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I don't wanna know 'bout the hour
So birthday celebrations this year went relatively well. I feel like, ever since I hit 40, that I have a lot less energy that I am willing to spend on things that a lot of other people do: like the opinions of others. I really couldn’t care less about the opinions of people I don’t care about. It affects 0% of my life and we’re all just trying to get by anyway, so why expend any of my precious…
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#being a girl#being a good human being#birthdays#bleeding heart liberal#commonplace book#diet is die with a t#equality#good day#I am adept at procrastination#in vino veritas#indie-pop#Korean#miscarriage#Music#perspective#rabid fangirling#some people&039;s children#the body politic#today&039;s earworm
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I have so many ideas brewing in my head that I want to post to AO3 but I am stuck trying to figure out how I'd want to organize the jumble before I even bother.
Original stuff, OCs, fandom, fandom OCs, memes, etc. I am trying to figure out how I want to split these between my main (BeefJerkyBuffoon) and my pseud (Notebook of Alphiea)
My main currently has "And as the world burns to the ground" which is original (tumblr writing prompt) and I am thinking Notebook of Alphiea will have OC stuff but at the same time I might want the OC stuff on my main and hnnnnnnnngh
#writers on tumblr#I really want to write Arcane Odyssey fanfics where my character Asteria Taurus constantly makes Iris nearly burst a blood vessel#and I want to crossover Apothecary Diaries with The Eccentric Doctor of the Moon Flower Kingdom and Though I Am an Inept Villainess#<- because these series have a lot of similarities (courts - protag girlies are adept at medicine - they have something wrong with them)#please help#worst form of procrastination I think
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Logan steps down the stairs to find Virgil lounging on the couch.
No, not lounging. He is sitting sideways, shoulder leaned into the backrest. A finger toys with his hoodie string. His headphones only cover one ear. It's a position meant to be temporary, as if Virgil sat on the couch for a moment but forgot that he was going to get back up.
Logan judges his thousand-yard stare.
"How long have you been sitting here?" Logan asks.
Virgil glances to him, then goes back to looking at nothing. This close, Logan can hear faint music coming from the headphones. "Why?"
"I'm only curious."
"Hn," Virgil grunts and continues to stare. Logan is patient. Sometimes Virgil needs more time to get the words to come out of his head. Eventually, patience is rewarded. "Dunno. Couple hours?"
Logan looks between him and the kitchen. There's no one else here, and there's no sign of anything else pressing. All the same, Logan's suspicions are aroused and he forms a hypothesis.
"When is the last time you've eaten?"
Virgil shrugs. "A while?"
In reference to past dialogs, Logan understands that to Virgil, 'a while' is considered a much longer amount of time than 'a couple hours'.
Logan adjusts his glasses. "Were you intending on eating soon?"
"Yeah."
"Is that why you are down here?"
"Yeah."
"Why have you not then?"
Virgil huffs a sigh. He's scowling now and moved to glowering at the couch arm instead.
In other words, he's becoming more engaged. Good.
"Because I just haven't," Virgil replies lamely.
"Do you want food?"
"Yeah? I think we've established that."
"But you are finding difficulty in motivating yourself to initiate the task, correct?"
"I guess?"
"What would happen if you got up right now and made yourself some food?"
Virgil pauses.
No, he freezes. His muscles clench and his back goes somewhat rigid.
Noting the reaction, Logan continues, "Disregard answering that question. More importantly, tell me how how you felt just then at considering carrying out this task?"
"I thought you don't do feelings..."
"While it is not my area of expertise, I am however adept at observing emotional responses to triggering phenomena."
Virgil snorts, but Logan doesn't take it to heart. He knows that Virgil appreciates the way he talks and is not laughing at him.
Logan approaches to sit on the couch arm, cutting off Virgil's focal point. Virgil blinks and looks up at him.
Logan smiles. "Furthermore, I am capable of rooting out the cause of the cognitive distortion, and offering unbiased methods of handling it productively. The facts are as follows: you are hungry, you came here to prepare food, you have not done so for a large amount of time despite your hunger, and the thought of initiating the act of preparing food gives you a jolt of anxiety. Do you agree?"
Virgil purses his lips. "I mean, I don't disagree?"
"Then you agree. What about this unsettles you?"
Virgil covers his face with one hand tiredly. "Before you say anything, I know it's irrational. But if I do it, I'm gonna die."
"Die."
"Yeah. I'm gonna freakin' die."
"You are right, that is irrational." Before Virgil can take offense, Logan soothes it over. "That is not a judgment, merely an agreement to your statement. In fact, kudos to you for making this observation."
"No one says kudos, dork.... Dork as in affectionately. I'm affectionately insulting you, just to be clear."
"Virgil, what you're experiencing is executive dysfunction. This is more than procrastination. You are aware of the need to pursue this action, yet you find yourself facing a mental block and unable to carry the task out. This is not out of laziness, and the longer you are unable to perform the task, the more heightened your anxiety becomes to the point that you cannot perform any task."
Virgil evaluates himself. "So...that's why I've just been sitting here?"
"Exactly. You have been spiraling. To break out of the spiral, the task will unfortunately need to be completed. You will need to eat. The manner in which you receive food though, that we can adapt to."
"So what do I do?"
"Simple, nothing. Let me make you something to eat."
Virgil's eyes snap open wide. He sits up and shakes his head frantically. "No, no, that'll just make me feel more guilty than I already do. Nope, please don't."
"I assure you, I am offering because I would like to be of assistance and this will not be a burden to me mentally or physically. Or emotionally, if that's what you believe."
"Nope, uh-uh, still can't do it."
No matter how much he reassures, and no matter how much he can rationalize, Logan cannot always alleviate Virgil's anxiety. It is his nature, his battle, and he does not always win even with help.
Logan smiles again, softly and patient and earnest, trying to show Virgil that he would keep fighting for him regardless. "Then how about this then. I will go prepare myself a meal as I am hungry. Depending on how much I make, there may be left-overs. And if there are, it'd be a shame to let those go to waste. I'll leave any for you. If there are any, that is."
To that, Virgil can't really argue. Logan can see the figurative gears shifting in his head. His mouth opens and closes more than once.
"Would you be amenable to that?" Logan asks, attempting to ease him into an answer.
Virgil throws himself back on the couch, all long limbs stretched out. He rolls over so that he's lying on his face.
"I guess!" He growls and there's not bite to it.
Logan beams at him proudly. "Satisfactory. I will let you know then."
He excuses himself to the kitchen. While he busies himself, he occasionally peeks over the bar to see Virgil's head poking over the back of the couch, hair askew and tried eyes watching him.
Sometimes the thoughts overwhelm you.
Sometimes you need to trick your brain into behaving.
And sometimes, you just need a buddy to make you dinner.
#i wrote this instead of eating#im gonna go eat now#sanders sides#logan#logan sanders#virgil#virgil sanders#executive dysfunction#writing#fanfiction
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UNNAMED PART 3
PART 1 PART 2 PART 4
Hey, I'm back. Thanks for the most recent ask that reminded me I have Unnamed finished. (what do you mean, no, I definitely didn't forget *sweats*) As for why I took so long, it's because I have no inspiration :D But anyway, I finished it *gives myself a pat on the back*
Let me know what you guys think, and any ideas or suggestions to inspire me so I'll be able to churn it out faster. I always love getting feedbacks from reader OwO
Also, obviously you can't find part 3 since I didn't post it as I am master of procrastinating XD If you can, I'll be shook instead ><; Contains: Angst, mental breakdown?, insecurity, low self-confidence, assuming things, not for those easily triggered etc Pairing: Zhongli x Reader
Summary:
In the end, it's always you.
----------------------------------------------------------------------- You knew the problem had never been him, but you.
Your eyes opened and an unfamiliar ceiling came into view. Faint sunlight shone through the gaps of the window, casting scattered light upon the dark room . The scent of what you assumed to be herbs assaulted your nose.
You blinked a few more times, thinking it was an illusion conjured by a sleep-addled mind. Nevertheless, the same scenery greeted you. This time, you decided to rub your eyes. In the end, nothing has changed and apparently this was not a hallucination.
You remained lying down as you covered your eyes with one arm. You tried to get your bearings together, trying to recall the happenings from the last time you were conscious. You were a thousand billion percent confused until it clicked. Ah, Zhongli happened.
Then in the midst of that breakdown, out of the blue, came a very painful chest pain. You would have never expected it, while you may not be as fit as a fiddle, you knew you were healthier than that. You release a sign, you never want it to happen again either.
You didn't know where you were. The right thing to do should really be just get up and about. Say thank you to whoever that took care of you and return their kindness on a later date after you deal with all the frustrations in your life. The only thing that’s stopping you is because you had a feeling the person might be Zhongli.
You don't feel like facing him now, it would be heart wrenching and to be honest, you don't want to have another heart attack when you have just woken up. Thus, you decided to sit up and settle into a more comfortable position as you pondered, even if all you’re doing is delaying the inevitable.
You look out the window, watching the birds that flew across the bright blue sky. Countless trains of thoughts run through your head as you contemplate how you should interact with the once love of your life.
He still is, but your love was too destructive for both you and him.
It was funny how your rational mind and emotions had countless fistfights yet it was always your small, weak and insecure heart that won. Although you rationalise numerous times that you were overthinking, your heart never failed to believe Zhongli didn't love you enough.
It wasn't fair you took it out on Zhongli, obviously he would be tired by your outburst, when he had been nothing but supportive and caring towards you even when you were showing the ugliest version of yourself.
You know the reason he couldn't spend as much time with you. Although you can control your thoughts, you’re much less adept with your feelings. No matter how much he does for you, the self-doubt would never fade away, lingering in the depths of your mind and whispering your worst nightmares.
You doubt there was anything he could even do to make you feel better. After all, you were the problem.
This isn't good for either of us, you thought as your hands covered your face and took in a deep breath, hoping whatever stress building up within you would be released along with said breath. That in fact, didn't help as you could subtly feel the dread slowly taking over you.
Suddenly, you hear a loud thud.
You looked over to identify the source. It was Zhongli, with a fallen basin next to him, resulting in water spilling all over the ground. Your gaze then shifted upwards to him, carefully and slowly sizing him up. Trying to observe any clues to his current state of mind.
He looks haggard, eye bags especially prominent against his pale jade-like skin, his suit was messy, full of wrinkles and creases, a stark contrast from his usual demeanor. You could feel your lips quiver, but in the end you remained silent. What were you supposed to do or say anyway?
You watch as his eyes seem to regain their clarity, his steps cautious and small as he approaches you before sitting down on the bed beside you. His hands trembled as he reached out towards you, so close yet not touching you.
It was as if he was afraid you were just the morning mist in the forest, or a mirage in the desert, one blink or a touch too harsh would break this illusion. You didn’t make any moves, still unsure on how to face him.
After some hesitation, he bit his lips, as if coming to a decision, and finally touched you.
The look in his eyes was so soft and gentle that it moved your heart. It made you wonder whether your brain was right and your emotions had it all wrong due to being too caught up with anything negative and blinded itself. Perhaps Zhongli had only you held close in his heart and you were truly just overthinking.
The soft rustling of the fabric against your skin however, quickly woke you from the illusion that he loves you. After all, if he truly loved you, why did every skin contact you ever had with him were all done through a layer of fabric?
Now awake after your outburst, you felt a bizarre sense of clarity flooding through your head. How could you have missed all those clues? The hints scattered throughout your life that you have so blatantly missed due to letting love blind your senses.
Zhongli doesn't truly love you, he was with you merely because he platonically loves you, and he wasn't too repulsed by the idea of dating you. To some, it may be wonderful news, but you didn't want to force a relationship on Zhongli just because you couldn't control your emotions.
The gloves he donned upon even now certainly represented your relationship with him.
Thin enough to feel him close, yet it is a layer you would never be able to penetrate, a layer that separates both of you from truly connecting as one. What else could induce more sorrowness than this? When the person is clearly standing before you, yet the distance between both of you was as wide as the universe itself?
He'll never love you the way you love him.
You felt him caress your cheek, a few faint brushes of his fingers before his hand finally enveloped your face. The intensity of his gaze flustered you, you remained rigid as his fingers trailed the side of your face softly.
Perhaps the fact that you didn't break or disappear was enough for him. The next thing you knew, you were pulled into his embrace. His face was buried in your collar, a sigh of relief escaping from his lips.
He was glad you finally woke up after being tormented by the thought you would never wake up again. Staying up countless nights by your side, afraid to miss any waking moment or emergency.
His concern was clear and strong to you, yet you feel strangely numb even though his hands wrapped tightly around your body. It was like your soul was gone, and all that’s left is the ashes from where your passion had once burned.
When he pulls away, you place your hand upon your chest. You could feel Zhongli's enquiring gaze on you, oblivious to your intention. You decide he could wait later as you try to feel your heart.
There it was, a very faint but still steady beat, indicating your heart was fine and working.
That's strange, you still had a heart, but why do you feel... empty? Looking at Zhongli, you no longer feel the same joy that flooded your bones, the euphoria that makes you drunk akin to fine wine.
--------
You could tell you probably relapsed back to the time when you hadn't met Zhongli. It was the darkest period of your life, when you were still too clueless and too helpless to decide on anything. A period where the road that leads to your future is all thorns and darkness, a path where you always get hurt. You were so desperate for recognition that you were servile to anyone and everyone.
You always had a smile on your face, always ready to offer your help to anyone. You were exploited for your kindness, yet you always give more and more of yourself even when it’s carving into your own flesh. In the end, you only had more knives sticking out of you.
You were a bundle of all the lost cause in the world, no wonder no one could love you. You don’t belong anywhere, no one can ever accept you, no one would even want you. You don’t deserve it.
But then, there was Zhongli.
He probably never knew how dazzling he is in your life. Everything else becomes blurred and obsolete when he’s there, all you can do is focus on him. He was brilliance itself, the confidence that radiated off him with every step, his posture straight and proper with every movement, a world heritage painting from every angle.
He was everything you hope to be, the way words of admiration flow from his mouth would melt even the most heartless people. His articulation was enough to contend with even the best of debaters, able to convince anyone to agree with him.
Your eyes always trail after him as you engrave him within your memories, so you may have something to look back upon when you're old and frail. The way his ponytail sways behind him as he walks, the smile on his face as he converse, and especially those eyes of his. Those eyes that seemed to have all the answers in the world.
His eyes were regal amber, akin to crystallisation of tree saps, the glow of cor lapis when the sun hits it just right. You wondered if Rex Lapis had personally sculpted him and inlaid the finest cor lapis into his eyes. He was just that charming, enough to pull you into an abyss that you’ll never be able to get out from again.
He was the pivot, drawing in everyone’s gaze unintentionally, and you were merely one of the masses that oscillated around him. It was only natural, and it would never change. Yet like Rex Lapis playing a joke on you, it did.
Both of you were supposed to be a pair of parallel lines, close enough to see each other, but never intersecting. After all, how can you drag sunshine into your midnight rain? But the moment his eyes met yours, you knew you never wanted to let go, even if it digs onto your skin and leaves scars.
The way his voice rumbles when he laughed should be a sin, the way his hands perfectly covers yours should be a foul. His eyes lit up, and your breath was taken away. His eyes narrowed when he smiled, and you were knocked off your feet. Those eyes of his entrance you like nothing else, they make everything else irrelevant. He was the sun, everything thrives because of him, and you were no different. Your world was grey and black, but now it was filled with splotches of colours. From the brightest shade of flaming red to the violet shade of the aurora sky. You were no longer surviving, but truly living.
And when those eyes had only you in their reflection, you fell for him.
All the inferiority that used to plagued you was washed away by his love, causing you to undergo a brand new transformation. However, now that you lost him, they all come crashing against you once more in calamitous waves. This made you realise, you are nothing without him.
Everything good and pleasant about you, everything you love about yourself only existed because of his words, his validation.
You truly were nothing by yourself.
—---------------------------------
You didn't have the most flattering appearance. Staring at the mirror for too long will definitely end with your confidence in your facial features dropping drastically.
