#and if you’re born with milky eyes that make people assume you’re blind well like

[lilnasxvevo]

Pour one out for A Qing because I just realized that at LEAST once she HAD to have seen Xue Yang do something stupid that she desperately wanted to roast him over but that she couldn’t say a word about without revealing she wasn’t actually blind

[afjakwritesarchive]

usuk fic?? much angst??? soulmate au where everything you write on your wrist goes on your soulmates??????????? and maybe alfred is blind? so he cant see anything written there much less reply? so arthur thinks he aint got no soulmate? jgbshajhygvshuytb i love your writingg hhhhh i read all your usuk fanfics in like a day

Title: you were right here all the time (i was blind)Pairing: USUKWords: 3,114AU: Human/SoulmateGenre: Romance/AngstSummary: Arthur grows up believing he has no soulmate. Then he runs into him in a grocery store.A/N: Wow! I can’t believe it’s been over a month since my last post! I changed the prompt a little, but I hope you like it nonetheless. Title taken from OK GO’s Skyscrapers. !!! TW for mentions of self harm and alcoholism !!!

Arthur was six years old the first time he saw his father’s neat handwriting appear seemingly by magic upon the back of his mother’s pale, freckled hand.

“Mum, what’s that?” He asked, forest green eyes peering curiously at her hand.

Alice’s eyes–the same sparkling green as Arthur’s–flitted downward and a soft, fond smile stretched across her slim face. “Your father’s making a grocery list,” she said gently, watching as the words appeared letter-by-letter upon the milky white skin of her hand.

Milk, tomatoes, butter, tea, spaghetti noodles.

Alice smiled and reached into her pocket, extracting a pen. Don’t forget bread, she added in her loopy cursive script. Arthur watched in wide-eyed fascination as more words appeared below hers, again in his father’s handwriting. Right. Love you. 

I love you too, wrote Alice in return before raising her eyes to her son’s face and giggling at the starstruck expression he wore. 

“Mum, are you and dad magic?!” Asked Arthur excitedly. 

Alice’s giggle turned into a full-on laugh. She reached out, resting her ink-covered hand over Arthur’s shoulder and smiling broadly at him. “No, sweetheart, although I believe there’s a certain magic about your father and I share. We’re soulmates.”

“Soulmates?” Arthur echoed curiously. He’d heard the word more times than he could count, but he’d never fully understood its meaning.

“Yes. When people are meant to be together, they can communicate in a way they can’t with others. Whatever your soulmate writes on themselves will appear on you, and vice versa. Your father and I are soulmates, which is why we can write back and forth to each other.”

“When can you start writing to your soulmate?”

“Well, you have to know how to write first. Your father wrote to me for the first time when I was only two–he’s six years older than me, so it took me a while before I could write back. But once I could we wrote to each other every day.”

Arthur peered down at his mother’s other hand, which was empty of words, and then down to his own pale palm. “Do I have a soulmate?”

“Of course,” she said. “Everyone does, either platonic or romantic.”

“Can I write to them?”

“Yes, if you want,” she said, smiling gently. 

Arthur reached for the pen and put it to his arm, writing the words Hello soulmate in the messy script of a six-year-old. His mother grinned and moved her hand from his shoulder to his head, ruffling his pale blond hair affectionately. 

“We’ll have to wait for them to respond now.”

“How long will it take?” Arthur questioned. 

“That’s up to them,” Alice replied gently. 

Arthur never got a response. 

As the years wore on, Arthur wrote to his soulmate daily. When he was nine and still hadn’t received a response, his mother assured him that there was nothing to worry about. Perhaps he was older than his his soulmate, she suggested, like she and his father. His soulmate may not have been able to write back yet; or, perhaps, they weren’t even born yet. 

When Arthur was twelve and still hadn’t received a response, his father patted him on the back and told him that sometimes people got nervous about responding. He had felt strange about replying to Arthur’s mother at times, he said, because she was so much younger than him and wanted to talk about their relationship. Perhaps Arthur’s soulmate could tell that he was much younger and felt uncomfortable writing back, too. 

When Arthur was fourteen, Arthur shed the first of many tears over his absent soulmate. His best friend, Francis, rested his ink-covered palm over Arthur’s blank one and promised Arthur that his soulmate was out there. That night, Arthur put a pen to his arm and wrote please, please be out there. 

When Arthur was seventeen, he accepted the fact that he had no perfect match. That night he took something much sharper than a pen to his wrist. 

When Arthur was twenty-eight, he started writing to his soulmate again. He knew, realistically, that he didn’t have one; he’d long since come to terms with the fact that he was one of those extraordinarily rare individuals who had no ideally-suited match. In his teenage years, the knowledge that he was destined to be alone had resulted in more nights with his fingers clasped around a bottle or a blade than he could count, but he’d long since cleaned up his act. Knowing that he would never have something 99% of the population had–especially when that something was so beautiful–was painful, of course, but he wasn’t entirely alone. 

There were people with awful soulmates, people whose soulmates were abusers. There were people whose soulmates were dead or dying. There were people who disliked their soulmates or had fallen out of love with them; it wasn’t uncommon for married soulmates to get divorced and re-marry someone outside of their match these days, although some still considered it taboo. 

Arthur could accept that, he thought. He could be happy falling in love with someone outside of a match, if he ever found them. After all, love was what one made it; if two people really loved each other, they could make it work no matter the odds. At least, that was what his friends and family had told him. Arthur didn’t know if he was totally sold on the idea of “true love” yet. How could he be, when the universe was clearly trying to tell him that it couldn’t happen for him? 

Nonetheless, he’d started to write on himself again as a way to cope. It was nice to write to his soulmate, even if he knew that he was writing to a person who didn’t exist. He covered himself from elbow to wrist, thigh to ankle, in ink. He wrote about his hopes and dreams, his fears, his day, anything and everything that came to him. He liked the idea of his soulmate reading his words and being comforted by them, although he knew it was impossible. 

Today, Arthur jotted a grocery list down on the heel of his palm the way he’d seen his father do all those years ago. He even signed it with an I love you, and imagined his soulmate taking up a pen the way his mother had and writing a soft, I love you too in return.  

The walk to the supermarket was a calm and easy one. The sun was low in the sky, the world awash with its golden light. It was warm enough that Arthur didn’t even bother with a jacket, and he’d rolled his jumper up to the elbows. It used to embarrass him, having all of the ink he covered himself in on display, but now he rather enjoyed how normal it made him feel. People would walk by and smile, complimenting him on how sweet he and his soulmate were for writing so much to each other, and Arthur would get to pretend, if only for a moment, that there was someone out there writing back to him. 

