

But none of it matters because when he wakes, Shepard is still dead.

***

All in all, Joker isn’t sure what hurts worse. The way Kaidan’s entire body is so heavy with grief that he rarely sits up straight anymore, or the way Kaidan looks at him. Not like a murderer. Not like the impetus of all this disaster. Not like the one who should abso-fucking-lutely have been left behind to die; to freeze or burn or get spat out into the silence of the stars.

Kaidan looks at Joker like he’s glad he’s still alive. And fuck him. Honestly. 

Of the myriad of things Joker’s ever wanted from Kaidan, forgiveness isn’t one of them.

He’d rather have rage. Hate. Abuse, even. But there isn’t a mean bone in Kaidan’s body, which is suddenly, irrationally, unfair. And for one bright moment he thinks if it had been reversed, Shepard would have yelled at him at least once for being so goddamn in love with a ship that he had to look around, had to say good-bye, had to waste those precious seconds like the fucking idiot he is. 

But the Normandy was made of mortal stuff. It was Shepard who was indestructible. Shepard who could walk through fire. Shepard who could badass her way out of any situation. Shepard who thought Joker’s life was worth more than the risk of taking two more steps to save them both.

So he’s angry at Kaidan because he can’t be angry at Shepard. 

And he’s even more angry at Kaidan because Kaidan doesn’t even have the decency to be angry back.

So in the wake of the attack on the Normandy, Joker had avoided him. He didn’t have to try very hard –– there were medical panels and PT, and a thousand debriefs, and then a thousand more when the brass realized he was the last person who had seen Commander Shepard alive, and he couldn’t explain why she hadn’t walked forward half a foot and then shut the escape pod hatch. 

He never told anyone about that last I’m sorry. It was too personal. The only moment he shared with Shepard that belonged to him alone, and he wasn’t about to give it to the Alliance for a panel of specialists and psychiatrists to pick apart. Fuck, no.

And so a month later all of the Normandy’s Alliance crew had been cleared for active duty, except Joker. Still under medical observation. Two words that meant he was grounded. Two words that really meant fuck you, you don’t deserve a ship.

And so the first time he sees Kaidan –– really sees him –– is the day of Shepard’s funeral. 

And Kaidan looks so...

He lists.

Like a ship with a fatal hull breach, leaking air and eezo in equal parts.

He hurts to look at, so Joker keeps his eyes on his own shoes for much of the ceremony.

There’s an Alliance chaplain of sorts, saying things that don’t make any sort of sense. Words like calm and rest could never apply to the Commander. Shepard was all passion and strength and mule-headed courage. She was light. She was chaos. 

She wasn’t…

(supposed to die)

…this.

The coffin upon the altar is open, but there is nothing inside. Or not nothing, but no Shepard; just a truly spectacular arrangement of white flowers. Some are recognizably from Earth. Others aren’t. A few glow, dappling the inside of the coffin with the light of tiny stars. 

It’s…

(wrong)

… pretty, he supposes. The way mortals mourn a God.

Lacking a body to bury they’d all been asked to leave a token. The Normandy had been Shepard’s home. The crew, her family. 

Garrus leaves a brand new Black Widow sniper rifle, modded to the hilt.

Dr Chakwas leaves an ice blue bottle of what looks to be very expensive brandy and a single crystal glass.

Wrex leaves a headbutt that splinters the outer shell of the coffin a little and sends the Alliance aide in charge of the ceremony into a full-blown panic, stalling the funeral for a good half-hour.

Kaidan…

Joker doesn’t see what Kaidan leaves.

When the time comes, he can’t bear to look.

But he hears Liara say “Oh, Kaidan,” in a voice so small and heartbroken that Joker’s eyes grow thick with tears and he can’t see what the rest of the crew leaves either. He keeps his head bent and his attention on the tiny drops that fall from his eyes onto the tips of his shoes. He floats safely for a little while in that liminal space between reality and grief, where everything is fuzzy and gray and empty.

Then someone –– Tali?–– rests a hand on his shoulder, urging him forward.

Oh.

It’s his turn.

Oh no.