The people you called 'friends' point at you as they commented about your features before laughing, saying it was all in light jest.
In spite of it all, what else can you do but agree and laugh along with them? Even if everything they said was like one bullet after another shot straight at your heart.
Worse of all, if you really said anything in retaliation, you would be the unreasonable one and couldn't take a 'joke'.
You were never enough.
No one really likes you either, halfway through a conversation, you felt the boredom or dislike rolling off the other party.
It overwhelms you, makes you stammer and fumble over your words because you don't know what exactly you do or say to incur their dissatisfaction.
It gets draining before it becomes suffocating, completely eradicating your will and energy to keep conversing.
The slight delight emitting off them as they excuse themself from the conversation makes your heart heavy.
You were never enough.
The relationships you forged were never truly yours, you were just there along for the ride. A friendship that people will only indulge in when it's convenient or they have no one else.
They would hang out with you, but would never wait for you nor explicitly invite you, it all depends on whether you're present when they invite their other friends.
Still, when they were at the lowest, you were there. You lend them your shoulder, you allow them to hurt you so they would find comfort in the midst of their own pain, so they would know someone was still by their side.
However, when tomorrow comes, you are back to being a background character for them.
You were never enough.
The scars inflicted upon your soul were numerous, each one deeper than the last. A heavy burden weighs upon you, and you submerge yourself within the emptiness and the sorrow.
Wallowing in your pain was easier than confronting everything that's wrong with you. You were never enough, and there was nothing you could ever do to change it.
And it was just so easy to submerge yourself in suffering, to block everything else out of your heart, anguishing at your pain yet doing nothing to change it.
But then there was Zhongli.
Zhongli made you feel you were enough, he made you feel you were everything that's perfect and more. He made you strive for better, he made you flourish and bloom.
"Your beauty overwhelms me, that no words can describe it. It's similar to the sunset by Liyue Harbour, thousands of words and poetry will still fail to describe the complete allure of it. It is something so magnificent and enigmatic that it can only be appreciated personally with one's entire being and one's soul,"
He made you love your own appearance.
"My love, please do not hesitate sharing things with me. I will always be interested in anything you have to say. I particularly adore the way your eyes brighten and the passion you radiate when you talk about the things you love, even your expressive actions with your hands. I find you lovable all the same, even if you 'throw hands' with someone."
He made you love yourself, with all your flaws and quirks.
“You're more than anything I ever deserve,” he breathed out as he caressed your cheeks. His eyes were transfixed on you, as if you were too good to be true, and he dared not take his eyes off you.
He made you rediscover that you were important too, and you wondered how you even lost yourself in the first place.
-----------------------
Now, you know the problems between you were not only Lumine, no, she was merely the catalyst. There was a much deeper reason why your heart couldn't fully trust him, but you never realised until this very moment.
It was the way you knew nothing about his past. You knew not his parents, or whether he was an orphan. You knew none of his old friends, nor did you know the scenery he grew up in.
He was a storyteller.
However, he never shared his life before meeting you, merely throwing you small snippets which you couldn't piece a large picture with.
It was the way you knew nothing of how his skin feels against yours. All along he was tightly wrapped in his gentlemen, never exposing any patches of skin.
You had never seen him without his coat, he always donned it, every button fastened and crease smoothened out, even if it was only the both of you.
You could never tell with Zhongli, he was an enigma, a mystery wrapped under so many layers that you could never fully uncover.
Does he not love you enough to tell you everything, or does he love you too much to tell you everything?
What draws the line between too much love and not enough of it? You pondered yet you couldn't come up with an answer.
However you know, in your case, it must be because he didn't love you enough. He didn't trust you enough to tell you everything.
You broke the silence first.
“If you truly love and need me, why didn't you ever tell me about your past? Why don't you ever touch me directly without your gloves on?”
You looked towards him, your voice steady, but only you yourself knew your heart was beating loudly in your chest, and how the tears were about to fall out of your eyes.
He didn't love you enough to feel your skin against his, he didn't find the need to feel your body heat without the barrier of a cloth. The fact that you loved someone so much and who doesn't love you back the same is heartbreaking.
He remained silent, and you knew he would not do it. Perhaps it was for the best, a way for both of you to part peacefully from each other without inflicting any more harm than you already have
However, he did the opposite.
He took off his gloves and rolled up his sleeves, and despite the countless time you have spent with one another, it is the first time you saw what lies beneath them.
It was not the pale skin you have expected, nor are there hideous scars littering his arms. In fact, it wasn’t anything you could have imagined.
Instead it was something similar to obsidian, that gradually faded to a pale gold. Networks made of brilliant gold formed a pattern on his arms, glowing.
You were at first fascinated with the exquisite pattern, faintly recognising one of them to be the geo symbol. Then you paused, a frightening relevantion making itself known in your mind.
You immediately looked at Zhongli, moving further back to widen the distance between both of you. You managed a weak smile, “You're Rex Lapis, ” How could you not know? When all of Liyue made sure to teach their young of the marks Rex Lapis possesses?
He had hidden it so long for you, even after both of you verified your relationship with one another. You wondered, how serious is he with you? To keep such a thing secret until it was inevitable but to reveal it?
But what truly breaks your heart was that you and Zhongli were probably never meant to be. You didn't deserve Zhongli before, how could you ever deserve him now?
You were the filth beneath his shoes before, now you would not even amount to a drop of water in the vast sea. You are nothing.
For a god like him, a being from a completely higher existential plane than yours, could he even truly love you? He might just be playing around with you, watching as you dance in the palm of his hands.
Just as how easily he made himself part of your life, you were sure he would have no problems ripping himself out of it either.
You believe even at this moment, incorrigible rationality still runs through his mind. He was the God of Contracts, no less should be expected of him.
Therefore, how could he understand all the joys and woes of love? Something that is undeniably, mortal.
... However due to this discovery, a lot of things that were incongruent before made sense now. How he seemed to know everything from ancient times as if he was there to witness it himself.
He carries himself unlike a mortal being, where people's gazes would be attracted to him merely by his temperament and bearing.
Maybe you can believe him when he says he loves you, only that it was in the same way he loves everyone that dwells in his land and worships him.
He probably wouldn't understand the love you try to convey to him and hoped he would return. Just like an ant with a human, how could a human ever fall in love with an ant romantically?
They weren't even in the same dimension, much less on equal standing with one another.
Even if humans and gods can really bond with each other in a romantic sense, but with such a vast life spans difference, how can the god truly devote their everything to someone who would die way too soon?
Once again, you were reminded of the fact you will never be enough for him, so why bother ridding yourself of the emptiness?
It's akin to a cocoon, the comfort it brings you as you dwell within that darkness, that sadness within you.
It isn't good for you, you know this, it will destroy you, you know it well. But why rid yourself of that sadness when it's all you know, and all that will protect you?
You were already broken into pieces, you don't want to shatter into dust.
However, if the gods possess the ability to love someone with everything they got, you can't imagine the pain that would wreck them, the insanity they would feel when everything is done and said.
Love is beautiful and everlasting in the moment, yet it is transient, nothing can truly last forever.
Perhaps some mortals, some love are worth this pain. The kind of love that would be sung by bards even after aeons had passed, an epic praised by humans and gods alike. But how can you ever measure up to myths and legends?
You knew you weren't worth it.
Thus, a part of you hoped Zhongli was a little more selfish, that he would guard his heart a little more closely so you will never enter its deepest part, you didn't want to become the cause of his agony. Not now, and never. But there was a part of you which you would never admit its existence, whispers in your ears, "Leave him before he leaves you,"
So, you did what you do best. Run away from reality. You stood up and headed towards your destination with a firm determination.
Zhongli immediately stood up, wanting to hold you back yet afraid he'll break you even more “Wait, darling, pleas—”
You walked out the door and you didn't look back. You knew if you did, you would have stayed.
However in the end, only pain and suffering would be left. So you left, for both him and you.
All these while, you had been proud of yourself as Zhongli's lover, now, what are you without him?
—--------------
In a dark alley somewhere, you collapsed onto your knee, blankly staring at something that’s not there.
Who are you without Zhongli?
PART 1 PART 2 PART 4
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I was tagged by @andallthatmishigas
Were you named after anyone?
I have no idea where my mom got my name. Plucked it out of the air, I think. But my middle name is after her and my dad's best friend.
When was the last time you cried?
July 5th, the 4 year anniversary of my best friend's passing.
Do you have kids?
Heavens no.
Do you use sarcasm a lot?
Do bears shit in the woods?
What's the first thing you notice about people?
Hair, probably. (Ariel's answer is correct)
What's your eye color?
Brown. Just plain ole brown.
Scary movies or happy endings?
I'm in a happy endings phase right now because I need comfort but I do love me a good scary movie.
Any special talents?
I am particularly adept at collecting hobbies and also I am a gifted procrastinator and also having too many projects going at once.
Where were you born?
Anaheim, CA
What are your hobbies?
Making gifs, digital art, making stupid shit with my cricut, making dog bowties and necklaces, cooking. I don't know. Lots of stuff.
Have any pets?
That's a can of worms. The pack is as follows: Josephine (Sephy), Briard, age 11. Ocho, Briard, age 7. Noodle, Briard, Age 5. JJ, Lowchen, 3 months.
What sports do you play/have you played?
Not applicable. Unless horseback riding is a sport. I dabbled in barrel racing but mostly I just laid on the back of my horse while he grazed.
How tall are you?
5′7″
Favorite subject in school?
English
Dream job?
My dream job is to have no job. Although right now I am self-employed and own my own business. This is probably the best possible option for me outside of independent wealth because I can at least take off when I want to and stuff. But I will never get rich this way, certainly not with 4 dogs. Whose idea was that? God dammit.
I'd tag people but I don't feel like it. So if you wanna, do it. If not, don't.
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Summative Assessment Compulsory Question 1: Discuss the seven weekly topics as a whole
How do you understand the Critical Thinking Skills module? Explain your choice of visual metaphor. Do you have an alternative visual metaphor? Include image/s in your response.
This module has extremely influenced my personal development as a student and as a designer equipping me with a spectrum of essential soft skills, ranging from effective communication and proficient teamwork to adept time management and adaptability. Moreover, the module has made me delve deeper into the concepts of different skills and strategies changing my perspective of how I look at things and enhancing my way of thinking.
My group selected a cow as the visual metaphor using the spots on the back of the cow to summarise what we've been learning over these seven weeks. The quote ‘Don’t cry over split milk’ is about not dwelling on our past mistakes and that we should live in the present. These mistakes aren’t roadblocks but stepping stones as a learning experience for us to grow and improve ourselves so that we can avoid making the same mistakes in the future.
Another visual metaphor is a tower of Jenga. The blocks represent experiences in our lives and sometimes the blocks fall out which are our failures, however, we take those blocks that fall out and put them back at the top. These failures are our stepping stones towards growth and improvement transforming us into an individual with more experience and propelling us forward in life.
Which was your favourite activity or session? Why? Which aspects of it were memorable for you?
My favourite activity was the collaborative week activity as I managed to bond with my new classmates that I had not really talked much to and during the activity, it was filled with fun and laughter and it was very enjoyable working together with them. Also, I think that our final design is really good and I am very proud of what we have achieved together as a team.
What is the value of working in a group?
One of the most important values of working in a group is being able to have diverse perspectives. As the people in the group are from different backgrounds, have different skills and viewpoints on the subject leading to a broader range of ideas. We are able to encourage each other, fostering a productive and positive work environment. We can also utilise our strengths as each member possesses unique strengths. For example, James is better at hands-on activities, so we let him make the hands for our design. Lastly, working in a group hones our communication skills such as listening and giving constructive feedback which are essential skills needed in life.
What do you wish you did more of, or better?
Having better time management. I procrastinate a lot and I take a long time to start working so I hope that slowly, I will be able to be less distracted and start working earlier so as to give higher quality work.
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More moth danny coming soon…
#ovytia.text#I am procrastinating at work because I don’t wanna stare at my texture node graph anymore bleh#me shouting at the sky: ‘WHERE’S MY SUBSTANCE PAINTER LICENSE’#I am not as adept at Mari 🫠#it’s going but slower and not up to the quality I would like 😭😭😭#but it’s going
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I am not by training or inclination someone who is adept at building statistical models, but my work is data-science adjacent and I’ve been around enough wonks to understand the basics, so I set a really ambitious goal for myself last December. The goal was to build a spreadsheet that would measure any given donor or prospective donor’s inclination to give to our nonprofit, based on a model of an “ideal” donor. We could then take our database, and/or my privately built list of Very Wealthy People In Our Database, run it through the spreadsheet, and automate a process where the best people to ask for money were floated directly to the top.
It’s scary and it was a lot of programming in Excel at a level I’d never done before, and I had no idea if the way I selected and weighted data points would work, or how to do stuff like base an if-then statement on a date. I had to figure out how to account for people who’ve never given or who haven’t given much, since we don’t just want to find people who have ALREADY given us thousands of dollars -- we want to find people who CAN and haven’t yet. And then I had to test it, which just seemed...insurmountable as a task.
So I built the thing and I admired its code and I 100% did not test it for like. Two months. And my boss has been kind about the slow progress, but he has poked me occasionally, and he poked me this week, so this morning I knuckled down and tested it: I plugged 500 wealthy donors into the sheet and checked the results.
I say “this morning” even though it’s 9:45 because testing it took literally 20 minutes.
It would have taken even less time if one specific data field can be automated, but it can’t, so it was basically two minutes of cut-and-paste, fifteen minutes of doing the non-automated bit, and three minutes of adjusting the code. Fixing an issue with the dates (anything between three and six months ago was turning up a “FALSE” instead of points) took another 5 minutes once I looked at the code and realized I was missing an IF field.