Arthur entered the supermarket, scooping up a basket on his way in. He walked slowly through the aisles, taking his time to find what he needed. He’d stopped and was reaching out to grab some tea when an older woman approached with a smile, patting his shoulder. “You and your soulmate are so sweet, writing to each other like that,” she said, eyes glittering with sincere happiness.

Arthur smiled softly down at her, “thank you, miss.”

“It’s adorable that you write to each other even though you’re together now, too. People must compliment the two of you all the time!” 

Arthur’s thick brows furrowed and he blinked, confused. “I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure what you mean. I haven’t met my soulmate yet,” he lied, because it was easier than explaining that he was pathetic enough to write to someone who didn’t exist. 

“Oh! I’m sorry, dear. I saw a man with arms covered like yours in the next aisle over and assumed he was with you because the handwriting looked similar. I’m sorry to bother you, then!” She chuckled, patting his shoulder lightly before turning and walking off. 

Arthur paused, watching her leave with widened eyes. There couldn’t… She couldn’t have seen… No. It was impossible. Arthur didn’t have a soulmate; it was just a coincidence, surely. There were other people who wrote a lot to each other; it wasn’t as if he was the only one with ink-covered arms. There was no use getting his hopes over nothing. 

And yet, Arthur felt his heart beating faster in his chest, and a feeling eh couldn’t place had settled over him. It was something like longing, something urging him to investigate, to seek out this man. But why? Surely he had no soulmate, so why work himself up? His soulmate wouldn’t had gone all these years without ever writing back to him… Would they? 

Before Arthur could stop himself, he was turning on his heel and rushing into the next aisle. It was empty, aside from two tall, blond men standing side-by-side at the opposite end. They were nearly identical in appearance; twins, most likely. One had a pair of round glasses and was scanning the shelf while the other had his back to Arthur and was speaking animatedly, arms moving wildly as he spoke. Sure enough, in his sky blue t-shirt, his ink-covered arms were clearly visible. Arthur was standing too far away to make out any of the words or the handwriting, but something about the sight made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Self-conscious, Arthur rolled down the sleeves of his deep green jumper to hide his writing. His heart was racing and he didn’t know why. He tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter what was written on the man’s arms because he had no soulmate, but he couldn’t make himself walk away. In fact, his feet began to carry him forward, toward the two pair of men, until he was approaching the one with his back turned. 

“Excuse me,” he said. The man with his back turned jumped, startled, and whirled around. His twin placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s okay, Al,” said the one with round glasses before meeting Arthur’s gaze over his brother’s shoulder and smiling politely. “Hello,” he greeted, obviously confused by the stranger who had approached. 

“Hi,” Arthur said, shifting his weight from foot to foot and feeling incredibly foolish. “I couldn’t help but to notice your arms. I-I just think it’s so sweet, how much you and your soulmate write to each other,” he said, parroting the words of the woman from before. He couldn’t bring himself to look down and scan the man’s arms, nor could he bring himself to look up into the man’s face, so instead he settled for looking past him to his twin. 

“Oh,” said the man–Al, as his twin had called him–sheepishly. “Thanks! I guess they write to me a lot. I think it’s sweet too!” 

“They sure write a lot,” his twin added with a smile, “Alfred already had words on him when he was born.”

Arthur still hadn’t brought himself to look into the man’s face or at his arms. “Is that so? That must have been quite the surprise for your parents. Would you mind if I…?” Arthur trailed off, freckled cheeks flushing awkwardly.

“Oh! Sure!” The man exclaimed, raising an arm slightly. “I’m Alfred, by the way, and that’s Matthew.”

Arthur barely had the sense to give Alfred his name in return, already reaching out to take Alfred’s arm in his hand. He’d hardly taken a glance at his the man’s arm when he paled, his familiar script unmistakable to him. He glanced down and caught sight of the shopping list he’d written less than an hour ago on Alfred’s palm. The sight of his “I love you” on Alfred’s tan hand made his heart ache. 

“What’s wrong?” Matthew asked, seeming to realize that something was off based on the ghost like paleness of Arthur’s face. 

“I-I…” Arthur trailed off and slowly released Alfred’s arm. He was still reeling from the shock of what was happening, but he managed to pull up one of his sleeves to reveal the identical writing along his arm. Not once had he looked into Alfred’s face, unable to meet the man’s eyes knowing what he knew. So he had a soulmate after all, and somehow it was still painful. Arthur had hoped and prayed for this for years, and yet now that it was happening all he could feel was pain. Obviously Alfred didn’t want him–why else would he have never responded? 

Matthew’s eyes flickered from Alfred’s arm to Arthur’s and back. His jaw fell open. “Oh my god,” he gasped. 

“What? Mattie, what’s wrong?” Alfred asked, as if he were entirely oblivious to the entire encounter. Arthur felt a bit of rage flare up within him at that; how could Alfred act so unaware? How could his soulmate be someone so cruel? 

“Al, you–This is–your arms match! This is your soulmate!” Matthew cried, still gaping.

“What?!” Alfred cried incredulously, his voice taking on a sweet, sing-song quality out of excitement. “Oh my god, it’s so nice to meet you! You said it was Arthur, right? That’s such a cute name. I love your accent too! I-I can’t believe you’re here, oh my god, I wanna know everything! You’re from England, right? How old are you? What are your hobbies? What do you–”

“Al, give him a chance to breathe!” Matthew cut in hurriedly, seeming to note the distress written across Arthur’s handsome face. 

Despite Alfred’s obvious enthusiasm, Arthur was incredibly confused and more than a little angry. How could he act so excited and happy as if he hadn’t left Arthur alone and thinking he didn’t have a soulmate for most of his life? Rage was burning hot within him, forcing its way out of his body in the form of hot tears that gathered in the corner of his virescent eyes. Arthur finally gathered the courage to raise his head and look into his soulmate’s face for the first time, fixing him with a heated glare. 

Alfred was grinning widely, his smile by far the most beautiful thing Arthur had ever seen. His eyes were a gorgeous, striking blue with flecks of gold and his thick lashes made them look even larger than they were. Excitement was clear in his expression, and yet there was something slightly off. Alfred wasn’t looking into Arthur’s face and rather at the top of his head, perhaps a little past him. 

“Why did you never write back?” Arthur demanded, ignoring his soulmate’s confusing behavior. “I spent all this time thinking I had no one! I wrote to you every single night for years, begging you to respond to me! I-I thought I was destined to be alone forever, and you let me! How could you?!” He asked, immediately turning on his heel and making to run. 

“Wait!” Matthew cried, pushing past Alfred to grab Arthur by the wrist. Arthur stopped, astonished, and whipped around to glare at him. 

“Why the hell are you defending him?! Let go of me!” Arthur yanked his wrist out of Matthew’s strong hand, punctuating his action with a string of loud curse words.