Joker has no memories of Shepard that aren’t stamped across his heart. Nothing. They didn’t share anything tangible that he could hold onto. Just cockpit conversations and evacs and the rare blessing of her smile.

And once, an apology.

And now all he has to leave is a note. Just one word. A shakey, heartbeat of a scrawl crumpled in his fist.

Forgiven.

But he doesn’t want to forgive Shepard for dying. He doesn’t. And even if he did, he can’t grant absolution to an empty box. To a pile of things that weren’t even hers. His hand shakes. He keeps seeing it: tangled red hair, and fire, and Shepard’s lips moving on a pair of words he’d never heard her utter in her life.

I’m sorry.

He can’t move forward, and he can’t move back.

Who is he to withhold forgiveness? 

A fucking coward, that’s who.

He got her killed in the first place. And then she did the impossible — she died. Now neither of them deserves forgiveness.

He staggers back a step, and then another, breath all stopped up with a sob. And then he can’t see through the tears, can’t hear above the sound of himself losing a grip on his pathetic guilt, can’t think — and very much doesn't want to. But he feels his body moving, and the lancing strike of grief and panic as he turns and shoulders past his former shipmates.

Sounds blur. The lights of the citadel streak past like stars. But it isn’t until he’s back in his apartment that his brain processes the feel of a hand sliding against his own –– a broad sturdy touch, clammy with sweat and sorrow. Someone had tried to pull him back to himself.

Maybe it was Shepard’s ghost.

***

Time passing on the ground is nothing at all like time passing in space.

It’s lonelier for one thing. Everyone assumes space is lonely because it’s so damn big and so damn empty. But as if to compensate, the world of a ship is always so utterly full. There’s always noise and lights and screens dotted with information and alerts. The haptic feedback of it all; tiny thrums of vibration beneath his fingertips; the give and take of all the switches and buttons, not smooth, but stippled with tiny bumps and ridges so he can mark his place even in the pitch dark.

A ship breathes. The movements of her crew  — always wedged shoulder to shoulder even when they don’t actually touch — flow like a fully functioning circulatory system, like something alive. The steady rhythm of the Normandy always matching his own. Like the ship paced itself to his heartbeat. Like it would do that for him.

No other ship had felt quite like she did.

Here it’s just… silent. Hours and hours of nothing at all. Nothing to keep his hands busy, or his mind busy, or to soothe the sensation of being dragged through an endless hallway filled with smoke and fire and weightless bodies.

He’s given up the monotony of flipping through his datapad, blankly looking at random crap on the net. The Alliance is still blocking him from active-duty information (the pricks), and all anyone seems to be talking about is Shepard’s death — aggravating because his mind always fills in the little details that no one else knows.

Red and blue fire.

A tangle of sweat-soaked hair.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

“Fuck,” Joker scrubs a hand over eyes that sting with the memory of smoke. “Fuck, fuck.”

Still. Being inside his apartment is slightly better than being out of it. At least he can wallow without feeling judged. After a couple of weeks, he stops eating very much because it’s more bother than it’s worth. And he stops showering very much because, same.

And then he stops taking his meds. 

Not like, all of them. Just the ones that make him dream with perfect clarity. Because he doesn’t dream of Shepard or Kaidan anymore, or rather he does, but not in a sexy nut-in-your-pants kind of way. He dreams about how Shepard died. Sometimes he dreams of getting lost in an endless hallway filled with fire and death, sometimes it’s the escape pod and the look on Shepard’s face when she slammed the hatch shut between them. Sometimes it’s the aftermath, watching her run out of air, freeze to death, or just drift forever in the cold and dark and he wakes up, retching over the side of his bed because the absolute last thing he wants to experience in fucking high-definition is Shepard's slow and painful death.

So yeah, he doesn’t take those meds.

It doesn’t make the nightmares stop, because the nightmares never stop. But it makes them bearable. If he still watches Shepard die every other night at least it's through the foggy surrealness of normal dreams. Awful, but not soul-shattering.