This is the very fucking epitome of the Millennial mood, I know that, but I absolutely spent 25 minutes completing something I procrastinated on for two months. IF I CAN DO IT, GUYS, YOU CAN TOO! :D
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OC Basics (FC5)
Tagged by @faithchel @risenlucifer @strafethesesinners @unleashedart Thank you all! Tagging: @consumedkings @tomexraider @ohfaiths @shellibisshe and anyone else that wants too! (I procrastinated on this so it made the rounds I’m sure)
name: Catlina Mariangel Rojas alias/nicknames: Mary Seed, Cat. In AUs she also has Conejito and Catnip as nicknames. gender: cis female age: 26 (c. 2018) zodiac: scorpio (I lost the image with all their rising and moon stuff so lo siento it’s not happening for these guys) abilities/talents: Cooking/baking, a sometimes unnatural amount of kindness, getting into small spaces, and fairly adept at climbing (She has to reach the top of the cabinets somehow okay) alignment: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true religion: Omnist, grew up Catholic sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience languages: english, spanglish she’s better at understanding than speaking a lot of times family: Dominic Rojas (father), Gina Rojas (mother), Maya and Xandie Rojas (Sisters), Theo Munoz (Husband eventually deceased) friends: Lance Powell, Faith Seed, John Seed, Jax, Trey, and Darren, would totally be friends with the Ryes and Mary May if I wasn’t cruel and had her more cult affiliated. sexuality: heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other relationship status: single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating / it’s complicated libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent build: slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy hair: white / blonde / brunette / red / black / other eyes: brown / blue / gray / green / black / other skin: pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other (Honestly depends on the amount of sun she gets) height: 5′ scars: Well okay she gets a lot of them due to her “confession” but prominet ones are the Lust on her right clavicle, the Pride across her lower ribs, and Wrath between her shoulder blades where her heart is. A few from her self injury but nothing more beyond that. features: TINY!, hair with some big curls in it, she does also have a tattoo on her inner right ankle that is the symbol for spirit from ATLA. dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes (They are on thin ice) or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic (If only) or melee || sword or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future five songs that remind you of them: “Foreigner’s God” by Hozier, “Flowers in Your Hair” by The Lumineers, “Happier” by Marshmello ft. Bastille, “Monster” from Frozen Broadway Musical, “Dance with the Devil (Aurora Version)” by Breaking Benjamin
name: Chance Jason Ruicknar alias/nicknames: Rook and White Knight (Faith Specific) other than that he does not like nicknames and will remind you. gender: cis male age: 25 (c. 2018) zodiac: scorpio abilities/talents: Science whiz more knowledge in Biology and BioChem, parkour, fishing, a decent musical screamer he kind of practiced a lot in high school not gonna lie. alignment: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true religion: Atheist sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience languages: english and you could make the argument for Latin given his science knowledge, but let’s also be real in that Science is its own language. family: Mickey Ruicknar (Grandfather; Deceased), Ray Ruicknar (Father; Deceased), Andi Greene (Mother), Unknown “Sperm Donor” friends: Boomer, Nick Rye, Kim Rye, Wheaty, Faith Seed sexuality: heterosexual / bisexual(one au verse) / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other relationship status: single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating / it’s complicated libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent build: slender / average / athletic(towards the end of his story) / muscular / curvy hair: white / blonde / brunette / red / black / other eyes: brown / blue / gray / green / black / other skin: pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other height: 5′ 10″ scars: 3in scar on the back of his neck just slightly to the left of his spine and then a bunch of other little scars from the Holy War and from his daredevil adventures before everything. features: Tattoo on right hand of the structural formula of acetylcholine. On the left hand he has the written formula of oxytocin and vasopressin on top of each other starting from just above his wrist to his knuckles. He also has another tattoo on his back between the shoulder blades of a rose in front of a crescent moon to slightly resemble the Moon Stick from Sailor Moon. Other than that a mess of curls, scruffy beard that he shaves once its too long because he can’t handle the upkeep, bags under his eyes from his inconsistent sleep schedule. dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future five songs that remind you of them: “Christian’s Inferno” by Green Day, “Icarus” by Bastille, “Teenagers” by My Chemical Romance, “Viva La Gloria? (Little Girl)” by Green Day, “Moonlight Densetsu (Sailor Moon Theme)” but like Specifically the Star Locket version that I can only ever find on youtube.
name: Lancelot Powell alias/nicknames: Lance gender: cis male age: 49 (c. 2018) zodiac: Tarus abilities/talents: Mechanics, Wood Whittling, first aid, various weapon types, alignment: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true religion: Agnostic, grew up around religion but was never anything significant in his life. sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience languages: english family: Sage Powell (Daughter), Cat (Pseudo Child), Unnamed mother, father, and ex-wife. In an AU Wes (Pseudo Son [Sorry I don’t make the rules]) friends: Eli Palmer, Nanette (Yes she would be Nana in ND), John (He’s on thin ice though), Just plenty of people around Hope County he wasn’t the most social but friendly with everyone there for a long while. sexuality: heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other relationship status: single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating / it’s complicated libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent build: slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy hair: white / blonde / brunette / red / black / other: He keeps his head shaved down, but it would be greying from a dirty blonde eyes: brown / blue / gray / green / black / other (hazel) skin: pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other height: 6′3″ scars: Wrath on his Chest, Pride along his neck on the right side, small and various scars from his time in the military, the Holy War, and just life in general. features: No hair really and no beard. Has the hilt of Excalibur on his right hand with the crests of the knights of the round table encircling his arm, left shoulder has Sage’s name along with the logos of the colleges she’s attended. Looks very angry, but honestly has one of the warmest and kindest smiles. dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future five songs that remind you of them: “Blackbird” by The Beatles, “7 Years” by Lukas Grahams, “Dear Daughter” by Halestorm, “Wheel in the Sky” by Journey, “Rebel Yell” by Black Veil Brides
name: Lizette Eden Rojas-Seed
alias/nicknames: Liz gender: cis female age: 16 during her story (timelines are hard sometimes) zodiac: Virgo in the old zodiac, the new one she’s a Leo abilities/talents: Guitar, singing, can survive on three cups of coffee and no sleep, Managing to make the loudest outfit possible, Rallying. alignment: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true religion: Unsure but she sways from Atheist to Omnist sins: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience languages: english, spanish (Not Fluent during her story but for sure more than her mom) family: Catlina Rojas (Mother), John Seed (Father), Trey (Uncle). In AUs her father changes and in BnD verse she gains a brother Daniel. friends: Valerie. If she was in Hope County she’d be friends with Carmina but I am unkind. sexuality: heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual (the label she uses once she’s an adult) / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other relationship status: single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating (says her parents jokingly kind of)/ it’s complicated libido: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent build: slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy hair: white / blonde / brunette / red / black / other eyes: brown(other verses) / blue / gray / green / black / other skin: pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other height: 5′6″ (Thanks for the height John!) scars: A scar on her upper lip from the bullying of kids when she was ~6-7 years old features: Curly Hair, dimples, bright smile, dark circles under her eyes due to very little sleep (could give some of my mutuals a run for their money), Make up is always looking like it’s from the 60′s and 70′s, just the loudest prints and colors when she can. dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future five songs that remind you of them: “Nina Cried Power” by Hozier ft. Mavis Staples, “Disco Medley” by Selena, “Bennie and the Jets” by Elton John, “These Boots Were Made for Walking” by Nancy Sinatra, “Cleopatra” by The Lumineers
#tag games#catlina rojas oc#chance ruicknar oc#lance powell oc#lizette eden oc#This was a lot oh my god but bloodlines is also done too in its own post
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Hi lovely! What about 7, 13 and 33 for the ask game? Thank youuu ❤️ - sitp
7: do you have any pets?
not now, no. i used to have this sweetheart cocker spaniel when i was younger, she lived a very full and very long life. my dad has tons of fish but they don't count. i try not to look at the fish. the fish are not for me.
13: what talents do you have?
talking about self-professed talents makes my head throb and feel very big, so let's just change this to interests 😂
i grew up in a family (and tbh a society) where you were put in 'classes' for literally everything, so i've learned classical dance, classical music, art and six useless months of guitar, swimming and chess. and then there was the expectation that you would pick up every skill your 'elders' could teach you, so i learned to cook, embroider, sew, crochet and knit from my grandmother. so i'm sort of a jack of all trades at this point. but the one thing i've returned to over and over, out of personal interest, even when i've left almost everything else behind, is language. everything to do with language: writing, spoken word poetry, literary analysis, learning languages, etc. has pulled me like nothing else. and i think that when you spend most of your time completely obsessed with a branch of something, you get reasonably adept at some parts of it. i hesitate to call anything i have a talent, but i do think that by this point, i have been able to develop some of my obsession with writing and poetry into something of a skill. obviously there's a long way to go— a whole lifetime, in fact— but i've been lucky enough to find something that makes my heart sing.
all that said, i am extremely talented at falling asleep anywhere and proceeding to sleep through anything, procrastination and buying notebooks and never using them. i could win awards for these things. olympic medals. i'm so fucking good at them.
33: what do you typically have for breakfast?
answered here!
thank you so much for the asks, darling, you're a gem for taking the time <3
get to know me uncomfortably well.
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Embrace Your Chaos
(Tissaia De Vries/Reader)
Chapter 8: Lessons In The Library
The newfound friendship with Rita had been an unexpected, but not unwelcome, development. Oftentimes we'd find ourselves lazing about in each other's rooms, wandering the halls, or goofing around in class. Rita, as I've learned, has no restraint and the impulsiveness of a puppy. I'm more than willing to tag a long on her whims, within reason. Our first night together was eventful, and the rest of the days we spend together aren't any less so. Our friendship is no secret from the other girls, and at this point the rectoress is well aware of it too. Our pranks aren't subtle, as Tissaia and her clique know on an intimate level.
These pranks consist of terrorizing the other 6 girls while Margarita and I laugh our asses off. Roan, who was our first victim, had ended up with the frog in the bodice of one of her dresses. Her scream made it all the way down the hall and to Rita's room that morning. Sonata got her hair chopped off, why? Because she was especially mean to Veblen one day, and I simply wasn't having it. Rita had agreed with that sentiment. The main person we torture though is Tissaia, she is painfully easy to piss off and annoy. Rita, who is somehow still kind of accepted by the girls, does most of the dirty work.
She will subtly wrinkle up Tissaia's sleeves and initiate pointless physical contact, which Tissaia hates with a passion. Eveytime Rita lets her have some air, Tissaia fixes the imperfections on her dress and tries to create distance between herself and Rita. That is entirely pointless, because Rita is always right back at it again. Tissaia's eye would twitch every now and then, clearly in her effort not to explode. Eventually she realized what Rita was doing, so now Rita can't sit by her anymore.
Our new scheme is to disrupt her perfectly organized desk. Being Tissaia, she has an obsession with keeping herself and her space tidy and organized, which is why this is perfect. It's not malevolent… Well, maybe not to me and Rita, but it's enough to tick her off. So that brings us to where we are, sitting through a lecture from Rectoress Phobe Del-Lana, and moving Tissaia's quill slightly to the left every time she straightens it on her desk. It takes about 4 times before Tissaia realizes that it is, in fact, not her OCD making her think it's not straight. It's when she looks back at Rita in an accusatory fashion that things get mildly more interesting.
"Miss De Vries, it's not often that you choose not to pay attention. Why now?" The Rectoress says, eyebrows raised. Tissaia is quick to turn back to the front of the class, a slight blush on her cheeks. 'Ooh she's embarrassed~' I think to myself, smiling slightly. This is a mistake, because Rectoress Del-Lana is quick to turn her attention to me.
"And you Miss (Y/N). This behavior is to be expected from someone like you, but is it truly necessary to sully Tissaia's reputation along with your own?" I can hear some of the girls snickering behind us. Of course they'll laugh at me and not miss perfect. I glance over at Tissaia, to find her glaring at me. I should be used to this, she's not shy about her disdain for me, but she ordinarily shows it by ignoring my existence. It's painful really. To think that after everything that had happened months prior, she still hates me. We learned a lot then, and I thought we could've been friends after she healed. I was hoping so at least. It was foolish to think that. I'm the reason she was injured, I'm the reason she's had to work so hard to gain the Rectoresses favor, and I'm about to ruin it for her again.
"My apologies Rectoress, I was bothering her for my own entertainment, she's not at fault." I say, my head bowed. If I'm going to salvage any friendship we could have had, this is the best way I can do it. The Rectoress, who I'm sure already knew this, nods and returns to the large water basin on her desk. We had been learning about water bending before I caused this pointless distraction.
"Well, since you're so adept in chaos that you'd waste your energy pestering a fellow student, I believe you should be the one to give us a demonstration of water bending." This was not a request, nothing the Rectoress ever says is. So I get up from my desk and go over to the bowl. The bowl is made of a dark brown mahogany, and it's filled halfway with water. From where I'm standing I can see the slightest gleam of amusement on Tissaia's face. Rita, who had been silently watching the whole interaction, gives me a thumbs up and a small smile.
Looking down at the water and taking a deep breath in, I focus on the clear liquid sitting still in the basin. I let it out softly through my mouth and clear my mind. Focusing my intent on the water, I envision small ripples and waves on its surface. I say the elder word - softly and with reverence, letting myself relax and allowing chaos to flow through me. I can feel a rush of smooth energy within me, making my skin tingle pleasantly. The water moves, a lulling pattern of soft ripples spreading and colliding with the walls of the water basin. With the energy I feel in myself, I direct my chaos to the water, letting myself feel as one with it.
With conviction I enunciate the word again, projecting it so that everyone in the room can hear it. Willing the water in the bowl to form a ball, I manipulate the chaos surrounding it and lift the liquid from the bowl. A few droplets fall from the sphere, but I pay them no mind. I glance out to the rest of the girls, and find that they are all in shock. I can't blame them, I'm normally the one who slacks off a good bit of the time, but it's almost insulting that they think I don't do the work at all. I procrastinate, sure, but I still do as I'm told… most of the time.
Rita dearest is wearing a wide grin. Roan, who sits behind her, looks dumbfounded (which is nothing new), but her yellowish face seems to have paled into a light sandy color. Her black eyes are wide with shock. Annita, ever the excessive horror, has her jaw dropped practically to her knees and her brows furrowed a fair bit too much to be natural. She seems almost appalled by my magical capability. Lida, Sanota, and Veblen actually look impressed. Rectoress Del-Lana regards me with minimal interest - which isn't so surprising.
Tissaia though, her face is schooled into a perfectly impassive expression. She betrays nothing but vague acknowledgment… but her eyes, I can see a thousand thoughts swirling behind them. I've tried not to look her in the eyes, I didn't want to be weird, but now I realize that they show everything that her face does not. A glint of wonder hides behind them, but I catch it right before she turns her attention to the rectoress.
"Well, it appears you do have talent after all. Go and take a seat (Y/N)." The rectoress says. I bow my head in her direction and quickly return to my seat. The rest of the day proceeds as it normally would. After our trial with Del-Lana, we are dismissed to our rooms. None of us ever stay in our rooms of course, we are granted relative free-reign of the school. Most days me and Rita will sneak off to the kitchens and snag some snacks, courtesy of lady Gwendolyn. Today though, Rita has decided to do some spy work for the two of us. Aka, she's going to hang out with the rest of the girls and fill me in on any preposterous rumors so that we can laugh at how ridiculous they are.
So for today I will be spending my evening in the library. I'm not entirely sure if any of the other novices know where it is, seeing as how I was led to it by a friend in the staff. The library itself is wondrous. The shelves reach high and are made of dark oak, and there are a few windows that let the sun shine into the room for most of the day.
Currently, I am reading a book on herbology. This one particularly goes over where you can find the herbs and the best conditions to keep them in once harvested. Mandrake root, for example, is meant to be kept in a sealed container so that the small particles released from it when exposed to oxygen don't float in the air. If inhaled, it can cause you to hallucinate and pass out, you could die from it as well. Sadly, the most interesting herbs were the rarest, but that much is to be expected. Nothing interesting is ever too easy to find.
My peaceful reading is interrupted by someone sitting on the small sofa across from me. When I look up, I realize exactly who has intruded in on my "secret" place. Tissaia, ever prim and proper, is seated on the edge of the cushion and looking right at me. I look right back at her for a second before closing my book and placing it carefully beside me. That is when Tissaia starts talking.
"First of all, I do not appreciate you distracting me while in session with Rectoress Del-Lana." She says curtly.
"But I can't exactly blame you, Rita is a horrible influence. It really is a shame that someone of your clear magical talent would resolve to do something so childish." This earns Tissaia an irritated look.
"If you came here to fuss at me for bugging you, there's no need. I learned my lesson." I say, tapping the cushion impatiently. Personally, I'd rather not have to deal with Tissaia's scrutiny right now. She doesn't leave though, and continues to talk.
"That's not all I came for (Y/N). Clearly you have been spending a lot of time practicing your magic. I'd say that as of now, the amount of control that you have may rival my own…" Tissaia says. I tilt my head slightly and give her a puzzled expression.
"What exactly have you been doing that helps you to maintain so much balance and control? It can't be anything the Rectoress is teaching us." Tissaia continues. I give her a smile and slide down to the rug between us. It has simple patterns, it's woven with threads of multiple shades of red and yellow. I gesture for her to mimic my position. She hesitates of course, clearly not wanting to dirty her skirts by sitting on the floor. But eventually Tissaia does lower herself to the floor.
"Meditation and grounding." I say softly,
"They aren't exactly the same, but they are similar." A crease forms between Tissaia's brows as I say this. I can't help but smile, it's kind of cute when she does that. She urges me to go on regardless.
"When you're grounding yourself, you are focusing on your connection to the world around you. It's helpful before and after spell work. It's really just you taking a moment to focus on the sensations around you, and letting yourself rest and your mind feel at ease. Be sure to breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth" I explain. I place my hand on the rug.
"Think of the rough texture of the carpet. The smell of paper and candles. The sounds of pages turning and quills on paper." I say. Tissaia closes her eyes and appears to be listening to the small sounds in the library. There's barely anyone here when I am, but the librarian is always here, always flipping through books and taking notes on certain things.