“I’m blind!” Alfred suddenly shouted over Arthur, taking a few steps forward until his shoulder bumped against Matthew’s. “I’m so sorry, I-I know I must have hurt you, but I swear I didn’t mean to! Sometimes Mattie read them to me, but I could never respond because I don’t write very well. Please, please don’t go,” he begged, and Arthur noted with rapidly growing horror that tears had appeared in the corners of Alfred’s eyes too. 

“You’re blind,” Arthur said, a stab of guilt cutting through him as he spoke. “Oh my god, you’re blind.” 

Alfred’s cheeks were flushed red from embarrassment. “I’m so sorry,” he said, “I promise I didn’t mean to make you feel alone, and I understand if you’re still angry, but… Please don’t go.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Arthur asked, shaking his head rapidly. Tears were springing to his eyes again, but this time they were from relief. “Oh my god, I’m such an arse. I can’t believe I just yelled at you for being blind.”

“It’s okay,” Alfred said, a bit of laughter escaping him, “you’re kind of a hothead, aren’t you?” 

Arthur’s cheeks flooded with heat, still feeling extremely guilty for his outburst. “Again, I apologize. If you’d give me a chance, I’d love to make a better second impression,” he said, and flashed a sheepishly apologetic smile at Matthew, who was watching the scene unfold.

Alfred beamed, his eyes still looking a little past Arthur. “Dude, I’m just glad you still want me,” he laughed. “You sounded pretty angry there for a second.”

Arthur couldn’t help but to laugh a little, years of hurt seeming to melt away within seconds when faced with Alfred’s carefree smile. “Of course I do.” 

“In that case, would you mind if I felt your face? Nothing creepy, it’s just to get a sense of what you look like.” 

“Of course,” Arthur said. Alfred raised his hands and Arthur took them gently in his own, guiding them to his face. 

“You’re short,” Alfred said with a startled laugh. “Have I been looking past you this whole time?” 

“It’s alright,” Arthur said, flushing when the American’s warm palms came to rest on his cheeks. Slowly, gently, Alfred’s hands moved across his face; when his thumb brushed along Arthur’s lips, he let out a little hum of appreciation that had Arthur going cherry red. 

“You have soft skin,” Alfred mused. “What color?”

Arthur was half-tempted to lie, if only to make himself seem more attractive, but he knew that wouldn’t be fair. “Pale as a ghost and covered in freckles,” he sighed, resigned to his fate. 

“Cute,” Alfred replied. “What color are your eyes?” He asked as he brushed his thumb gently along Arthur’s thick lashes.

“Green,” Arthur supplied. 

“You’re really handsome.”

Arthur flushed. “Thank you. You are, too.”

Alfred’s smile widened. “Really?”

“Of course,” Arthur said, and there wasn’t an ounce of doubt in his voice. “You’re gorgeous.”

Alfred’s cheeks went delightfully red and he opened his mouth to say something back, only to stall when his fingers ran across Arthur’s thick eyebrows. “Holy shit, your eyebrows are huge!” He exclaimed loudly, still with a happy smile stuck upon his face.

Arthur was so lovestruck, he couldn’t even find it in him to be mad.

[youngster-monster]

a soul that’s born in cold and rain

(lek belongs to @arcquos. check out his art!)

(ayin, thyme and sable belong to @baronetcoins on ao3. check out her writing!)

1.

Death is the endless starlit road, going from and to nowhere. On each side sprawls a forest of pines, branches heavy with snow, held silent and still in darkness. He must walk, though he is lost and alone here: the only way out lies ahead, whatever it may be. 

There is no light save for the distant glow of silver stars, no movement but the snowflakes falling slowly from the sky, no sound but the crunching of snow under his feet. No colors but white and grey, the world dimmed by frost and night.

And then all of this changes.

Northern lights held in the shape of a beast, cosmic colors swirling in dreamy patterns as it stands in his path, its bright eyes boring into his.

"I'm supposed to walk," he says, more a question than a request.

"When have you ever done what you were supposed to?" She asks.

On these words she turns her back to him and walks into the woods. The warmth of her presence lingers like heat on a summer night until her tail disappears between the dark trees.

He steps off the path and follows her in the dark.

(Cayde-6 comes back to life shivering, his body freezing except where a furry body is pressed against his side.

"Hello, Guardian," the wolf says, her open maw like a smile, teeth sharp and eyes bright.

He names her Sundance, for the way the weak winter sun shines over her tawny coat. She laughs, hyena like, and calls him a sap, but there's genuine warmth in her eyes when she looks at him.)

2.

Death is the yawning abyss that devours all, the great beast waiting at the end of entropy, that which is and comes from oblivion.

The darkness is smothering, cold and heavy where it sits on their chest, inside their throat, reaching, spreading, covering them, burying them–

They grip at their throat, gasping for air, refusing to give in to the great nothingness stealing their breath. The sound of it is like claws digging into dirt, a persistent scratching, scrapping, searching–

Until it gives out, ever so slightly, all of it, the weight in their lungs and the sound in their eyes. The darkness seems to crumble on itself, just a piece of it, just enough to allow through a small head, tall ears, eyes like black light, dark and luminescent all at once.

"If it catches you, it will kill you," she says, voice like the whispers of wind. "But first it must catch you."

They want to say they are already caught, already trapped, but the darkness gave in, gave out, and there is just enough space for them to stand. As long as she is by their side they would always be just enough space to stand, to breath, unburied.

Uncaught.

She runs, then, as is in her nature. And it must be in theirs, too, because they follow, through the winding tunnels of darkness.

(Occam claws their way back to life, through of six foot of graveyard dirt and the suffocating fear of what lies below. Up above they hear scratching, digging, scrapping, searching–

For them.

They drag themself to the surface and the first thing they see is the rabbit, jittery eyes and ever-moving ears even in her prey-stillness.

She doesn't speak but her small body is soft and warm, alive in a way they forgot they knew. They burry their fingers in her fur like a man drowning and their hearts beat as one, rabbit-fast.)

3. 

Death is a pond, quiet and dark, overgrown with weeds, and the water clings to her skin and tries to drag her under.

"You're drowning already," the duck says, sounding unconcerned but not unkind. The feathers he is grooming are milky-white, like the moon seen through clouds. "Why not take the dive?" 

He plunges his head in the water. His voice comes out distant as he warns her, Keep your eyes open.

She does even though she feels like she should not. She dunks her head into the water–

(Lek comes awake gasping for breath, waterlogged white hair being gently groomed by the duck sitting on her chest.

"It does no good to linger," he says, "In life or in death. You look terrible, dear."

She shrugs the comment off, as unbothered by it as he is by the water on his back, and lets the sun on her skin and the weight on her chest chase the cold of the water away.)

4. 