So he trades emotional pain, for physical; the return of that rusty awfulness in his joints, and he spends an hour each morning aching and running his hands under hot water to make it stop. But it doesn't matter. What the fuck does he need good hands for if he isn’t flying a ship?

He doesn’t tell Dr Chakwas that his pain is worse, even when she asks point blank. Instead, he answers every one of her messages promptly and in as chipper a tone as he can manage in case the Alliance has finally decided it wants its most brilliant pilot back.

(They don’t.)

He knows Dr Chakwas is pushing for him to be released from medical observation, but since it really isn’t medical observation he doesn’t have much hope.

He flips his datapad on again, then off.

Then he flips it on again. And he wonders if this is all that he'll have, for the rest of his life.

[captain-dville]

I think I have the splu again I'm feeling like shit, if you don't want to get sick I wouldn't come to the engine room but I mean that's just me

If you wanted to take a risk I'd understand I know you like danger

( @engineeroftheaurora )

Ew. Yeah, no, you keep that shit to yourself. I'm not going to miss going planetside because I'm stuck hacking my guts up.

Left food and a bottle of whiskey outside the door. And yes, I picked out the shit you don't like.

[honourablejester]

Science Fiction Spaceships That Rewrote My Brain

While I’m in science fiction land for a while, I thought I’d have a look at a pair of spaceships that really blew my tiny childhood mind as a kid.

The Valley Forge, Silent Running (1972)

Silent Running was an environmentalist science fiction movie from the 70s that I watched on late night TV one night as a kid, and it mildly traumatised me, but also fascinated me. The concept of the movie is that plant life on Earth is dying, so a fleet of cargo hauler ships are used to carry biodomes of salvaged trees and plants into orbit around Saturn to wait out the reconstruction of the environment at home. The plot is kicked off when an order comes through from the company to ditch and destroy the biodomes so the fleet can get back to commercial hauling and making money, and one scientist aboard the Valley Forge decides fuck that and goes full ecoterrorist in an attempt to preserve at least one of the six biodomes on his ship.

Your mileage may vary on the plot, and the three robots and their fates may traumatise you, but I just want to talk about the Valley Forge and her sister ships themselves for a moment. Because the idea of a spaceship whose sole purpose is to carry biomes into space blew my mind. I’d seen gardens on spaceships before, luxury spaces and recreational spaces, because people need greenery to feel right, but the thought of a whole ship whose purpose was to carry and preserve plants was massive.

And, of course, the thing with Valley Forge is that she’s not designed to carry plants. She’s designed to haul cargo. She’s a skeletal spaceship designed to be an engine strapped to some struts to attach modular cargo pods to. She’s lean and barebones and brutal in her way. But she was refitted to carry hope, to carry beautiful geodesic domes full of salvaged plantlife and the last remnants of a living planet, to hold them and keep them safe until they could be returned planetside. And that purpose was then betrayed for profit, and she’s hijacked to be the battleground between science and commercialism, and also to be the battleground between the fragile ecosystems she carries and the harsh and lethal environment of space around her.

She just. She made such an impact. Colony ships and generation ships and ships designed to carry the last remnants of humanity are something I’ve seen much more frequently, but not a ship designed to carry Earth. The biomes and plantlife of Earth. To salvage not just the people but the environment, or something of the environment, of our lonely blue ball of a world.

So. All respect to the lean, brutal, commercial skeleton of a ship who carried the last remnant of a dying world in full defiance of her intended purpose.

The Cygnus, The Black Hole (1979)

Back when live action Disney movies got surprisingly dark and twisted. Heh. The Black Hole is a really creepy-cool science fiction movie in which the crew of the space exploration vessel USS Palomino stumble across what appears to be the derelict remnants of the USS Cygnus, a vessel that went missing 20 years ago, in orbit around a black hole. Forced to dock with her after suffering damage, they encounter the supposedly sole survivor of her crew, the scientist Dr Hans Reinhardt, and slowly realise that something extremely fucked up is happening aboard this ship.