"What about meditation?" Tissaia asks, her eyes now open and looking at me as if I'm the most interesting person in the room. That look makes my heart feel heavy but also light at the same time. I push the feeling away and continue on with my little lesson.
"Meditation is when you focus on yourself and try to block out the outside world. Most people clear their heads and try to think of nothing, but I like to imagine that I'm somewhere else. Somewhere peaceful. I believe it's called a mindscape, but don't quote me on that." I say, a small laugh escaping me. Tissaia's lips turn upwards slightly and she shakes her head a little.
"I assume that we're supposed to breath the same right? In through the nose out through the mouth?" She asks. I nod and demonstrate, taking a deep breath in and holding it for 3 seconds before letting it out slowly. She copies me and I give her an approving smile.
We sit in silence, the only sounds around us are the in and outs of our synchronized breathing. It's pleasant to have her here with me, clearly interested in what I have to share with her and in sharing my company. At some point I find myself drifting off to the time she and I had spent together only a month or so ago. It feels like so long since then, since her cold demeanor had changed to be a little kinder. Sadly, she was never truly being kind for the sake of it, Gwendolyn had informed me that Tissaia was using her kindness to manipulate me. Tissaia wanted out, I can understand that, but it's still kind of painful to think about. Maybe now, with some time and communication, we could learn to call each other friends.
Our meetings in the library became a daily thing. We spent an hour everyday together meditating and grounding ourselves after lessons. She had mentioned that she felt a lot more energized after our sessions. She asked questions and on the 4th day she brought a journal with her. Now whenever I say something of interest, she writes it down. On the 5th day, she asked me what my mindscape looked like. I told her of course, and I asked her what hers looked like. She didn't want to tell me though, so I left it alone.
But one day she just stopped coming. She had said she would be here, but she's running very late. She's never late. I give her 10 more minutes and then leave, walking down the hall to my rooms. She was probably busy, maybe she had homework? It doesn't matter, just because she missed one day doesn't mean she won't come around again. And on my way down the stone corridor I held on to that thought. Then I see Rita come around the corner and walk right to me. She seems almost frantic, but also shocked, and angry. I stop in my tracks and give her a concerned look.
"What's wrong Rita? Did something happen?" I ask her worriedly. She grabs me gently by the arms and looks me in the eyes. There's fear in her eyes.
"Is it true (Y/N)?" She asks me.
"What do you mean? That's not much to go on Rita." I answer, now increasingly worried.
"You don't know… oh geez," Rita bites at her lip before continuing.
"Tissaia just told everyone that you're a homosexual." Rita says quietly. She frantically adds that she doesn't mind and that she herself has been questioning. But I don't have the will to care. I can't care about that, not right now.
"Tissaia outed me?" I say, practically seething with rage. I feel betrayed to say the least. 5 days I spent helping her and supposedly bonding with her, and this is what I get? I'm not just angry, no, I am livid. Rita has held the sense to give me some space.
That night during dinner, Rita and I snuck into Tissaia's room and trashed it. We flipped her bed, broke her inkwells, and snapped her quills. Rita took a few of Tissaia's dresses and the sheets from her bed and dumped ink all over it. I took her meditation journal and pocketed it, no use in her having my help if she's going to treat me like shit. Though it hurt me a lot to do it, I tore all of her books from the shelf and threw them around the room. Eventually Rita said it was time to go and we booked it to our rooms. We did not celebrate that night. No, I spent the night crying and angrily telling Rita everything. From the beginning of mine and Tissaia's relationship, to now. And Rita, being the best friend that she is, held me and listened to everything.
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For the podcast verse, a question from a listener: "Hi there Jay and Bee! Long time listener, first time writer. You guys have read a lot of awful and very historically inaccurate fiction about Goldenhand and Blue Knight, but are there any books out that that get their story right? I know there isn't a whole lot of information about them, but have any novels even tried to stick with historical facts? Thanks for taking my question, love the show! ~Jane"
From @elizadunc: For the podcast ‘verse if you’re so inclined! Hi Bee and Jay! Were the names of Goldenhand the Just and Ser Blue lost to history? Or are they just widely unknown?
Thought I’d get in some more podcast verse before I stop for some food. Happy reading!
J: The following podcast contains strong language, literary violence, and explicit sexual content.
(tourney horn plays)
B: Welcome, everyone, to The Bear and the Poorly Written Maiden, the footnotes. I know it hasn’t been that long since our last episode but we are—
J: —procrastinating from poorly written student essays.
B: (sigh) As we’ve mentioned, Jay and I are doctoral students, and part of that includes teaching some of the undergraduates. Some of them are very adept, others are—
J: —idiots.
B: —struggling with the material, and the rigour of the course. So, we thought we’d take a break, reply to a few of your questions, and finish off the lemon curd biscuits that arrived in the post this morning and hope that Jay doesn’t spray the microphone with crumbs.
J: I make no promises.
B: Well, at least you’re not an oathbreaker like your ancestor.
J: Really? You’re bringing up the Mad King–oh, you can’t see this, listeners, but Bee is smiling. Never trust a girl from the Stormlands. They appear virtuous and honourable but they’ve got a sharp tongue, too.
B: It’s the Goldenhand in me.
(long pause)
J: I–uh–I’m going to read one of your questions now, listeners. So, this was sent to our email – [email protected] – and it’s from notjanebond. She says, "Hi there Jay and Bee!” Hello yourself.
B: Hello!
J: “Long time listener, first time writer. You guys have read a lot of awful and very historically inaccurate fiction about Goldenhand and Blue Knight, but are there any books out that that get their story right?”
B: Interesting question.
J: “I know there isn't a whole lot of information about them, but have any novels even tried to stick with historical facts? Thanks for taking my question, love the show!” That’s very nice.
B: She sounds very sweet.
J: Should have included your address, Papa Bee would have sent you some biscuits.
B: He’s more excited than we are when we have fans.
J: Anyway, is there any books that get them right?
B: Historical fiction, though, so not textbooks.
J: The King’s Road is one of my favourites; it’s one of the books we bonded over, wasn’t it?
B: Final year of undergraduate, yeah.
J: Basically, The King’s Road is a story of how Goldenhand became Goldenhand: it covers his time in Stark captivity and then his return to King’s Landing. It’s less of a romance and more of a burgeoning friendship, and it uses a lot of the journals and records from the Stark camp, Bolton’s men, and of Qyburn, the Mad Queen’s Hand.
B: Interestingly enough, there’s another book called Off the King’s Road which follows a similar path but is a lot more explicit. I remember reading a chapter of it in school before the librarian, Septa Roelle, caught me.
J: How red was your face?
B: Oh, Casterly Red. I’ll see if I can’t track down a copy. But I think it’s fair to say that a lot of the historical romances take liberties. (pause) The Hour of the Wolves is a short story collection set during the Long Night, and one of the stories concerns Goldenhand and Ser Blue. It’s very poignant; romantic, but not overly so.
J: There’s a new book coming out called Evenstar, which promises to be a lot closer to historical events.
B: The author actually contacted Dad and me for information. Should be a good read.
J: We’ll have to read it on the podcast when it comes out. So, in answer to your question notjanebond, there are some books out there that are more historically accurate, but a lot of the ones we read just take a few basic facts and ignore the rest. We should read some Trant on the podcast; those are terrible.
B: If we must.
J: It’s why people listen: they want to read the car crash literature; the bad sex acts and dialogue. And to hear how red your face gets when things get too explicit.
B: Okay, we have another question. This is from elizadunc. Oh, do you think that comes from Duncan the Tall?
J: Could be. What does she say?
B: She says, “Hi Bee and Jay!”
J: Hello elizadunc the Tall.
B: “Were the names of Goldenhand the Just and Ser Blue lost to history? Or are they just widely unknown?” That’s a really interesting question, and it’s less a case of lost to history, and more a case of...libel?
J: Bee and I have done a few papers about Goldenhand and Ser Blue, but we always refer to them as their actual names – which we won’t repeat in this podcast, because by some manner of coincidence, we share their names.
B: As regards to a lot of historical fiction, one of the first novels published in this genre took a huge amount of creative licence with the representation of Goldenhand’s father, and, well—
J: —my House sued, and won.
B: So, a lot of writers now use the names the minstrels and mummers adopted during the reign of King Jon and afterwards to sing songs of the two knights.
J: Interestingly, in The King’s Road, the events that would lead Goldenhand and Ser Blue to be called as much hadn’t happened yet. So, in a lot of the novels set before the Long Night, they’re referred to as the Kingslayer or the Golden Lion, and she’s referred to as the Maid or the Beauty.
B: One a comment, one a critique. Very fitting.
J: Well, that’s the beauty of Goldenhand and Ser Blue: they complement each other, which is how love should be.
B: (pause) You always surprise me with these moments of sheer romanticism.
J: Well, like my ancestor, I am a romantic. Just need to find the right woman to bring it out in me.
B: Thank the Gods you don’t have a sister.
(tourney horn plays)
#braime#jaime x brienne#mine: paragraph prompts#notjanebond#elizadunc#ship: braime#fic: podcast verse
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Hey! I’ve narrowed my daemon down to being either a Stoat or a Pine Marten, and I’m having trouble figuring out which of the two I am. Could you do an analysis for both?
yes of course! i’ll try to get into the specific differences between these two species as well.
starting with the stoat (also called an ermine), these people are absolutely independent — very detached, and are averse to both relying on others and having others rely on them. they pride themselves on being capable. they're very resilient and adaptable individuals, who have no issues with change or working with what they're given. stoats are notorious for that weasel energy: this is someone very active, spontaneous, curious, and opportunistic. they have quick and yet very fickle minds. a stoat is not going to be great at seeing things through — they're probably better at starting infinite tasks, as they tend to follow their heart and interests rather than prioritizing anything, and when it comes to what they want to do, they're extraordinarily stubborn, strong-willed, and proactive. they definitely appear to be the procrastinating type, that friend who assures you that they work best under pressure and need to feel inspired before they can start doing something.
and there really is no getting in the way of a stoat's incredibly willpower. they are assertive, dynamic, and persevering. incredibly headstrong. a stoat is someone who might have all of these great ideas and plans in their head, and then when they go to actually do it, their lack of self-control and sense of spontaneity makes their whims override anything else. moreover, they are quite proud and hard to get down. a stoat knows how to roll with the punches, and aren’t going to sacrifice their stubbornness or self-indulgence for it.
one might be tempted to pin the stoat as a playful, fun-loving person, though they’re actually much more straightforward and assertive than that. a stoat's playground is within their own head; they like indulging in ideas by themselves, and other people tend to not be privy to this. even among a stoat's friends, this is someone who's going to be pretty reactive: they can be a hair defensive and quickly swing into stubborn mode. this really demonstrates a stoat’s underlying sense of anxiety. they like to stay active to stave away that sense of self-doubt and insecurity; their high energy can also be described as high-strung, and it’s much easier than it appears to actually hurt a stoat’s feelings or cause them to get agitated. they do not take to criticism well and take most things to heart.
and the pine marten! so there are actually two types of pine martens: the american pine marten and the european pine marten. regardless of type, both of these are going to be highly independent and non-committal just like the stoat, but absolutely more reserved about it and more tolerant around others. an american pine marten actually comes off as pretty amicable and good-natured, and they’re adept enough in a social situation to even be described as charismatic... though such interactions would still be taxing for them. a european pine marten is much more boundary-keeping and guarded, and can get touchy when people try to pry into their private life.
both of these individuals are the competitive and forceful sort; this is someone not afraid to take charge, and can be rather possessive over their people and their plans. very proactive and stubborn like the stoat, as well as having a tendency towards impulsivity and not completing the things they start... fickle and particular about what interests them, and are very selectively motivated. they're happy to cut corners and be ambitious and are similarly the type of people to follow their heart and passions. they’re very active, energetic, and stimulation-seeking, but also a degree more cautious than the stoat... these species are both more inclined to plan and ahead and prefer to be cautious, but at the same time are led by their curiosity and their inquisitive nature. however they are going to be much, much more patient than the stoat.
generally pine martens have more of a relaxed, carefree, generally upbeat vibe. they have more of that cheeky and fun-loving reputation than the stoat. they’re escapists while the stoat can be more of a realist. the pine marten has that same sense of cockiness as the stoat, and tends to get restless when not engaged in anything. both species are very playful! overall they’re really pretty tolerant people who have a sense of stubborn optimism... but when they get going, beware. the stoat is probably more high-strung and reactive, but the american pine marten in particular gets very defensive and forceful when crossed. american pine martens have a snowballing temper. they are highly protective people who will not pull punches and show that same sort of angry tenacity as the stoat. the european pine marten is more long-fused, conflict-avoidant, and passive-aggressive, but will show a similar willingness to be confrontational when lines are crossed.
a few more quick differences between the two martens... the american pine marten is more adaptable, while the european pine marten is more routine-forming; the american pine-marten is more stimulation-seeking and spontaneous, while the european pine-marten is more patient.
hope this helped! :)
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Abductions, Past and Present
Previous
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AO3
Bit of a lighter chapter, this time, but the next one is gonna be a bit rough. I’m real low on motivation right now, so long term projects like this one are just hard to write at the moment. It’s gonna be slow, folks! One shots are easier for my brain, so expect those while I procrastinate.
...
He jolts awake, shaking off the tail end of a nightmare, heart racing as he tries to place where he is, eyes locking on the bed, on the form of Roman sleeping peacefully, and his chest knots tighter.
“hey kiddo.” He tenses a bit at the voice, eyes shooting up to Feathers', flinching back a bit. “it's ok, bud. Can you drink something for me?” his throat feels like it’s closing up, but he nods, letting Feathers hand him a cup. He doesn’t know what's in it, why he's still here, but he's not going back on his deal. So he steels himself and takes a swig of the liquid.
His eyes widen. It's… water. Cool, fresh, sweet, water. He closes his eyes, taking another, slower drink. God, it’s amazing, he hadn't realized he'd forgotten what actual water tastes like, but it's somehow the most beautiful thing in the world.
“easy, buddy. Too fast and you'll get sick.” He opens his eyes at hands gently taking back the mostly empty cup. He keeps his eyes down, hands in his lap.
“Can we get some food in you, kiddo?” He nods again, letting Feathers guide him off the cot he'd been asleep on, barely wincing at the touch, biting back a hiss. The whole time his eyes never leave Roman.
They settle on the other side of the room, a small table and three chairs around it, which makes him stiffen even as he slides into the seat.
“I brought breakfast. Is he awake?” His eyes fly to the door. It's Naga. “ah, he is.” Naga answers himself, a small smile flitting across his face, coming to sit at the table, sliding a bowl in front of him and Feathers, before he sits down with his own bowl.
It smells like oatmeal of some kind, slightly cinnamon and sugary, and he can see fruit mixed in. Fruit. Just the thought nearly makes his mouth water, but he holds back, waiting for permission as the others begin to eat. He doesn’t know if this is another test, he won’t fail so easily if it is.
“Go on, kiddo. Eat up!” Feathers voice is light and cheery, and that's all the invitation he needs. He doesn’t care if it's poisoned, he decides with the first mouthful, nearly crying at the taste of sweet, warm, actual food. The next bite has a pop of sweet citrus and he can’t help letting out a small sound as he savors the flavor. It seems all too soon the bowl is empty, and despite being full he wishes for more.
Full. The ever present gnawing of hunger that he had nearly gotten used to is absent, he feels almost strange, without the ever present pangs of emptiness.
“Feeling better?” he nods again, eyes locked on Roman, missing the small frown exchanged between the two beings.
“kiddo… you can go see him.” Before the words are fully out of Patton's mouth, the human has vaulted out of his chair and is perched on the edge of the bed, hand entwined with Roman's, the other stroking his hair, murmuring softly.
Janus clears his throat, and instantly, the human freezes, an expression of pure fear on his face as he pulls away from his brother, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap, eyes downcast. Patton lets out a soft breath, looking to Janus for guidance.