Death is a crushing ocean, is an endless plain of tall grass, is blindness and silence, is the wide open sky.

(Salvation is a grasping octopus, is a lioness with fur like wildfire, is a hound pressed against your side, is teeth and claws and wings and a thousand things to find the way back home.)

Death is great and inescapable and ever changing.

(So are they.)

5.

Razel's Ghost is not settled.

It's hard to miss, what with the way he shifts constantly. In the field he does it to better fit their surroundings, hiding under Razel's clothes and fighting at his side in turns, one moment a small gecko under the collar of his coat and the next a tiger tearing through Vex circuits like it's tissue paper. In the Tower he is no less restless than Razel is, and while he fidgets and runs around his Ghost orbits around him in his robotic Core form, lands on top of Ikora's desk as a cat before jumping above the rail and taking to the sky on the small wings of a sparrow.

It's obvious. Doesn't mean Razel notices it.

Or rather, he doesn't notice it's not the norm. Most Ghosts keep to themselves, only talking to their Guardian rather than for them. He assumes the same goes for their shapeshifting. Maybe it's a social no-no, letting your Ghost go through a dozen form a minute in front of everyone. That would explain why they keep staring at Cubix and him like… that.

He goes to ask Ikora, eventually, because he trusts Cayde with many things but social etiquette isn't one of them.

"Ghosts typically settle after a few resurrections, most after the first one," she tells him, watching Cubix flit between forms, trying to decide on which one to wear for the day. "It's not that they don't shift in public. It's simply that they can't, ever. An unsettled Ghost after so many resurrections is practically unheard of."

"But... Why?" Razel asks. There are so many advantages to having an unsettled Ghost, after all.

She smiles at his confusion. "They only take this form to better guide our souls back to our body- to life. Once they find the most adapted to the task, they stop changing."

"That makes... Like, no sense. At all."

That brings a calculating look to her face. Her eyes go to Cubix briefly before she brings her attention back to him.

"Tell me, Razel, what do you see when you die?"

"Hm- what? I mean. Nothing, because I'm like. Dead?"

She hums thoughtfully at that but doesn't explain herself further. Razel takes it that the conversation is over and leaves quietly, even more confused than before.

6. 

He asks Cayde first, as usual.

Well. Technically, he asks Sundance.

"How did you know?" He asks, cross-legged in front of her. 

She doesn't usually talk to people outside of Cayde, but he found that he's an exception to many things, this included.

"He was already a wolf," she says. 

"I'm pretty sure he was also a robot back then."

"In soul, not body. He was a hunter, but a lonely one. Lost without a pack to hunt at his side. I became that pack."

Thats answers literally none of his questions. By the wolf-grin she gives him, she knows it.

He groans. "Thanks. I guess."

Time for a poll then.

-

"She has the heart of a lion," Jason, Ayin's Ghost, tells them. He trapped Cubix under his paws to stop him from running around and has been aggressively grooming him since the beginning of their discussion. Cubix looks disgruntled by it but doesn't dare try to break free. Smart Ghost. "A born leader. A huntress. It was only natural that I take the shape of her soul to better guide it back to life."

One last good lick and the lion releases Cubix. Immediately he turns into a hummingbird and flies up to Razel, hiding in the fold of his collar least Jason decides he needs another bath.

Jason is still laughing when they walk away, a low, rumbling sound that follows them out of the room.

-

Sable's Ghost is an octopus. She doesn't need water, because she's not a real animal, just a pure manifestation of Light shaped like an octopus, but Razel still feels uneasy watching her wrap her tentacles around Sable's shoulders. He wants to dunk her in a bucket of water just in case she actually needs it and they both forget it. It wouldn't be a surprise: Sable forgets a lot of things like that. Sleeping, eating regularly, where she put her keys...

A bit like Razel actually. They're the Tower's less functional Warlocks, which is really saying something.

"She has a mind like none other," Virgo says. Sable smiles distractedly at the compliment. "And I'm a cephalopod like none other. The way she thinks- always moving, adapting..."

Razel watches the constant curling of Virgo's tentacles around Sable's arms and shoulders, the way she changes colors until making all but one with Sable's lab robes, and thinks he has an idea of what she means. Probably.

They don't even notice him go. He makes a mental note to bring Sable something to it tonight. And an aquarium. Just in case.

-

Sunny is a delight to be around. She has a voice like summer rain, clear and comforting, and a permanent dog-smile on, even when things are tough. Razel would love to pet her but he's not sure if he's close enough to Thyme to ask that.

"Thyme needed a guide," she says, his head pillowed on her Guardian's thigh while she pets him. "And a friend. I knew she would like a Golden Retriever, and so here I am."

"That's it? She just wanted a dog?"

They both shrug in unison. "It doesn't have to be complicated," Thyme says.

Guess it doesn't, huh.

-

"So it comes from either my heart, my mind, my soul, what I want, or any combination of those four." Razel stares at Cubix with narrowed eyes, eyebrows drawn together in deep thought. Then he heaves a sigh and drops on his back. His mattress dips under Cubix's weight as his Ghost – currently shaped like a farm rabbit – hops next to him and smuggles against his side. "That didn't help like, at all."

"Do you want me to settle?" Cubix asks.

"I- huh. Not really, I guess." 

He likes having Cubix turn into a bear during a fight, but it doesn't seem like a very convenient shape to sleep with – his ship only has so much space.

Cubix tucks his head in the crook of Razel's arms. "There you have it, then," he says and promptly falls asleep.

And that, as they say, is that.

6.

Apparently you're not supposed to touch other Ghosts, either.

Shame they didn't learn that before Razel got his hands all over Sundance.

She just looks so fluffy, dozing next to Cayde while they chat. And they touch all the time – Razel and Cayde, Cayde and Sundance, Sundance and Cubix. It kind of makes sense to cut the middle man and just get his hands on her, right? She must be so soft.

He extends his hand and brushes his fingers between her ears.

It's the slightest touch, because he may be an idiot but he's not an asshole, he respects people's personal space. He's waiting for her to give him permission for a full petting session. But he doesn't get further than that.

His bare fingers touch her and it's like he's touching a live wire and dipping his whole body is fire and holding a star in his hands, all at once. His arms tenses and he gasps soundlessly, chest heaving, and so does she, so does Cayde–

The sensation eases in a second and he snatches his hand back as soon as he can, cringing at the pained sound she makes. Cayde's fingers are inches from his, reaching to stop him and frozen in place.

"Sorry," he rushes out, rubbing at his fingers and not quite looking at Cayde. "I didn't-"

Cayde's hand slowly falls back in his lap. He opens his mouth and makes a faint clicking sound, inner mechanisms rearranging themselves to better accommodate speech, and if he had a flesh and blood body it would be an audible swallow, probably. That's what it reminds Razel of, at least. 