Have you ever watched Event Horizon (1997)? Because the Event Horizon owes everything to the USS Cygnus. She is one of the early pioneers of sci-fi horror vessels over here. But the main thing about her, for me, was her aesthetic. Because the USS Cygnus is a frankly stunning looking ship, and she’s focused on so lovingly. There is an absolutely spectacular fly-by sequence where the Palomino first discovers the ‘derelict’ ship, focusing lights on her and flying beneath her structure like a submarine examining a submerged wreck, the starfield lonely and beautiful and deadly behind her, and then as the smaller ship crests over her, she lights up beneath them, abruptly not as derelict as she appears, and it’s the most spectacular moment. I got chills.

She is such a spectacularly beautiful and spectacularly creepy ship. Is her design even remotely practical? Absolutely not. She looks like an evil Christmas ornament or a gothic cathedral, all sparkling glass and dark, delicate metal buttresses. She’s so evil and so impractical. She’s orbiting a black hole, the impossibility of which is a plot point, and she’s orbiting a black hole on purpose, because some really fucked up things are happening on this lovely and oh-so-sinister ship. Seriously, the Event Horizon owes her everything. Her spiritual descendent ship. She’s so beautiful. And so spectacularly fucked up. But it makes for such stunning imagery.

If anyone has ever wondered why I’m so fucking fond of space horror. I’d like you to meet my lady. Heh.

[ask-good-cop-bad-cop]

Benny Headcanons

✮ Benny's full name is Benjamin James Blue. His birthday is July 2.

✮ Benny is the youngest of 3 kids. His brother Dennis (Denny) is the eldest, and his sister Jennifer (Jenny) is the middle child. They're also astronauts.

✮ Benny trained alongside his siblings to be a Master Builder. They were all taught by their father, who was also an astronaut, but was permanently grounded after a disastrous reentry gave him a serious, lasting injury.

✮ Benny's mom died in a firefight with Blacktron when he was very young. He doesn't really remember her.

✮ Benny started out as a fighter pilot and logged many hours flying fighter jets and test craft.

✮ Benny has a few degrees in electrical engineering, mechanical engineering, astronomy, mathematics, and aeronautics.

✮ People are often surprised to learn that Benny is proficient in both armed and unarmed combat. His personality is so disarming it's easy to forget that the blue spacesuits are for soldiers/security.

✮ Benny's helmet was broken by a piece of space debris while he and his crew were out performing some routine maintenance on the moon base. They got him back inside quickly enough, but the injury was severe enough they needed to get him back planetside to have it properly treated as the base's medical staff weren't properly equipped for brain trauma. Master Builders were outlawed soon after so Benny ended up stuck grounded for a lot longer than was planned. He still has a faint scar on his face from the impact.

✮ Benny spent most of his time as an outlaw living in Cloud Cuckooland, where he became good friends with Unikitty and Metalbeard.

✮ Benny technically moved back in with his dad after TAKOS Tuesday (his apartment was cleared out & rented to someone else while he was living as an outlaw) but spent more time at Emmet's than at home. Emmet helped him to get back into some sort of routine and back onto medication for his ADHD so he could pull himself together enough to start working again. He still has days where he gets so absorbed in his projects he forgets to take care of himself though.

✮ Benny was hired back in the Space Corps just before Thanksgiving and managed to get himself into a new apartment in Bricksburg about a week before Christmas. He still hasn't been cleared for spaceflight again yet.

✮ Some of Benny's favorite hobbies include geocaching (which Metalbeard got him into), and building model planes and spaceships. He's even built a few remote-controlled planes, though he much prefers flying real ones.

✮ Benny is reluctant to admit it, especially to them, but he'd kind of been crushing on GCBC for a couple years before TAKOS Tuesday.

✮ Benny dated Lenny for about a year, but they decided they worked better as friends and broke up.

[caphhhhfgjdkhgjfj-firstmate]

@master-at-arms why the fucks yer door locked I wanted t’ talk t’ ya!

@nas-does-engineer ‘m leavin’ f’r a bit ‘nd this time it ain’t gonna be a damn disappoint

@immortalarsonist practically same as what I told nas I’ll be back ‘fore yer planetside

I ain’t quite sure who else on ‘ere’s our crew so tell em in person f’r me huh?