He doesn’t look up at the sound of wood being pulled across the floor, seeing Naga out of the corner of his eyes, settling in the chair from the table, about a foot away from him.
“My name is Janus. I’m a Naga. My home planet is Chaemera. I was taken when I was six. My venom is very potent, you see, and gold scales very rare. Individually, they’re not all that strong. But when crafted together on fabric, mimicking their natural placement on my skin they are nearly impenetrable. I’m told they also make fine jewelry. They’d pluck them. Then wait for them to grow back in, and do it again. It hurt, obviously, but I thought this was normal. Just how things go. Until the ship was boarded. And I was freed, taken in and helped to heal in all manners of the word, by Logan. He made a mistake, keeping you two apart, not telling you what was happening, but he means well. He isn’t the most socially adept. He never meant to cause you the fear and pain and stress you underwent at being kept apart. And I am swearing to you now on every scar on my body and soul, that you are safe and I will fight to the death anyone who tries to put you back into that fucking cell.”
Remus stares at Naga, Janus, with suspicion and hesitancy, searching his face for any sign of a lie, for any sign of cold cunning or icy curiosity, finding none. He can’t decide if that puts him more or less at ease. He wants so badly to believe him, but he can't. He can’t because if he believes it and he’s wrong he will do something he'll regret, something that leaves Roman all alone.
“you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. You’ve been hurt really bad. We want to give you whatever it is you need to help start healing. It doesn’t matter if that means you ask us to leave right now and not come back, or if you want to talk. We won’t be angry, we won’t push you for anything, this is all at your pace. You control this. You can come and go as you please, we can drop you off somewhere, if that's what you want, you are free to wander the ship. Nothing here, none of us here, will hurt you.” He looks at Feathers, whose blue eyes are wide and filled with warmth and sadness and kindness, and he lets himself let out a ragged breath, pulling his knees to his chest and shaking, rocking back and forth, relieved, breathy sobs escaping his lips.
“oh, kiddo. Can… can I hug you?” Feathers asks hesitantly, and before he can second guess himself he nods. He barely flinches, his innate response to touch, but Feathers immediately pulls back at the small sign of discomfort. Which, really, convinces him more than anything else has, because none of his captors would ever have the empathy to playact a motion so innately kind.
“no… don't… please…” he heaves out, and instantly, those arms are back around him, wings wrapping him in warmth and sky blue softness, and he folds into the embrace.
“There we go, buddy. It's ok, let it all out, it's ok.” The touch burns at his skin, it feels too hot and too much and too close, the pressure around his back, where the palms rub circles feel aflame and his brain can't process this because touch equals pain, but this is so gentle it's agonizing in an entirely new way that he never wants to end.
“M-my name is Remus. His is R-Roman. I tr-tried to k-keep him safe, it w-w-was never en-ough I was n-ever enough…”
“Shh, baby no, you did so good. You did. You kept him safe. You kept him alive, you did it, you did it, baby. You’re out, you got him out. You’re so brave.” Feathers lets go as he shifts away after several long minutes, tear streaked, but lighter, so much lighter, than he can ever remember being.
“I can… I can stay, with him?”
“Yes. Of course, yes.” Janus answers, the thought of separating them again causing a flash of pain across his face.
“ok.” He whispers, voice hoarse, careful as he slips under the covers, curling tight around Roman, so he can feel every inhale and exhale, can feel the steady beat of Roman's heart. He smiles as he feels Roman let out a soft sound, melting into him.
He's exhausted. He hasn’t slept, really slept, in days. He feels the covers being gently tucked tighter around him, the warmth and heady sense of safety impossible to resist as his eyes slip shut.
“sleep well, Remus. We'll be in and out to check on you two, ok? If you need anything, just call. If you’re up for it, I'll give you a tour of the ship later, so you know your way around.” He nods, mumbles something affirmative.
“thanks, Feathers.” He mumbles, slipping into a restful, soothing sleep.
Patton turns to Janus, eyes aglow, a bursting smile on his face.
“He called me feathers! That's adorable!” Janus sighs good naturedly, steering Patton out the door.
“I heard… Feathers." He laughs at Patton's squeal, rolling his eyes but letting himself be drawn into a hug.
“Are you okay?” Patton asks, pulling away, not missing the flash of something across Janus's face before his mask of smooth confidence slips back on.
“Of course, darling. I’ve had years to move on, it’s certainly fine.” He dismisses, walking away down the corridor.
“Jan. I know it must bring back unpleasant memories-"
“It's fine, Patton. I’m certainly not reminded of my own fragile state when looking at them, I definitely don’t hate playing the spy to get on board those ships, and I’m certainly looking forwards to doing it again!” He shouts, regretting it instantly as he slaps a hand over his mouth, stumbling back against the wall.
“Janus-" Patton hates the cool mask of calm that slips back on, eyes going dim and distant, looking past him as he straightens.
“As I said. Everything is just fine.” Then Janus has slipped inside his room and locks it tight, something he only does when he's getting stressed, usually after night terrors or a triggering encounter.
“Jan? It’s alright to be not alright. I’m leaving you alone now, since you want space, but if you wanna talk ever, my door'll be open.” He hesitates a moment, as he hears a slide and thump, no doubt Janus sliding down the wall, sitting on the floor. “and I know you'll over think it, so I'll say it now, I’m not mad, or hurt, that you yelled. I love you.” He pulls away from the door, slowly, staring at it a moment longer before shaking his head, heading to the common area. Maybe Virgil would be there. He was likely wound up, too, and they could both use some company.
He didn’t hear the very faint, very whispered “I love you too" that escaped Janus's lips at the sound of his retreating footsteps.
…
He's surprised to find Logan in the common room instead, the distant look in his eyes telling Patton that he was deep in his mind, a form of meditation, almost, that helps the Straevion organize his thoughts and information. But Logan should have been sleeping, not delving through his memory.
Well, there was nothing to do but wait. Startling him out of it was more damaging and disorienting than nearly anything else, and it was a sign of great trust in his companions that Logan felt safe enough to do this in the living space, where anyone could stumble upon him, completely defenseless and vulnerable. It warmed his heart, how much faith Logan had in them all, and his feathers fluffed up before resettling. A small shuffling from the couch alerts him to Logan ‘waking’, and he smiles softly as Logan lets out a soft breath of air, silver eyes dilating and meeting his.
“hey.” He says softly, noting Logan’s ramrod straight posture, his hands steepled in his lap.
“Greetings, Patton. How may I be of assistance?” Whew, if Logan was falling back into his purely formal mode, he must really be upset. His race were generally stoic and formal, showing emotion a sign of weakness, but Logan had long since opened up, though it was still difficult sometimes for him to find the words to express what, exactly, he was feeling. But Patton is more than patient, and more than willing to help Logan express himself, lighting up at any small shred of emotion Logan shows, knowing how much trust it takes for him to share any sign of feeling, every twitch of the lips, any small snort of laughter, any tears or twinge of pain, each one was a tiny gift.
“Preen me?” He asks, instead of any of the other questions he wants to pepper Logan with, knowing he won’t answer any of them honestly if he’s this wound up. Logan hesitates, but nods minutely after a moment. Patton smiles, settling on the floor, wings stretched out behind him. After a moment, he hears Logan follow suit, and he shivers at the gentle touch on his feathers, closing his eyes and letting out a happy hum at the ever gentle, careful contact.
“If you’re out here, I’m assuming everything went adequately when he awoke?” Logan asks, voice still even, hands not hesitating in their careful straightening of his feathers, but Patton can sense the tension underneath.
“They did. He’s sleeping now, real sleep, poor thing. He trusts that he’s free, too, though that may come and go. His name is Remus. The other is Roman.” He feels Logan nod, absorbing the information. He let the silence linger, letting Logan organize his thoughts.
“I hurt them.” He says finally, his hands never stopping their steady motion, voice still dangerously flat. “I made a grave miscalculation in my ministration of care and failed to recognize the obvious signs of stress and grief acting upon Remus. I failed to see his signs of aggression as anything other than just that, when it is quite obvious that he was, in fact, in pain. At the very least I should have updated him on Roman’s condition and seen how he reacted.”
“You could have. But we both know that being kept like that for as long as he was can easily lead to madness. It was perfectly reasonable to be warry, given his behavior. He hadn’t even spoken, we didn’t even know if he was cognizant. I wouldn’t have thought he was, until his outburst at me.”
“Do you know what it was he said, before Virgil burst in?” His voice is strained now, on the edge of cracking, and Patton softens, tilting his head back to look at Logan’s face.
“I don’t, Lo. I’d hoped you’d tell me, once you were ready.” He sees that small twitch of Logan’s lips, and he smiles, drawing his wings in and turning so he’s kneeling face to face with Logan.
“he said that keeping them apart, letting him think that roman was dead, was the cruelest thing that’s ever been done to him. and the worst part is… I think he’s right.” Instantly, he’s wrapping his arms around Logan, pulling him closer with his wings, as he feels his stoic friend shaking.
“you can cry, Lo. You know I won’t tell anyone, if you do. You know it’s ok.” He murmurs.
“I don’t deserve to let myself feel, after what I did.”
“No, Logan, no. That’s not how this works. You are entitled to your feelings. The fact that you feel guilty and miserable now proves that you understand you did wrong, that you didn’t mean to hurt anyone, and I know you will do everything you can to earn their trust. To prove to Remus you deserve his. I know you have mine, Logan. Always, always, you have mine, plumana.” He replies, using a term of endearment native to his people. Logan relaxes against him, finally, his tears quiet and slow against Patton’s chest.
“Have you been up, this whole time? It’s been nearly two days since Remus passed out.”
“Couldn’t sleep. I… tried but without physical touch I found myself unable to relax enough for my mind to settle.”
“Awww, Lo, that’s so sweet!” He can feel Logan blushing, his entire skin faintly glowing with it. “now, let’s get you to bed, Plumana mine.” He whispers, brushing back Logan’s dark hair, softly kissing his forehead.
“You don’t mind staying? Just until I fall asleep.” Logan asks as Patton gets to his feet, helping pull Logan to his.
“I’ll stay as long as you want, Lo.”
#remus sanders#roman sanders#deceit sanders#patton sanders#logan sanders#sanders sides#space au#alien sides#older brother remus#protective remus#past torture#past abuse#trauma#ptsd#light angst
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1, 3, 5, 15, 18 and 20 😳😳😳😳
thank you for the ask!!! (also superior url omg 👁👄👁🤲🏻)
also my answers here are suuuuper long, because i’m a rambling idiot who’s way too involved in my OC’s. so uhhhh sorry in advance,,,,,
1. what radio station(s) do you listen to?
Vana’s a Samurai stan. She wishes she wasn’t. But, y’know, Morro Rock it is. Once upon a time when she was an even angrier teen, though, she’d listen to shit just like Ritual FM.
(My music taste is all over the place, and though blues is technically my fav bc i love old music, i never listen to it in 2077. So I switch between Body Heat, the Dirge, Vexelstrom for like 2 songs, and ofc, Morro Rock. But of all stations, there’s at least one song that i HATE so I can never stick to one for a whole ride sknsksjsjs)
i think i got the names right?? Idk yall i dont have it in front of me ndndndndhjs
3. how did you feel about Johnny that first night in the apartment, and how does it differ from what you feel now after everything?
so i’m gonna cut a read-more here because i decided to just lore dump Vana x Johnny here so uhhhhhh rip also //SPOILERS//
Vana is an extremely, seriously private, guarded person. Before Johnny, Panam, Kerry- Jackie was the only person she’d ever truly let near her, to get to know her. So obviously waking up to someone else living inside her fucking head was one of the worst things that’s ever happened to her. Her past is also something she’s not particularly proud of, so Johnny getting to witness all that is traumatising. Getting Johnny out of her head was priority number one, even if digging the chip out would kill her.
But after getting fucked over by the VBs, and both of them thinking she was gonna die, Johnny takes her to that abandoned hotel in Pacifica- it’s the first time he’s given her even a sliver of kindness, and the first time she’s ever openly expressed her fears to him, even if he could already sense them before. Oaths and promises are something she holds to incredibly high importance, so obviously when Johnny gives her his dog-tags, ‘proof of my promise’, she never, ever lets them go, never takes them off. (she still doesn’t. they keep her grounded. holding them to calm herself has become a reflex, for whatever reason.)
Everything just seemed to slowly change after that. For two people who hate vulnerability, it’s the only thing that helped them actually see each other. As the Relic continues to take over, they both understand each other more, feel each other more- and eventually it becomes hard to discern where Vana ends and Johnny begins. In cliché Johnny x V fashion like yeah duh it goes further,,,, cockwhore!Vana,,,,,, but with that they also start to become extremely possessive and jealous over one another- Johnny immediately on the defensive about whoever comes close to her, Vana selfishly hiding and keeping Johnny’s existence to herself, even if it slows the hunt for a remedy to the chip- to the point of seriously toxic co-dependency. It’s full of volatile ups-and-downs, fights and make-ups, and Vana almost comes to like the fact that she never has to explain nor hide what thoughts and feelings pass through her mind, no matter how dark or vulnerable. She prefers most things to remain unsaid, but values the fact that they both have a clear, transparent understanding of each other regardless.
But there's also... softer moments. When Johnny puts aside his ego for once, he learns to like the quiet that Vana does, brief as it can be sometimes. He'll sort of just... stay around the room, even if just to procrastinate retreating back into her head, because they realise they like each other's silent, wordless company. He'll wake her up from nightmares, hold her neck and kiss her back to sleep, or until the sun comes up, if she can't. It's all tender things they often pretend doesn't even happen, out of pride, I think, but they both know deep down that those are really the best parts.
Comes to a place where she suddenly hits a wall, and realises, I don’t want him to leave.
She’s never the same again after Mikoshi.
(But uhh anyway fuck V I’m horny on main for Keanu so i was here for the whole riiiiiide yeeeeeee)
5. how do your loved ones (LI, found family, etc) feel about you being a merc? or if you’ve given up the life now that everything’s finished, what was their reaction?
Vana grew up in a rich corp family, and after all the shit she’s endured just to appease her father, don’t think anyone could hate corps more than she does (some details of her past here!!) So when Arasaka kicks her out and Jackie finally convinces her to start merc work, it’s amazing how quickly she slips into the role, almost like she was made for it- an anonymous face within the city, free to roam and drift as she wants, relying on herself and herself only.
Vana works quickly and quietly enough (though not at all with clean hands), relying on stealth and netrunning, so she doesn’t cause too much of a noise that’d have her loved ones (rare as they are) all too concerned. Judy isn’t scared Vana’d be caught in gunfire, because when Vana works, her targets rarely know she’s even there. She’s smart, cunning. Panam appreciates that these skills have helped her out, so she can’t complain. River- who is unfortunately more fond of Vana than she is of him, given that she’s not too comfortable at accepting affection- isn’t too happy about the life she leads, but hey, it’s her skills as a merc and as one of NC’s most adept netrunners that he even stood a chance of finding Randy as quick as he did, so he feels indebted to her for that. Kerry thinks it’s fuckin awesome that she gets to do as she wants and provides for herself, bestieeees
Given she isn’t all that close with many people- keeping her distance and all- the only people who seriously worry about her are folks like Vik, Misty, and Mama Welles, especially the latter two, who knew how much Jackie meant to her, and how easily she cracks under the weight of grief. The only thing, really, that concerns everybody around her, is how insatiable her bloodlust becomes, and how much she'd throw away just to try and quell it.
Johnny’s just in it for the ride. Rather she work for herself than a filthy corp, anyway.
After Mikoshi, losing Johnny, making it to the major leagues, she fuckin... just doesn't care anymore. She hates the big glass house that was practically forced onto her (reminds her too much of her stifling corp childhood), she hates that she has 20 cars that clog up her garage and not just her trusty red Yaiba Kusanagi, hates that folks keep giving her all this shiny golden shit that she doesn't want, like any of it's worth a damn. Since then she's hardly in one place- never at home if she can help it, and either wanders aimlessly around the streets and crashes over at Kerry's to sleep through grief. It isn't the merc life she wants to leave, but major leagues turned out to be a glittering pile of dogshit she wants no part in. She only really stays there because Jackie would've wanted it.