He's tremendously fond of Cayde's little noises.

"It's fine," Cayde chokes out eventually. "You- It's fine."

It doesn't sound fine, but Razel isn't going to put up a debate. He nudges the donut box Cayde's way, instead, in silent apology. There's only one left. He can have it... Just this once.

7. 

The feeling of it– lingers. A static-y kind of feeling under his skin, an itch he can't scratch.

He has to do something about it

"Here."

Cayde looks up from his report to Razel, who's standing there like an idiot, Cubix dangling from his outreached hands. He's shaped like a cat today, because they both consider that to be his most pettable form.

"What?"

He sways Cubix slightly. "Take him."

"... What?" 

Cayde is very eloquent today. He's not often speechless but right now he's blinking owlishly at the two of them, mouth opening but no sound coming out.

Razel sighs. "I shouldn't have touched Sundance without asking. I'm sorry. But you can touch Cubix, if you want. As, you know. Payback or something."

Cayde shakes his head as if waking up from a daydream. "I told you it's fine," he says. "You don't have to feel like you have to-"

"I want you to though."

Back at it again with the dumbfounded blinking. Sundance, who he's carefully not looking at, follow the gentle swaying of Cubix his in grip with her golden eyes, no other part of her body moving.

"You what?"

"I asked Lek, about the whole... Touching daemons thing." Lek is an expert, or she acts like she's one, which is kind of the same thing. She never says no to explaining stuff to him, even if she spends most of her explanation laughing at him. "So, it's fine if you don't want me to touch Sundance. But you can touch Cubix. If you want. Because I do. Because you're important to me and I like you a lot. But it's fine if you don't want to."

"I- What?" 

Traveler, he's slow today.

Razel takes matters into his own hands, crosses the space separating them in two steps and drop Cubix in Cayde's lap.

Cayde's hands fly up and stay there, hovering above Cubix. The cat has already curled up in his new spot, carefully not touching any bare stretch of metal in case Cayde doesn't want this.

Again, that faint clicking sound as Cayde glances from Cubix to Razel back to the Ghost.

Slowly, carefully, giving them both time to say no, say nevermind this is weird actually. They don't. His fingers brush against Cubix's back.

The reaction is... Quieter, this time around. A shivers that goes through all four of them. Razel's breath stutters in his throat. Warmth bloom in his chest, spread through his limbs to the very tip of his fingers. He exhales slowly, shoulders relaxing, opens eyes he didn't notice himself closing.

Cayde is carding his fingers through Cubix's fur with a dazed look in his eyes. Every touch is like static, settling into bonfire-warmth in the pit of Razel's stomach.

"Well," he says, then stops. His brain isn't exactly up to words right now. "Cool."

He sits down on the ground next to Cayde, folds his legs, lays his shaking hands in his lap and his head against Cayde's thigh. He breathes in deeply, closes his eyes again, and lets the feeling of absolute love and contentment radiating from Cubix lull him to sleep.

[buckyscrystalqueen]

The Beauty Of Sight

Pairings: Crowley x Reader

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 4,649

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you walked into the bar, your hand gripped tight around your service dog’s harness, you needed to pause for a moment to get your bearings. You could hear that the bar was packed, loud voices shouting over each other to be heard amongst the chaos and the smell of stale beer and sweat permeated the air.

“Hey (Y/N)! Right on time.” You smiled at the familiar sound of the bar tenders voice and you waved in his direction.

“Hey Steve. Is my chair open?” You asked when you felt your German Sheppard, Cujo, pulling you forward.

“Same as every Friday night, darlin’.” He called out and you nodded, pushing your sunglasses higher on your nose. You followed the lead of your dog, counting your steps as you walked until you felt Cujo stop, letting you know you had reached your chair. You heard a knock on the bar in front of you and you smiled as you sat down. “Two o’clock (Y/N/N).” Steve said as he set your drink on the bar.

“You’re too good to me.” You told your friend and you didn’t have to look at him to see he was smile… not that you could anyways. Oh, the joys of being blind.

“I’m just a good bartender to my regulars, sweetheart.” He told you as your fingers wrapped around your drink. You took a sip, cringing slightly at his heavy hand and you heard his small huffed laugh.

“Trying to kill me over here?” You joked as he knocked twice, letting you know he was walking away.

“Hey, like I said. I take care of my favorites.” He called out and you nodded with a smile. You sat, like you did every Friday night, listening to the conversations of the strangers around you. You could hear a couple relatively close by you arguing, her high squeaky whisper giving away the tears she was trying to hide as his rough voice scolded her through clenched teeth.

On the other side of the room, you could hear a party of women; their voices high pitched and whiney as they celebrated something. You cringed away from the noise as it grated your nerves. You heard the sound of expensive shoes and the rustle of dress pants walking across the wood floor and you tilted your head slightly at the noise that was foreign in the environment and you held your drink a little tighter as they stopped beside you.

“Beautiful dog.” The deep, gravely yet overly confident male voice said.

“Thank you.” You responded dismissively as you took a sip of your drink. You could hear the man’s breathing behind you shift as he went to pet Cujo. “Please don’t pet my dog. He is working.” You heard his breath catch as he stood back up.

“He’s working?” the man questioned. You nodded while taking your drink in one hand and you turned on your bar stool and raised your sunglasses with your other hand.

“Yes, working. I’m blind. Cujo is my eyes.” You could hear his intake of breath as he looked at your milky white eyes and you dropped your sunglasses back on your face. “So if that’s all…”

“May I ask what happened?” The man asked as he sat down next to you. The movement of him moving closer made you be able to catch a whiff of cologne and sulfur and as your stomach clenched in fear, you tilted your head trying to figure out if you were really smelling that smell.

“Hunting accident. Who are you?” you asked bluntly as you attempted to subtly find the scent again over the smell of the bar; however a strong smelling liquor covered it.”

“My apologies, darling. The name’s Crowley.” You rolled your eyes behind your glasses as you turned back toward the bar shaking your head.

“You reputation proceeds you, Mr. Crowley.” You told him as you took a sip of your drink before setting it on the bar and turning back toward the direction the man was holding out your hand. “I’m (Y/N), the never talked about oldest Winchester.” You smirked at him as you heard his jaw drop and you held your hand out for a moment to let him catch up. “It’s not polite to not shake someone’s hand when they offer it.” Crowley cleared his throat quickly before taking your hand in his.

“My apologies once more.” He said as he brought your hand to his lips. You could feel the short hairs of his beard dancing across the skin on the back of your hand, his lips surprisingly soft and a lad damp as if he had just ran his tongue across them and you raised your eyebrows at him.

“So, I’m assuming you weren’t aware of my existence?” you asked as you pulled your hand back, turning to begin the battle of relocating your drink on the bar without knocking it over.

“I was not.” He told you as he watched your fingers dance across the wood looking for your drink. “May I?” he questioned, pointing to your drink despite the fact that you couldn’t see it and you chuckled when you heard his cuff link tap against the bar.

“I know you did not just gesture toward a blind woman’s drink to ask her if you could put it in her hand for her as if she could see your gesture.” You glanced in his direction as you felt your drink slide between your fingers and you nodded thanks to him.

“How did you know that?” Crowley asked with a slight chuckle as he watched you take a drink; the edge of your glass landing just below your lips originally before the rim made its way between your lips.

“I’m blind not stupid.” You said as you exhaled the fumes of your drink with a laugh. “You have cuff links on. When you gestured, it tapped against the bar.” You missed Crowley nod his head and raise his eyebrow at your observation but you did hear his huffed laughter.

“Now I’m curious as what else to could tell me.” You laughed with a shake of your head. “You don’t want to play that game with me right now.” You told him as you finished the rest of your drink, sliding it to the edge of the bar keeping your eyes forward.

“Well now, I’m intrigued.” He stated his voice a little more smug as if he was challenging you. You shrugged.

“First of all, get your foot off the back of my stool.” You felt the vibrations underneath you as his foot fell off the bottom rung where it was resting. “Since you are facing me, your left arm is resting on the bar with a drink in your hand. There is no tinkling of ice and the slight splashing it’s making as you move your arm when you talk says you drink it straight. You have expensive shoes on and by the sound of it when you walked over; they have a slight heel to them. You walk with a slight limp and that could be because one leg is slightly longer that then other or the more obvious “I’m hot shit” attitude you exude. You wear some kind of suit, which I must admit, that could be tainted information thanks to my younger brothers.”  You pointed over his shoulder toward the group of women that were still entirely to annoying.

“There are, I would say, eight, maybe ten women celebrating something. They are entirely too high pitched to focus on what they are talking about so I tuned them out pretty quickly, behind my, some guy at a pool table just bet his buddy that he could do some “really rad trick shot” in his game. Which he just botched.” You said and Crowley looked over at a table in the far corner and saw a man with an embarrassed look on his face handed over money to his friend and Crowley shook his head in absolute awe. “And now, my lovely bartender is going to knock in front of me in three… two… one…” knock.

“You want another one?” Steve asked and you smiled at him.

“No, thanks, darlin; I’m calling it early tonight.” You reached toward your bag to grab your wallet and you felt Crowley place his hand on your lower back, causing you to jump slightly.

“It’s on me.” He said as he put money on the bar. “Keep the change.” You nodded as you dropped your wallet back into your bag.

“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow night, Steve.” You said as you got off the stool and Cujo jumped to the side.

“You got Cody tomorrow. It’s Shannon’s birthday, remember?” You hummed and nodded, pointing at him as your fingers grabbed the harness.

“Totally forgot but send her my love.” You heard him knock twice and you turned toward the door. “You staying here or coming?” You asked Crowley as you headed toward the door, counting your steps as you went. You heard him finish his drink quickly and set the glass on the counter before hurrying after you. “Cujo, home.” You told your dog as you stepped out of the bar and you started casually walking.

“So a hunting accident.” Crowley said as he fell into step beside you and you nodded.

“Dad, Dean and I were hunting a witch. She got pissed; I got cursed- been blind for almost 15 years.” You felt Cujo stop you at a corner and you paused, waiting for the small side street to be clear to cross.

“Do you miss it?” he asked as you started walking again and you shrugged.

“Well I mean, obviously. I would love to see the sunset again or the stars in the sky. I would love to be able to watch a movie instead of just listening to it. I would love to be able to not have to molest people’s faces to know what they look like. But this is the hand I was dealt. Dad tried to find a spell or something to change it but he couldn’t and I got to the point where I just wanted to live life and not spend my life focused on trying to find a solution that can easily be managed.” You felt a slight pull to your right and you smiled, gesturing to the building. “This is me. You coming up or are you leaving.”

“Oh. I’ll uhh… I’ll come up.” he said while you dug for your keys in your bag.

“Shocked to find a polite Winchester, aren’t you?” you joked as you unlocked the door to your walk up. He chuckled behind you and you smiled at the sound of it.

“Wee bit.”

“So where are you from? I hear British obviously, but I hear a little bit of Scottish and just a hint of Italian?” you asked as you found and pushed the button for your floor.

“I was born in Scotland but spent the better part of my existence between the states and London.” You hummed as the elevator dinged on the top floor and you walked over to your apartment. You swung the door open and took two steps inside before crouching down to take the harness and vest off Cujo. 

“That’s a good boy, bubs.” You told him, scratching his head. Crowley watched in awe as you floated around your entry way expertly, your dog moving in sync with you, waiting patiently for his treat before running off into the house.

“Please don’t move things around; I rely on counting my footsteps to get around things.” You said as you walked toward the couch. “And please lock all of the locks behind you and the chain as well.”

“You’re quite fascinating, (Y/N).” He said as you walked over and sat on the couch, waiting for him and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Why because I am blind?” you joked as you heard the chain slide closed. He chuckled.

“No, darling I just mean… bloody hell?” Crowley said as he felt himself hit the edge of a demon trap.

“What, what happened?” You asked as you sat up straight on the couch looking in the direction of his obviously aggravated voice.

“You trapped me in a bloody devils trap?” he yelled and you blanched.

“What a what?” your face fell and you growled as Crowley grumbled loudly in front of you. “Hang on. Just stay quiet for a minute.” You told him as you got up and walked toward him. “Siri, call Dean.” You called out to the table by the front door and you reached out your hand as the phone rang. “Where are you.” You asked as you impatiently waited and you felt Crowley grab your hand as dean answered the phone.

“Hey! How you been, (Y/N/N). Long time no…”

“Dean Winchester you are in big shit right now!” you shouted as you stood in your entry way.

“Me? What did I do?” he asked indignantly. You shook your head, pointing in the general direction of your speaker.

“Why the fuck is there a devils trap in my door way?” You could hear your brother get quiet as Sam giggled in the background. “Sammy, you are in trouble here too so cut the shit.”

“How did you find it?” Dean asked and you let go of Crowley’s hand.

“How long has it been there, Dean?” you said as you bumped into the table, swearing at the sudden jolt pain in your knee.

“Two years…” he grumbled.

“You’re fucking kidding me right?” You shouted as you rubbed your knee. 

“Where is it?” you demanded before he could answer you.

“(Y/N/N)…” He tried to say as Sam mumbled something in the back ground and you cut him off.

“Dee, if you make me ask again, I’ll sick Cujo on your car.”

“It’s under the rug!” he shouted and you smiled victoriously.

“How many are there?” you asked, your fingernails rapping on the table.