(i’m a lazy bitch like i don’t wanna be a merc. i wanna be one of those cute npc’s with the glowy earrings and bunny backpacks and skimpy plastic skirts, who picks up noodles on the way home to go watch watson whore. in my ideal life i am NOT the main character snnsmsnsks)
15. which NPC is your bff?
Kerry. Kerry is Vana’s ride or die. No fucking questions asked. Kerry’s the only person (besides Johnny, i guess) as close to her as Jackie was. He’s really the only person that ever gets her to smile, like really, stupidly, goofily smile, and despite being almost complete opposites, they just understand each other so well. Whenever they need something, they're the first person they'll call. Happens so often that just as Vana sifts through her contacts to find his, Kerry's already calling for her first. They're practically joint at the hip.
They both live loud, fast lives, but also know how to make time for silence and introspection, something they both need to stay grounded. Vana doesn't buy into his zen-wellness-yoga crap, but sure, she tries copying a couple moves while he's doing it on a lazy afternoon, before scoffing how this is fuckin' dumb and retreats back to the couch. Also, as much as she hates being reminded of the wealth that came with her corpo upbringing, she loves using up all his expensive products, and tends to klep a bottle of his shampoo when she runs out. Cute how she thinks he doesn't notice.
After what happened in Mikoshi, she practically lives at Kerry's place, just dozing away miserably as he lounges by the pool, or curl up on the couch to mindlessly watch his old Samurai tapes (he doesn't like it much, but if it helps her through whatever shit she's going through, he's not gonna take that away from her). On better days, when she actually pulls herself out of bed, he teaches her to play guitar, slipping in a couple tricks Johnny taught him. Funnily enough, the whole thing helps him find some closure too.
( me,, I need a girl like Panam in my life to endorse all of my stupid ideas )
18. what’s your dream cyberware (either something that was shown in lore that wasn’t available in game or mental creation of your own)?
I don’t have access to the tabletop lore stuff rn so i’m gonna pull this out my ass jsjsns
Anything that helps Vana become more deadly at stealth and netrunning. The most eddies she’s ever blown are on increasingly powerful cyberdecks, cooling systems, netrunning gear she can comfortably slip on under a jacket and boots- she likes convenience and functionality, but she needs it to be comfortable, too. She’d fucking kill for anything that lets her scale silently up walls and across ceilings, though- like a spider- and anything that lets her get her hands reeeeal bloody, but quietly. Guess that’s just called a knife, though.
(Me?? Fuck uhhh man i just want synth-skin that looks normal but also shimmers all pink n cute. Literally wanna be an edward cullen sparkly lookin mf. Also, i’m sorry but scanning shit w Kiroshi’s are so dope that’s literally all i want?? Idk i’m boring and mantis blades freak me out uhh)
20. is there anyone you’re crushing on that’s unavailable? (yes this is the “what romance option(s) are you foaming at the mouth for” question)
Answered here :)
(And i’ll say it again, PLACIIIIIIIDE,)
#ask#vana#vana lore#i am#SO SORRY#that this is so long#u ask me ab my OCs it's bound to happen#thank u v much for the ask!!#i had a ton of fun!#:D
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ZADR Revival Week Final Day
@zadr-revival
The theme for today is Procrastination Gauntlet!! I’ve been putting off posting this ZADR fic and today is the day I start it! It’s called Take Another Step and I spent way too long on the first chapter lol
You can find it on ff.net here
or on AO3 here
Had a blast with this ZADR week--first time I’ve participated in a shipping week event and I had fun!
If you want to read it here, I’m putting it under a read more!
Part 1: Are You Okay?
Dib shook his nerves out once more. He had spotted Zim on his way out of the school in the throng of students leaving en masse. He had turned down the wrong street to go home—an oddity that Dib hadn’t missed, and Gaz had groaned about when he pointed it out. Dib figured it was better to get in a fight with Zim than be beaten to a pulp by her. Zim at least would leave him able to wobble home; he wasn’t so sure when it came to Gaz. He only knew she had the hospital on speed dial.
As it stood, Zim hadn’t noticed him yet and Dib intended to keep it that way. He ducked behind bushes and fence posts and trees—anything and everything he could use for cover. With his still small frame, that was easier to do. It was hampered a little by his height. Dib hated to crouch, but years of doing so in the bushes outside Zim’s base had made him adept at doing so in a second behind whatever cover he might have. Dib began to notice that they’d started getting near the park, where the neighborhoods stated to thin out. Zim stopped at the park gate and whipped around, catching Dib in his sights before Dib could duck behind anything. Dib pretended, for his own sanity, that it didn’t just look like Zim’s head had done a near perfect 180 like an owl.
They stood staring at one another in a standoff. Dib was running rapid fire through all his options. He didn’t have a lot. He could come clean and admit he had been following Zim; or pretend he hadn’t been and look like a moron and an obvious liar. He also started to think about all the ways he could dodge Zim’s claws. To his surprise, Zim never made a move against him. He only glared.
A glare that was an assault on its own. Dib felt a bead of sweat drop off his temple.
“Um—”
“You are terrible at stealth,” Zim says. Dib stammers; caught up in the offense of the statement.
“I am not!” he shouts, taking a step forward before stopping himself. He really couldn’t get within range of Zim’s claws. He knew better than that. Zim gave him a look. A Look that said ‘you are a liar’. “…I’m NOT.”
“Perhaps to other humans. I could hear you loud and clear once the noise of the school fell away,” Zim says, waving him off as he turned back around.
Dib blanched at him, starting to follow, but making sure that he kept a good distance the entire walk. It wasn’t particularly unusual that Zim blew him off like that, but it had been a while since the last time Zim had been bold enough to turn his back on Dib without checking somehow to be sure Dib wasn’t hiding a weapon in his pockets. Dib noticed Zim was starting to eye up the trees.
“You’re just saying that because you want me to stop following you.” Dib retorts.
“I do, but no, that’s not why. I recognize your heartbeat,” Zim says blandly. Dib almost didn’t catch that. Almost. He wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact Zim could hear his heartbeat, much less that he could differentiate it from everyone else’s. It was something Dib was sure he could have gone his entire life without knowing and been just as happy.
“That’s not horrifying,” he says instead. Zim’s antennae twitched under his wig and he looked back with a smug grin. Dib stared at him, knowing that Zim could hear his heart rate pick up slightly, and the bastard of an alien just turned back around without saying a word. “So, what are you doing all the way out here? Are you trying to get lost again? Start an alien cult? Got a bomb out here?”
“None of those things, and you do not need to care. I just wanted to get away for a while. Not that you care to allow that,” Zim says plainly. Dib grit his teeth at the jab. Zim’s lack of raising voice was somehow more aggravating than if he’d been yelling at Dib to leave him alone. Dib was used to Zim screaming at him. He knew how to respond to a screaming alien.
“Yeah, RIGHT. You’re lying.” Dib declares, taking a few adventurous steps forward.
Zim immediately spun around to take a swipe at him. Dib brought his arm up, blocking the majority of Zim’s swipe. The claws caught at his sleeve and Zim gripped the fabric, bringing Dib forward with one harsh tug on his forearm. The fabric that had stopped the claws from tearing up Dib’s arm served next to hold him place. The tightness around his wrist meant he couldn’t just slip his hand out and abandon the coat. Zim’s grip was strong enough that the constriction started to hurt, and Dib wanted to squirm out of the hold despite knowing he couldn’t. He also knew that would only prompt Zim to hold his arm tighter and he didn’t want to start losing blood flow.
Dib kept his free arm away, primed and ready to strike once Zim made any motion towards him. Zim stared at him a moment as if debating if he should proceed. He scowled and shoved Dib away. Dib stumbled, catching himself on the wall of the park, and rubbed at the sore spot on his forearm. It would definitely bruise—he could already feel it. Zim was already walking away from him, running his fingers along the side of the wall. Dib cautiously walked after him.
“Then what are you doing out here?” he asks again.
“Getting some air, as you humans say,” Zim says.
The irritation was starting to invade his tone. Dib was sure his antennae were vibrating under the wig. He would like to see it—it was always fascinating to see the antenna show more of what Zim was feeling or thinking than the alien’s own face or body would ever convey. Zim would make a killing at poker and Dib didn’t believe him.
He was cursing himself for not packing something to use if this happened. It was always a hit or miss when he made the decision every morning. He always kept a water gun in his bag or his coat for emergencies, but he’d neglected to grab anything else that morning. He’d been hoping for a break for a day, and Zim had curiously allowed that up until he broke his usual pattern after leaving school. He hadn’t really been involved in anything the entire day, even suspiciously missing lunch only to pop up in history the next period. As much as Dib hated to admit it, he hadn’t been able to find anything out of the ordinary when he had patrolled the halls over the next few periods when he could.
“Since when do you care to do that?” Dib asks.
Zim’s claws started to scrape against the stone, carving lines into the rock. Zim didn’t answer, walking until he hit the entrance and turned inside. Dib poked his head around the corner, catching sight of Zim already at the tree line. Dib made it most of the way before Zim turned to him. In the shadows of the trees Dib could see the glow of Zim’s eyes past the contacts, just barely poking through. It caused a ‘demonic possession’ type of vibe and Dib stopped in his advancement on instinct. He suddenly felt uncertain. Zim was uncharacteristically stoic and it was throwing Dib off.
“I’m just getting some air. Go home,” Zim orders. Dib stood silent, unable to think of a response. Zim sounded… tired.
Did Irkens need to sleep?
Dib snapped from his musings when Zim had disappeared into the bushes. Dib watched the forest uncertainly. He wasn’t sure if he could trust Zim wouldn’t try to pull something. He waited at the tree line for a few hours before he figured it was safe enough.
He slipped into the bushes slowly, trying to remain silent. It didn’t take long to figure out that he had no idea how to move stealthily among trees and bushes. The branches of both were brushing against him even when he tried to move around them in the most ridiculous contortions. His boots on the leaves and twigs were no better. He really wished he’d packed his tree stand even though it would be of no help in tracking Zim down. It was different than tracking down a Big Foot or another creature that might wander into Dib’s clearing or past his cameras. Zim knew how to avoid Dib by now.
Regardless, Dib kept going straight. He had no idea how to track if Zim had gone anywhere else until he spotted an unusual indent in the bark of the trees. Three to four of the markings were on trees within a similar distance in bathes. Dib saw it bank right and started to follow. He broke out into a deer trail and looked down each direction. To his left he spotted another set of markings. He made a note that he’d have to turn around and go straight again to leave, just to be sure he didn’t get lost, before he went ahead.
He was looking up more than he was looking down. He tripped or stumbled more than once. Finally, mercifully, he broke out into a clearing. Dib stepped back immediately, spotting one of the PAK legs still bent over and hovering in the air just past the center of the clearing. It wasn’t a big clearing by any means. A giant log was off center in it. A small piece of missed history that might explain some of the changed terrain that allowed the grass to overtake the forest floor before any other foliage could.
Dib peeked around the tree he chose to hide behind and saw Zim’s PAK and head over the log’s body as if he were leaning against it. He was looking up at the sky. His PAK’s legs were just poised around him like the dead legs of a spider. It was unsettling to say the least. That said, he couldn’t see any device, any ship, or anything at all suspicious in the field. Dib ducked back behind the tree, ultimately confused. He started down the trail again, noting how it was getting dark. He could check again tomorrow.
By the time Zim had pushed back through the bushes the sky had gotten dark.
Zim hunched his shoulders, the PAK pressing against his back painfully. He let it, clenching his fists more out of the rage he felt as opposed to the pain. He ran one hand alone the stone wall, the claws cutting deep into the stones. He kept his other hand clenched. The pain kept him grounded. It caught his mind and kept it from free falling. Regardless, he started to shake.
~*~
Gir watched him silently. The robot had been bouncing off the walls and screaming for hours now. Zim hadn’t even moved in that entire time. Gir tilted his head. Zim had done this before. He seemed to zone out for hours on end, particularly after bad calls with The Tallest or others in the Empire. The difference here was that Gir could tell Zim was, in reality, intensely focused on the screen in front of him. His claws dug deeper into the metal of the desk the longer the Irken symbol flashed on and off the screen.
The screen had been blank, blinking the Irken symbol as the call was left unanswered yet again, for just as many hours as Gir had been wearing himself down. Typically, if Gir crashed into Zim, he’d let himself fall to avoid any injury to himself or Gir. It was utilitarian—so he wouldn’t have to waste time repairing himself or the hyperactive ball of metal that had flung itself into him. Gir knew that was why Zim let himself be tackled. Gir had joined Zim in staring at the screen when one such attempt at a tackle hadn’t moved the Irken an inch. Zim’s body had bene completely rigid, like a statue. Gir’s momentum, as much as he had built it up, hadn’t caused much in the way of disrupting his Master. Currently, Gir was looking at Zim and wondering if he should do something.
Zim bit his lip until it bled. He didn’t want to admit it.
The call would go unanswered.
~*~
Dib had been acing all his classes, surprisingly. It wasn’t that he wasn’t a genius—he was his father’s son, after all—but rather he was surprised that Zim’s absence wasn’t more of a distraction for him. He was somewhat distracted because it was unusual and that did inevitably put him on edge. A very hard edge that made it feel like his teeth were grating and he was standing on the edge of a cliff. Like the sound of nails on a chalk board and the feeling of weight being taken from him before he plummeted. He hadn’t found anything in the clearing the following morning. He hadn’t found anything in the following day, either.
By Friday he couldn’t take it any longer. If it weren’t for his sensors outside Zim’s base indicating he hadn’t left, Dib wouldn’t have been able to sleep. It was strange for Zim to disappear for days without a peep. It was strange for him to not make a peep the remainder of the week. It was strange and even unsettling that he supposedly hadn’t left his base in all that time, either. Any shift in the alien’s usual behavior warranted investigation. Dib simply had surmised that jumping down Zim’s throat about it wasn’t worth failing out of school.
But; he was free for the day now, and Dib made the walk to Zim’s base as easily as breathing. He didn’t need to focus for his feet to bring him there any longer. He had zoned out, thinking about the myriad of different plans Zim had probably been planning for the last few days, and not popping back into reality until he could see Zim’s base as he entered the cul-de-sac. He tried to calm his nerves. The familiar fear of going into this particular lion’s den was something he never was able to shake. As exciting as it was, it was also a huge risk every time. He knew he might not come out one day. He understood Zim wasn’t un-willing to kill him if he felt the need. Dib was surprised he’d lived this long. He had a fair number of scars to show for their battles. A few from lasers—that his Dad was more perceptive to than the usual odd scar—alongside all the claw marks. The latter he could at least explain away with monster hunting and running into the occasional feral animal. But the lasers’ marks had been harder to brush off. “It was a failed experiment” was luckily enough to get his father to back off.
Dib cautioned himself as he neared the front fence. He saw the gnomes standing at attention as usual. He stuck his foot into the lawn’s perimeter, toeing inside the property line, just to be safe. The gnomes didn’t respond. They didn’t even turn their heads. Dib took a cautious step inside. Still nothing. He took a bold leap, kicking one over and jumping back onto the sidewalk.
Nothing.
That was either very, very good; or very, very bad. Dib wasn’t sure which he would prefer. Obviously if Zim had up and left that meant Earth was safe; but then, Dib assumed the base would be gone with him. So, either the alien had seriously dropped his maintenance duties, had gotten very engrossed in one of his projects, or he was dead.
Dib decided to ignore the wandering possibilities and made his way to the door. He tapped it with his foot and the door swung open without resistance. Dib started to feel a ‘horror movie’ vibe coming on. He knew for most sensible people who watched horror as much as he had, he should have turned and gone home. Dib had already concluded that he was never the sensible type when he’d made the decision to possibly chase an alien for the rest of his life.