“That’s the only one…” The sound of his voice told you he was lying and you cleared your throat. “Fine! There is one under the rug in the kitchen by the window and one under the rug by your bed.”

“There is one under the mat outside the roof top door too.” Sam said and you growled.

“You two are fucking impossible. If I ever find out that you put another devils trap in my fucking apartment again, I will fucking end you. And trust me, I will find out. Last chance is there anything else in my house I need to be informed of?” You heard your younger brothers get quiet and you knew there was something else. “Well?!”

“There are salt lines on all of your windows outside.” You screamed as you slammed your hand down on the table.

“Siri, hang up!” you shouted and you heard Dean and Sam both try to apologize as the line went dead.

“Well that was interesting.” Crowley said with a chuckle.

“What was?” You turned around to face him as you rubbed your sore knee. I’ve known Moose and Squirrel for years. I have never seen them snap that quickly.” You smiled with a shrug.

“It’s a big sister thing. Now how do I get you out of this thing?” you asked gesturing to the floor.

“You have to break the circle. I’m assuming it was done in paint so get a knife or something with a sharp edge.” You nodded, putting your hand on the wall behind you to guide yourself to the kitchen.

“Do I have to do that with all of them?” you called out as you grabbed a knife from the block before heading back out to the entry way carefully.

“If they are on rugs, no, you can just move them. Alright stop there.” He said as you hit the edge of the rug. “Bend down; the rug will be next to your left knee. Just lift the corner and I’ll guide you from there.” You bent down; feeling the rough entry way carpet under your fingers and you pulled it back when you found the edge. “There we go. Now, I don’t want you to cut a finger off so would you mind getting into the circle so I can guide your hand? I’m unable to reach across the line.” You giggled as you stood up.

“Why do I feel like this is one of those ‘I don’t know how to shoot a game of pool, show me’ kinda moves?” He chuckled as he pulled you too him, spinning you so that your back was to his chest.”

“And what if it is.” He growled in your ear, as he guided you to the ground, his hand wrapped around your wrist. “Right there; just scratch back and forth.” You nodded as you began scratching the blade against the bottom of the rug, Crowley’s hand guiding your movements. You could feel his warm breath blowing softly across your skin and you closed your eyes, savoring the feeling. After a moment, his hand stop guiding yours. “There we go.” He said as he guided you back up and took the knife out of your hand.

“You’re free?” you inquired and you turned toward the sound of his shoes on your tile floor.

“It appears I am. I’ll put this in the kitchen for you, darling.” He said and you smiled.

“Please tell me you just held the knife up to show it to me when you said that.” You joked and he huffed.

“I did nothing of the sort.” You raised an eyebrow before turning back to the couch.

“Mmhmm, sure. Don’t step on that rug in there.” You called out to him as you plopped down on the couch.

“Really, darling, do I look stupid to you?” He asked jokingly and you smiled to yourself.

“Honestly, Crowley I don’t know how you look. You know the whole blind thing.” You pointed to your eyes as you heard him walk around the couch.

“You know, about that.” He said as he took your hand in his. “I want to try something. Where is there a mirror?”

“My bathroom I know has one and maybe my guest room but I’m not sure, why?” You felt him pull you off the couch and gently push you past him.

“Lead the way.” He said. You brow furrowed as you started walking toward your room.

“Crowley, what are you doing?” You probed as you walked through your room. He stayed quiet while he flipped on lights as you walked.

“Alright stand here.” he said with a slight chuckle as you stumbled over your own feet and you giggled. “Now, I’m going to put my fingers on your temple. I don’t know if this will work the way I believe it will but I wish to try.”

“What are you doing?” you laughed as his fingertips landed of your temple.

“Now, I need you to hold still for me, darling.” He said softly and you nodded. Without warning, your typically all black world changed and you couldn’t help but jump.

“Oh my God!” You screamed as you looked at yourself in the mirror for the first time in 15 years a huge smile spreading across your face. You couldn’t help but start to cry as your eyes darted around your face.

“I can’t change your condition. I will look into it for sure. However, for now, I can show you what I see.”

“Wait, wait look at yourself.” You said, as you took ahold of his wrist. You watched your sight go from focusing on you to looking at himself and you smiled. “You have such beautiful eyes!” You whispered as you looked over the rest of him and he looked away in embarrassment, looking down at your hideous peach counter tops. “No, no go back please!” You begged as you tapped his wrist to get his attention. You felt him sigh and look back up at himself in the mirror and you smiled. You looked at him for a few moments, giggled at his look of discomfort and pulled his hand away from your head.

“Thank you.” You whispered. You have no idea what that means to me.” You wrapped your arms around his neck as tears streamed down your face.

“It is no trouble at all, darling.” You pulled back as a thought came to you.

“Wait, can you show me my brothers; do you have a picture? Sam was only like 14, 15 when this happened and Dean was 18.” He chuckled in front of you as he slid his arms around you.

“I’ll do you one better. I will take you to them. Just hold on to me, this will feel a wee bit strange.” You nodded as you pulled your arms a little tighter around his neck. “Ready?” He asked and you nodded as butterflies flew around in your stomach. You felt the atmosphere around you shift, compressing around you like you were on a rollercoaster and just as quickly as it happened, it was done.

“What the fuck?” Dean shouted to your right, the noise echoing in the room you were in.

“(Y/N/N)?” Sam asked as you spun around.

“You too, shut up. Sammy, come here in front of me.” You directed and waited a moment to hear movement. “Sam, now!” you snapped and you heard a chair slide across a concrete floor.

“Ok, what am I doing?” He asked as he stopped in front of you.

“Ok, this is going to be awkward as hell but look at Crowley and don’t look away.” You grabbed at Crowley’s wrist anxiously. “Do it. Please.” You begged as tears streamed down your face. You felt his fingers on the side of your head and it only took a moment for Sam’s face to come in to focus.

“Oh my God, Sam.” You breathed as you reached up toward him. He instinctively moved his head toward your hand and you stopped him. “No stop, I can see you! Look back!” you shouted at him as you pushed his face back into Crowley’s line of sight.

“Wait, you can see?” Dean shouted as he jumped up from the chair and you whacked at Crowley when he looked away.

“Look at Sam and talk to Dean!” you demanded and with a laugh, his eyes went back up to Sam’s face and you tried to quickly memorize the different colors of his eyes.

“She can’t see though that is an issue I intend on looking into. What I can do is project what I see into her head.” You smiled as you watched Sam’s face light up.

“Aww you still have the cute dimples. Sam, you are so handsome.” You told him as you tried to hold back tears. “Wait, now Dean.” You said as you reached your hand out for your other brother. You watched him walk into Crowley’s vision and you smiled as you reached up and pushed up his chin. “Dee, I wanna see your eyes. I miss your green eyes.” You watched him huff as he rolled his eyes and looked at Crowley.