He stepped cautiously into the darkened house. The cords leading into the ceiling felt eerie-er than usual. The darkness was a definitive contributing factor to that. Dib felt his heartrate increasing every second he was there. It felt wrong to be there. He couldn’t recall many times that the lights were off in the surface level of the base. He walked inside, praying and praying that it wasn’t a trap of some kind. He’d brought his best tools with him just to be safe, but he could never be too sure. He got as far as the doorway to the kitchen before he stopped. Gir was sat atop the counter in the back corner, away from the prying eyes of any passerby on the sidewalk out front. Dib made his way up to the robot, lifting him up and looking over him. He was powered down, his eyes dark. Dib couldn’t find an ‘on’ switch and so set him back onto the counter. He wanted to study the robot more—for days, if he could—but he didn’t have the time to toy with that for now. He paused, noticing the dust and grime that had been building for the last half of the week on Gir’s body.
That’s not right. Zim’s a germophobe. Did he leave?
Dib hummed disapprovingly. He eyed the toilet and decided against it. If the power was truly out, then it wouldn’t work regardless, and he didn’t feel like going down that shoot. He bee-lined for the side table in the living room. He took it off the tiles, setting it aside. Dib hooked his fingers on the tile, trying to pry it open. It didn’t budge more than a millimeter. He tried a few more times before giving up with a huff and discarding his backpack. He rifled through it, finding his multi-tool. He hooked the point of the knife attachment under the tile, using leverage to pry it open. The hatch clicked when it popped open. Dib had to lift it up, forcing the hinges to snap. He wasn’t paying for that. He set the very edge of his shoe under the tiles, keeping them propped open. He looked down into the shoot, spying only darkness that was occasionally illuminated by a stray light. So, the base did have power. But none to the top floor. He wondered if he’d find anything down the tube, or if that’s all that was left. A tube and some forgotten lights set up with the neighbors’ power grid.
Dib furrowed his brow. He dug into his bag again, discarding binders he didn’t need any longer and grabbed for his grappling hook. He had thirty meters of cable in it, he could get pretty far on that. He shimmied his way into the shoot, securing the hook on the outside, and began his descent. The grappling hook only moved at a set pace when going down: slow. Dib had ample time to take in the scenery of dirt past a transparent walling. Eventually, he did hear a ‘click’ as the end of his cable caught on the line. He looked around, spying a door he could climb up to. He reeled in some of the line, struggling to stand on the tiny ledge that remained of the door’s frame. He used his knife here similarly to the shoot’s hatch.
Dib managed to push the door open, wedging his grappling hook’s body between the doors to keep them from shutting again. If he got lost, he’d just have to find the door with a plastic gun handle stuck in it.
Dib made his way through the lab cautiously. He had turned a few times when he started to see the scratch marks on the hall walls. Only ever down the single hallway, one set with dozens of doors, and none of them the source of the scratches had gone into more than once or twice, based on the amount of scratches that had made a new textured flooring. Some had even dragged up the walls. Dib felt his anxiety spike, breathing becoming more difficult, and his heart pounding in his ears. He took out a coin and flipped it.
Heads. Right, it is.
Dib banked down the hall. He followed the scratches to a door at the very end. It was set open, the light of the button stuck on. The button itself was cracked. Dib swallowed. He was definitely going to die.
Regardless, his dumb brain decided taking a quick peek inside wasn’t going to kill him. Not to mention he’d been caught inside the base before with a pissed off alien. It wasn’t any different if he got caught now. He figured if Zim did manage to beat him in a fight, he’d just launch him out with the cannon. Again. Dib poked his head in and gaped.
The room was, to put it mildly, utterly trashed. The walls weren’t just covered in scratches, but full on gouges in the metal. Several monitors had their screens shattered, the largest had the table thrown into it. The table that had been bolted to the floor, and whose single central leg was wrenched in half to achieve its new position. Wires and cables were hanging from the ceiling, out of the monitor stations, and from the floor where tiles were missing.
The uneasy pit in his stomach sank deeper. Dib tiptoed around the room, surveying the damage. He knew these markings well enough. He’d dodged the PAK legs enough times to be certain of the kind of damage they left on the surrounding area.
Did he get in a fight?
No, that didn’t seem likely. Dib’s sensors didn’t pick up any activity from outside for days. If someone had attacked, they’d have had to teleport in, or shrunk themselves. While he was aware nether feat was impossible, it was improbable. Dib left the room, making his way as quietly but hastily as he could to the opposite end of the hall. This door was also ajar. He spotted the tip of a PAK leg at the door. Instinctive fear bubbled up, but Dib fought it down.
He squeezed his way through the crack in the door and the frame. The room was just as trashed as the one before it. Dib trailed the PAK leg, walking as quietly as possible. It would occasionally twitch, making a metal creaking noise with the effort of the movement. Dib would pause, waiting, until it wasn’t moving any longer. He looked up to see the chair they were coming from. It was swiveled away from him. He could see Zim’s legs from this side.
Dib inched his way around the chair. He could see Zim was slouching in the seat with his eyes closed. Dib bent around the chair. He looked at Zim, leaning as close as he dared—which was about a few inches from his face. Dib smiled, the thought of the opportunity becoming too great for him to resist. He took his phone out, holding it up for a photo.
“I didn’t think Irkens slept,” he murmured. A clawed hand grabbed the other side of the phone, the photo ending up being a very dark image of Zim's palm.
“They don’t.”
Dib shrieked, jumping several feet back. He would be humiliated if it weren’t for the fact Zim seemed utterly disinterested in him. Instead, Zim simply chucked his phone across the room and looked back to the broken monitor. Dib stared a moment. He side-stepped to his phone, retrieving it without taking his eyes off Zim. He cautiously stepped back up to the alien when he didn’t move.
“Zim?”
Zim didn’t respond. Dib couldn’t rightfully tell with the red eyes if he even glanced in his direction. He sauntered up to the alien, his bravado getting the best of him again. He was still sure not to disturb the PAK legs on his way up.
“Zim, I have those handcuffs.” Dib says. Zim didn’t pay him any mind. Dib was lying, but the alien didn’t know that.
Dib did catch a twitch from the PAK leg nearest to him. It was a small twitch, like it had lost its energy or fight. Typically, Zim would have at least hissed at Dib as a warning. A hiss that would forever and always send shivers down Dib’s spine with how unnatural it sounded. Dib acquainted it to a cat and a rattlesnake the first time he heard Zim hiss at him with a real intent to kill or maim backing it up. Zim was deadlier than any animal Dib had come across, as well as a fair number of cryptids, and he had bolted the moment the sound had come out of Zim’s mouth. They’d been in the middle of a fight, but Dib would have been damned if he was going to be dumb enough to die after getting a warning like that. He’d already ruined the latest plans—the fight was just to see who could beat who first. Once he’d gotten home safely he, of course, wrote down as much as he could recall about the entire experience. Theories included.
And he was being a complete idiot right at this moment.
“…I have a water gun, too,” he adds.
Zim still didn’t look his way but Dib saw his antennae twitch. It was a minor reaction; but it was something. Dib did have the water gun. He had even pulled it out of his bag when he announced its presence. It was only about half full; but it was more than enough. The slosh of the water and Dib caught Zim’s antennae twitch and his body stiffen. But, shockingly, the alien didn’t make a move to… move. Dib felt his palms grow sweaty.
“Alright.” He moved in front of Zim, gun forgotten in his hand as he braced on his knees to lean down to Zim’s eye level. The alien looked at him with a blank glare. “Are you sick?”
“…Irkens don’t get sick.”
“He speaks!” Dib shouts exaggeratingly. He cracked a smile at his own joke; but Zim doesn’t react past his lids lowering a little more. He was unimpressed and it was a half-assed attempt at a deeper glare. Dib deflated, putting the gun back into his bag, against his better judgement. “C’mon, that one is classic. So, then what’s wrong with you?”
“…”
“The silent treatment again? You don’t look like you could put up much of a fight right now, either.” Dib said coyly. He looked around the room before adding, “At least, not right now. Looks like you tired yourself out.”
“Days ago,” Zim added gruffly.
Dib eyed him. “Are you depressed, or something?”
“Or something.”
Dib blinked at him. He hadn’t expected a real answer. On top of that, Zim’s tone wasn’t exactly comforting. Dib had heard himself talking like this from time to time. Zim sounded apathetic. Dib’s worry started to shift from his own safety to Zim’s, much out of his control, and fueled by curiosity. Dib rubbed the back of his head, double checking the room again. He shifted his weight between his feet.
“Do you wanna…. Talk about it?” he asked. Zim shot him a look. Dib raised his hands up and let them drop again. “Alright, space-boy, well, I’m not leaving until you do, so. There.”
“…. Enjoy starving,” Zim spits. There was that trademark snark Dib had become so accustomed to. It was still hiding a little; but it was peeking through and that meant progress. Whether that progress was good progress remained to be seen. But Dib was never one to quit.
“Ok, fine. Look, you’re the only person I’ve had regular contact with for years now that didn’t think I was insane—”
“You are.”
“—or actively shut me out for being weird.”
“You are.”
“And yet you still talk to me,” Dib says. “And not just to pick a fight.”
Dib recalled with clarity the nights that he and Zim would be on a rooftop or in the park or on the outskirts of town, and they’d either have tired themselves out or weren’t in a battling mood. The occasions were rare, but they had been becoming more frequent as the years passed. These were nights when they’d just talk, like normal people. Sure, it’d go back to fighting the next day, or the day after if their moods were good. But, Dib like those nights. He got more out of the alien than he ever did any other day on those nights. A lot of it was sub-textual information that Dib had to rely on theories to explain and it wasn’t anything as grandiose as weaknesses or base secrets—but opinions and recounts of basic space travel and Zim’s own life experiences were something Dib found equally valuable and engaging. The topics shifted throughout the conversations and could take hours to conclude. Zim, though he’d never admit it, respected Dib’s boundless curiosity for every topic at hand. Zim had gotten some things of use out of the conversations as well—it was the reason he told himself he kept at them. Though Dib could aggravating, annoy, and often anger him, Zim knew he was also one of the few people on the planet who he could hold a meaningful conversation with.
Presently, Dib was smiling smugly at him, inching ever closer across the line of annoyance into aggravation.
“Hey, I’m right. So, start talking. It helps.” Dib says. Zim eyed him. The PAK legs drew into his PAK, scraping against the flooring. They were uncharacteristically limp. Instead of sitting up to speak, Zim stood and walked towards the door, his back straight in typical military fashion. Dib paused before following him out. “Zim, it really does help.”
“Don’t care.”
“And speaking basic, bare minimum sentences don’t qualify,” Dib adds. Zim whirled on him, just a tiny spark of that energy coming back into his red eyes. They glowed faintly in the dim lighting of the hallway and Dib was adamantly reminded of just whose den he was currently trespassing in. A lump of fear blocked his windpipe for a moment.
“I could kill you.” Zim says evenly. Dib stared at him, acutely aware of the legitimacy of that fact and how he didn’t need the reminder. Plus, he had been pressing a matter that perhaps he shouldn’t have. A fact made clearer when Zim kept speaking. “I could skewer you like a shish kabob and burn your body to ash—until nothing was left. No one would know you’re missing except Gaz. Who, I somewhat, doubt would care. If she does, I could just do the same to her.”
Dib clenched his fists, but remained silent, holding Zim’s gaze steadily. The alien wasn’t moving, still as a statue, watching him back. Finally, Dib slowly started to shake his head.
“No, you wouldn’t.” Dib says finally. He let his body relax, his fists unclenching. He wasn’t about to let Zim goad him into a fight right now. He sees Zim’s shoulders prickle and his teeth start to bare. He wasn’t going to get goaded into a fight if he could help it, that is. Dib continues quickly. “Because then you’d be alone. It’s the same reason I haven’t killed you, either.”
Zim stares at him. Reading him. His lips had started to close, and he turned his back to Dib, stomping away. Dib felt relief wash over him briefly. He could live another day. For now.
He chased after Zim, partly because he wasn’t entirely sure where to go, and partly because he was genuinely concerned about what had caused Zim’s tantrum. He hadn’t even known Zim could wrench a bolted table out of the floor. The image flashed in Dib’s mind and his feet carried him driven by two emotions. Unabashed curiosity and hurt pride.
He’d been holding back on him.
The absolute dumbass.
“Hey. I get that this is probably something you don’t want to discuss, but I’m here for you to talk to me. It’s not like you can go to therapy.” Dib says, jogging up to Zim’s side to keep pace.
“What is that?” Zim asks. There was genuine curiosity in his voice and Dib grasped that little bit of real reaction like a lifeline. He couldn’t really pinpoint why he cared so much. If nothing else, he could distract Zim to some degree. Dib wasn’t sure why he was bothering, given if Zim died of starvation from his own apathetic self just neglecting to eat, it would have made Dib’s job a hell of a lot easier. And yet.
“It’s where people talk about their problems, in basic terms. It helps.” Dib insists. Zim shot him another look and Dib sighed dramatically. “It helps you paranoid bug—”
Zim whirled on him, pinning him to the wall by fists in his shirt. Dib latched onto Zim’s wrists, ready to wrench them away if he had to. He wasn’t sure how on the line Zim was between throwing him out or snapping his neck, either ending after a good beating. What Dib did know was that the claws were poking through his shirt and had assuredly broken skin. It was just another shirt down the drain. Dib opted to deal with trying to ask Gaz to sew it up later and met Zim’s eyes. Two full orbs of red, like bottomless pools of blood, all full of fury.
“And why?” Zim asked, tongue and teeth bare as he hissed when he talked. Dib shivered at the sound. “Why do you CARE?”
“I-I don’t… I don’t know, I just do.” Dib stammered. He gave an experimental tug on Zim’s hands. The fists tightened, only further cementing the early death of Dib’s t-shirt. Dib wriggled against the wall. He couldn’t move more than a few centimeters at a time. His heart rate was starting to pick up the more he couldn’t budge Zim’s grip. He may have to resort to kicking. Zim narrowed his eyes, hissing at him again.
“Liar.”
Zim dropped him, giving him a good kick to the shin before he started down the hall again. Dib clutched at his leg a moment, refusing to whine, as he stumbled after Zim down the hall. The wall was his support as he hobbled after him. He wasn’t one to give up easily, and Zim knew that by now. Dib was also one to push buttons.
“Zim, you’re being bothered by something. Tell me what it is.”
“You do not care.”
“I do,” Dib insisted.
“No, you do not. You can’t.” Zim shot back.
Dib glowered at the back of Zim’s head. He ran up in front of Zim, cutting him off in the hallway by putting a hand firmly on the alien’s chest. The alien’s demeanor didn’t shift very much. He glared Dib down, unimpressed. Given that Dib hadn’t been successful at all to fend Zim off a few seconds prior and that Dib just didn’t have that imposing of a frame; Dib’s attempt to stop him wasn’t that successful. Dib had never ‘grown into’ any sort of obvious muscle. He was still a good half a head taller than Zim—and could always be—but, Zim had learned he was deceptively strong. For someone so slight, Dib could pack a mean punch when he wanted to.
There in the hall, Zim could feel the effort Dib was putting into his palm to keep him from leaning forward to take another step. Zim could easily sidestep him; but that might incur a fight. Zim was just too mentally exhausted to fight. He was in the mood to poster and bluff, not fight. Instead, he reached his hand up, wrapped it around Dib’s wrist firmly, and pulled the boy’s hand away.
“No.”
Zim shoved past him, stopping at the elevator that had Dib’s grappling hook in it. Zim stared at it a moment before giving Dib a different ‘look’. One of abject disbelief with an undertone of annoyance. Dib flushed a little. Zim grabbed the gun, yanking it out and snapping the chord, without breaking eye contact. Dib stared disappointed at the loss of a large sum of money. He couldn’t afford putting in another equipment request to The Swollen Eyeball with his track record. The duo’s multiple encounters had cost the organization a pretty penny already.
Zim hit the button, oblivious to Dib’s future financial woes, and the elevator doors closed and opened again a moment later with the floor ready to take Dib up. Dib looked between Zim and the elevator. He stepped up and hit the button again, closing the door. He bounced out of Zim’s reach, just in case, when the alien stared at him in annoyance. The expression was largely unreadable—Dib would be hesitant to admit it, but Zim’s contacts really did most of the work when Dib was reading how he was feeling—aside from the half-lidded glare. It was also, pointedly, half-hearted. Dib decided to stand his ground. He wasn’t sure what he was wearing down; but a wall was starting to fall and he wasn’t losing this small foothold if he could help it.
“I’m not leaving,” he declared. Zim started to shake. He looked ready to scream and throw punches. Instead he turned on his heel back down another hall. The spark of anger in his eyes was a passionate flare; one that Dib saw be physically suppressed as Zim forced his body to turn. Dib had to jog to keep pace with his strides. Zim wasn’t making it subtle how much he wanted to be away from him. “Zim, I’m trying to help you.”
“And I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want your help. I don’t want you here,” Zim spits.
He hissed low and long as Dib caught up with him. He had half a mind to swipe out and slash the boy wherever his claws happened to land. It would be satisfying, to a degree. But it felt like too much effort. Instead, he just quickened his pace again. The satisfying groan of frustration that followed almost put a smile to Zim’s lips.
Dib was at a steady jog at this point. Meanwhile, Zim didn’t seem perturbed at all. He was keeping up the long stride with no indication that he was going to be slowing down any time soon. Dib had one or two more desperate pleas to make before he would resign to give up and try again another day.
“Zim, I really do think it’d benefit you—”
“Dib, the last person I want to talk to is YOU!” Zim growls. Dib hears the hiss in the very back of Zim’s throat. Setting aside the curiosity of how he managed to growl and hiss simultaneously, Dib instead became acutely aware of the fact that he, once again, was in the perfect position to be murdered. And yet, Zim had yet to do so.
Ah, that glimmer of hope was there, yet.
“Ok, how about this?” Dib began. He sprinted ahead, blocking Zim’s path. “You just have to say one thing.”
Zim’s PAK leg came out, thrusting towards Dib. Familiar fear and the instinct to live was the only reason he side-stepped it just in time to save his shoulder. Zim didn’t break his pace, waltzing right by the boy.
“As I was saying,” Dib began again. “You just have to say one thing and I’ll leave!”
The final words caught Zim’s attention, his antennae flicking in Dib’s direction. His stride finally came to a halt. Dib cursed that superior alien stamina once he was close enough to see that Zim didn’t even seem fazed, whereas Dib was left breathing heavier than he’d like to admit. Zim had his chin cupped in his fingers. He sighed, turning to Dib.
“I. Am. Upset.” He says evenly. Dib stared blankly at him, waiting for more. No shit, he was upset. Dib could have easily guessed that. The PAK leg jutted out, maneuvering around Dib’s head and twisting itself in the hood of his jacket even as Dib tried to dodge out of the way. It lifted him off the ground and Zim started to walk back towards the elevator. “And that is all.”
Dib, now that he was aware he wasn’t going to be skewered, was busy trying to come to terms with the fact Zim had admitting to being upset. Sure, the Irken would curse and scream and throw tantrums when he was pissed. But never had Zim admitted, openly, to being upset. The three-word phrase had never, to Dib’s knowledge, left his mouth before. While Dib had been the one to goad Zim into the, admittedly small instance of, emotional openness it was strange to experience it. While Zim was certainly passionate about many of his feelings, those feelings largely consisted of rage, aggravation, annoyance, triumph, narcissism, or sadistic glee.
“Upset” was not in established the vocabulary. “Upset” was not what Dib had seen before. “Upset” was new territory. Territory Dib wasn’t sure how to navigate.
Zim threw him into the elevator. Dib’s back hit the walling of the tube, knocking the wind out of him, and his senses back in. He scrambled to his feet. The PAK leg hovered in front of him, poised to stab. Dib stood there, staring past it towards Zim.
“You will LEAVE my base. Now.” Zim ordered.
He pressed the button, retracting his PAK’s leg slow enough Dib couldn’t slip past it in the doorway. Dib wouldn’t have dreamed of doing it, as the failure of doing so meant getting stabbed who-knew-where. He let the elevator bring him up to the main floor, the cable of the grappling hook forming a pile as it climbed. Dib gathered the cable up in his arms. It didn’t have to be a total waste of scrap. The elevator deposited him back in the living room. Somehow it seemed more suffocating than before.
Dib trudged to the door. He knew when to let something go. For now. He was going to be back, all right. He wasn’t leaving the alien alone for long as it stood right then.
~*~
Dib had returned the next day, as it were, and noted the gnomes still weren’t active. At this rate he probably could have climbed to the rooftop and taken the Voot for a joy ride before Zim knew what had happened. While Dib didn’t know much about flying the Voot, he had his limited experience in Tak’s ship under his belt. He slotted the possibility in the back of his mind as he pushed the still unlocked door open again. Gir was left where he had been set yesterday. Not entirely a good sign, as it meant in the least Zim still hadn’t turned him back on. The undisturbed layers of dust meant Zim still hadn’t come up at all.
Dib forced the tube open again, resetting the hook to where it had been before and lowering himself down by hand on the cable. He stopped at the same elevator at the end of the cable and repeated the method of entry he had before. He poked his head through. The halls were still dark. Dib looked around, shrugging on his jacket once more. It had a small tear from the tip of the PAK leg; but it wasn’t something worth throwing it away for, given how some of his clothing had been ruined.
Dib explored the rooms, most of which were destroyed similarly to the two rooms he’d found before. He excluded the doors what wouldn’t open to him until finally he spotted the same green head and antennae poking out from a chair. Dib sighed inwardly, walking in without trying to be quiet. The antenna perked up and Zim peered around the chair at him, as unimpressed as he was before.
“What, you thought I’d be gone long?” Dib asked snarkily.
The Irken didn’t respond, turning back around, head on his hand. Dib felt an eye twitch. He forced the chair to swivel around to glare Zim in the eyes. Zim’s leg retracted, kicking out once he was fully turned, landing a solid hit in Dib’s ribs. Dib doubled over with a cough, clutching his side.
“No fair,” Dib rasped. He straightened himself, leveling out his breathing.
“You’re the one who is trespassing,” Zim points out. His voice was gravelly, as if it had been overused. He used his foot to shove Dib away, who stumbled to regain his footing, with a fresh bloom of pain in his side. Zim kicked the chair away as he stood.
The PAK leg hooked itself in Dib’s hood again, twisting to maintain grip. When it lifted, Dib heard the tearing of fabric. The leg had managed to lift him off the ground before the hood gave way and the tear went right through the fabric, freeing him. Dib hit the floor, tackling Zim immediately in a lunge. Whatever funk the alien was in, it was definitely the only factor that aided Dib in successfully pinning him to the ground. While Zim was in a very shallow lean thanks to his PAK, Dib was able to pin down the Irken’s arms. The PAK leg had twisted around, stopping its thrust close enough to Dib’s back that he could feel the tip hovering over his shirt. Dib stared at him, waiting for the tip to pierce his back. Zim looked confused.
Zim seemed conflicted on what to do. He accepted he’d been caught off guard. Dib wasn’t sure if he refrained from striking him down because it meant he would be sprayed with blood, or another reason. Zim’s face was contorting between disgust, anger, and another conflicting emotion that Dib couldn’t quite identify. He really wished Zim was wearing the contacts so it’d be easier. The PAK leg was twitching indecisively behind him, occasionally poking into his back. Dib felt sweat starting under his shirt. He was on thin ice. He just knew it.
Finally, Zim seemed to make a decision as he started to thrash under Dib’s weight.
“GET OFF!” the Irken roared. “You—you’re such a filthy, filthy worm!”
“No, we’re discussing this,” Dib says, ignoring the insult and the kicks to his back. The confidence in his voice was delivered with a quiver that he wished wasn’t there; but he wasn’t giving in. Zim could hit and kick him all he wanted. He had various times before.
And that’s exactly what the alien seemed to be doing. Dib felt his knees in his sides and his back, and it hurt, but he’d endured worse. Zim’s arm reached up, a punch landing squarely on Dib’s jaw. Dib gave a more audible ‘oof’ than he’d’ve liked to, recoiling from the hit on reflex. It was surprising to feel Zim’s own arm bend up to land the hit so effortlessly. It had more weight behind it than Dib thought it would. Dib wasn’t sure he had offered any level of resistance against Zim’s swing, despite how hard Dib had been trying to hold him down. Even with his arms pinned, Zim had thrown the punch with ease. Zim had been going easy on him and it was just insulting.
Dib’s dodge gave Zim just enough wiggle room to try and pull himself from under him. Dib grabbed at his arms again, shoving the alien down.
“Damn it, Zim, it’s just talking!” Dib shouted. He felt Zim’s struggles weren’t the best they had ever been. It was as if the alien’s fight had left him after the first swing. “Would you stop? What the hell even happened?”
Zim sneered at him. He growled, but he stopped trying to kick Dib off. Dib was silently grateful; he didn’t want to explain why he was utterly covered in bruises if his dad demanded to inspect why he was limping later. He could only blame school bullies so many times before someone investigated the frequency. Zim looked away, staring pointedly at the wall. His antennae weren’t flat against his skull, so he wasn’t planning to gut Dib anytime soon, which was good. They were at the angle Dib had concluded meant he was being irritated. Dib would take irritation over murderous intent any day. He let his grip loosen just a fraction and felt a jolt as Zim tried to sit up, taking Dib’s one slip as an opportunity.
Dib pressed him back down. Zim glared at him, snarled even. Dib knew he was capable of pushing him off, and he wondered for a moment why Zim hadn’t yet. Instead, Zim set a clawed hand on Dib’s thigh, right over a major artery. It was a silent threat. A restrained one, but Dib got the point. It appeared Zim had given up on verbal refusal for the moment. Dib looked uncertainly at him.
“You’d get your floor all dirty with my blood, huh?” he taunted.
The words had left his mouth very nearly on reflex at this point. A taunt was something they just did to one another. As if it were a game. Though Dib wouldn’t call this a fight, he would concede that it could very easily turn into one. Point of example was the floor hitting him before the realization that he’d been pinned did. He always just had to push his luck. Zipper teeth stopped inches from gnashing on his neck before Dib had time to properly react. It was the perfect bite—right over his neck and major arteries as he was pinned sideways—and Dib shivered, unable to process why exactly Zim had stopped. He was thanking every God that existed he had; but the confusion remained. On top of the fact that this was perhaps the closest he’d just come to dying by Zim’s hand. Or teeth. Perhaps a few thankful prayers were just good manners.
Zim gripped Dib’s arms strong enough that it was unquestionably going to leave bruises. Dib could even hear the hiss growing in Zim’s throat. The alien leaned down so that Dib could hear him better. “NO.”
Dib had it. He used what little momentum he could gain to try and sit up. The attempt failed and all he could really muster was leaning on his elbows after trying to fight Zim off several times. Zim still hadn’t expected it, coming chest to chest and his head filling the spot between Dib’s neck and shoulder once Dib had managed to secure a place for his elbow and readjusted. Zim had still had his claws on Dib’s arms, the points threatening to break skin when Dib’s shifting body almost threw the alien off balance. Zim leaned away, keeping some form of distance between them, but he didn’t let go.
“FINE. Be that way. Can you at least muster up enough will to live to help me with something else, then?” Dib asked. Zim blinked at him, gone still in what Dib could only assume was confusion. He waited until Zim had stood, brushing himself off, before continuing. The puzzled expression Zim was giving him was more than enough of a question.
“I’m going Big Foot hunting this week. The damage your PAK legs have made,” Dib waved his arms around the room, “would be ample defense while I’m doing it.”
“You think you can just DEMAND anything from me? You’ve gone rotten in the brain, Earth-pig.” Zim says, waving Dib off. He started out of the room, stopping when Dib grabbed him from behind in what would have otherwise been called a hug if Zim wasn’t kicking and swearing at the boy in Irken. As a result it was more like Dib was halfway to wrestling Zim back onto the ground.
“It’s for a DAY, Zim. If I can put this rivalry behind for a day, then surely you can muster the same restraint!” Dib pleads. “I need to do this assignment!”
He also really, really needed backup for this Big Foot hunt. Gaz had already turned him down, his dad was not an option, and he had no friends he could rely on for this. Half of the kids in the clubs Dib was in couldn’t even climb a rope, much less a tree, even if a monster or a bear were chasing them. Dib didn’t want to risk having a mauling of a classmate on his hands. The Swollen Eyeball wasn’t approving it for an official investigation—only a cursory one. His only option left was to go solo; or pray Zim would tag along. It helped that it doubled as a way to keep an eye on the alien. Regardless, Zim protested, heartily, for a good few minutes until Dib felt like his arms would fall off. He had expected that the moment he decided to grapple him from behind. Finally, mercifully, Zim seemed to calm down enough to give a tired huff and slump in Dib’s arms. Dib was grateful Zim had stopped trying to break his arms. He knew he could, easily, if he really wanted to; but, he wasn’t going to complain that he wasn’t.
“Let me go, Dib.”
Dib paused. Zim rarely called him by his name without some tacked-on insult and he realized that the same thing had happened yesterday. Dib let him down, suddenly feeling very embarrassed. He swayed on his heels for a while, unsure in what to do. Zim wasn’t turning to him, his antennae weren’t twitching to listen to anything Dib might do next, and he was staring at the floor with his fists clenched. He just stood there where Dib had dropped him as if he were a statue. It was unsettling to see the utter lack of movement in someone Dib knew was a ball of unbridled energy. Usually. Something was clearly wrong.
Dib figured one last attempt was enough before he’d give up.
“I mean, c’mon. You wouldn’t risk that some other entity would do me in before you could, right?” Dib asked. He watched Zim flinch before going still again.
A prod to Zim’s ego was always a sure-fire way to easily manipulate him. Dib almost felt bad. He didn’t seen another way around it yet, though, so he was willing to risk it. It was idiotic to do so, maybe, and yet he didn’t really care either way at the moment. Getting any kind of reaction from Zim was enough. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t done it before. He would insult Zim’s ego and ability to do what he intended constantly in their battles. Particularly when Dib knew he’d won.
Zim turned to him slowly, eyes full of suspicion. Despite that, Dib could see the gears turning in Zim’s head. It was already working. Eventually, when Zim couldn’t find any trickery in Dib’s innocent but snarky grin, he pinched his brow. His antenna flicked about indecisively a moment before settling.
“FINE. Zim will accompany you so that you don’t die before…. Whatever I do to this dirt ball.” Zim says, waving his hand tiredly.
Dib’s smile faltered a little. Zim sounded… tired. Not the physical exhaustion Dib was accustomed to, but a more mental wear that he knew much more familiarly. So much so that Dib knew now was not the time to press the matter. He simply clapped his hands and beamed instead.
“Excellent! I’ll meet you right back here in a few days,” Dib says. He brushed past Zim on his way out.
The alien didn’t react much with the motion, stiffening up once again after the initial contact before his bristles settled, and he just watched Dib leave. He felt something bubbling up in his core and he shook his head to get it to dissipate. Gir ran up to him, falling down at his feet.
“Is Mary coming back?” he asks. Zim sighed.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Is Mary going to make you feel better?” Gir asks, grabbing his feet and swaying them back and forth like a toddler. Zim’s antennae lowered confusedly.
“What?”
“You’re going to feel better!” Gir announced suddenly, jumping up and screaming up and down the blocked hallway.
Zim watched him a moment. He didn’t regret agreeing to go on the trip with Dib. He was certain he’d be fine. It was Dib, after all. Even if he managed to get one up on Zim, neither had taken the proverbial shot and solidified their win in years. Zim hated to admit it—he hated to think about it—but at some point he lost the drive to actually kill Dib. Despite how much he got in the way. Zim just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He doubted he’d have an issue killing any other human—Dib was the rare exception in his eyes.
A rare exception he was about to have pestering him for days.
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