“This is so awkward.” He said and you thumped him in the stomach, bringing a smile to his face.

“God, you two grew up so handsome.” You sighed as you looked at your brother with a smile.

“So how did you too meet?” Sam asked and you laughed as Crowley looked over at him.

“Sorry, darling.” He said as he looked back at Dean but you shook your head pulling his hand away from your head.

“No, it’s ok. We met at a bar completely on accident. He tried to pet Cujo.” You said as you reached forward for your brother. “Chair?”

“You can’t pet a service dog, Crowley.” Sam said with a slight laugh as Dean put your hand on the back of a chair.

“Well, I wasn’t aware of that until today, thank you.” He snapped.

“Boys, let him alone. He is doing a good thing right now by helping me out. Be nice to him and apologize.”

“What? I’m not…”

“Dean, apologize or we can bring up the topic of why I had to scratch a devils trap off my rug today.” You heard Dean and Sam mumble and apology and you nodded.

“Now, it was truly amazing to actually see you boys, but I gotta get home.” You said as you stood up from the chair, reaching behind you for Crowley.

“Why do you gotta go so soon?” Sam asked, his voice getting a fraction louder with each step toward you.

“I gotta get home because it’s almost sunset at my house and I want to bother Crowley one more time so I can watch it for the first time in 15 years, that ok with you baby bro?” You heard Crowley chuckle as you put your hands out if front of you. “Come on, hugs!” You gave your brothers quick hugs and a kiss on the cheek. “Now, I love you both. Don’t forget, end of the month is my birthday to two jackoffs better be there. I love you aannndddd I gotta go. Call me tomorrow.”

“Bye (Y/N/N).” The boys called out as Crowley put a hand on your shoulder gently, spinning you around toward him. You nodded as you put your arms around his neck. He tapped his finger on your waist and you ducked your head against his chest as you teleported home. As you landed in your house, you held onto him for a moment and sighed.

“Thank you. You have absolutely no idea how amazing that was for me and I will cherish it for the rest of my life.” You felt his lips gently brush the top of your head.

“It was absolutely no trouble at all, darling. I am happy to help.” He took his hand off your hip and you knew he gestured to something.” Would you like to watch the sunset?” He asked and you laughed.

“Did you just…”

“Yes, I gestured. It is a force of habit.” He said, and you smiled at the sound of the smile in his voice.

“Yes, I would love to watch the sunset, it you don’t mind.” You felt him take your hand and lead you toward the back door you your roof top patio.

“I do not mind one bit.” You heard the door open and a second later, the sound of your mat landing far away made you jump slightly.

“Warn me before you go throwing things.” You teased as he pulled you through the door with a quiet apology. You felt him lead you toward your lounge chair and he sat down, guiding you between his legs.

“You ready to see your view?” He asked as you settled up against him and you nodded. With a simple hum, you felt him get comfortable in the chair. You took a deep breath as his fingertips landed on your temple and you gasped as the oranges, reds, pinks and purples of the most beautiful sunset you had ever seen filled your mind. You were at a loss for words as Crowley looked around for you, showing you everything you have never seen for you before settling on the horizon in front of you.

“There are no words.” You whispered as you snuggled closer to him, committing every color, every cloud to memory. “Thank you. A million times, thank you.” You felt him lean forward slightly, the sunset shifting as his body moved and you felt his beard brush against the side of your face to whisper in your ear.

“You can thank me after you see the stars.”

[ravenpenandpaper]

In Whichever Universe

Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian Characters: Garrus Vakarian, Female Shepard (Mass Effect),  Additional Tags: Movie Star AU, Summary: Somehow they always end up meeting each other, and sometimes the Reapers have very little to do with it

A/N: Both for Turian Week and for @ev-t‘s birthday, seemed only fitting to put this up during the 14th :)

Scene 1, act 1:

Falling in love with a co-star really wasn't on her plans when she sighed up the contract for the Sci-fi franchise, love was messy, it was problematic, especially if it involved your co-star; it was a continuous effort, one Jane Shepard hadn't been willing to make, not until she met Garrus roughly five years ago. Falling in love with Garrus Vakarian, Turian heart-throb of the Milky Way, really wasn’t what she had planned; what either of them had planned.

Shepard sighed as she snuggled closer to her co-star, planting a kiss on his neck.

"Insatiable," Garrus muttered with a rumbling of his subvoclas, amused, even as he raised himself on his elbow to kiss her properly.

"For you? Always." She grinned into the kiss, fingers ghosting over his bare waist. Both of them naked on Jane’s trailer before the start of their day, enjoying each other's company, they still had a bit of time, hopefully.

"Jane..." he rumbled with a sigh, gripping her waist tighter, fingers-

"Shepard? Vakarian? Five minutes to make up and 30 to start!" Came their Salarian understudy's voice, followed by a knock on the door.

"Going!" They shouted back, Jane slumping back and away from him with a sigh, Garrus' hand coming to rest at the nape of her neck, a laugh escaping his throat.

"To work?" He grinned.

"It's almost over..." she agreed with a certain melancholy that had become her norm for the last few weeks of filming, as the end neared for the shooting so did her cheer and Garrus hated seeing her like that.

"I'll be here remember?" He gently bumped his forehead against hers, mandibles fluttering in a grin, a gentle reminder that the movie wasn't the last of the two of them, not by a long shot.

"You always are, some days it feels like you always were," she smiled as she looked up at him, quickly stealing a kiss before forcing herself back on her feet, "to work then!"

He grinned as he looked her up and down before donning Adviser Adrux Kryik's Heavy armour, the thing was nearly impossible to put on, regardless of what their Hierarchy contact said about 'keeping things real' and 'making an example out of the Turians.'

He glanced at his fiancee - the word still bringing a pleased knot on his gizzard accompanied by gentle disbelief - as she put on Commander Valkyrie Hawthorn's armour, the X7 in her chest - fictional as it was because humans didn't really care about 'keeping things real' - was the final touch in her transformation.

"Let's go kick some Reaper ass, Vakarian,” she said with a blinding smile; Garrus was struck once again by how lucky he was.

Scene 2, act 1:

"Need some company?" Adrux Kryik asked, walking into their room, Commander Hawthorn was looking at the datapads, looking for a last effort, a last something she could dig out of the ass-end of nowhere so they could have a chance at winning.

"I don't know how we're going to win this Adi," she whispered, confirming his fears, putting the data pad away and looking up to him.

"With you leading the Victory Fleet my love; focus on getting the weapon going, I'll clear a path for you, let me take care of the rest." He smiled, crossing the room slowly and sitting beside her, "you've got this, we've gone over the plan over twenty times Kyrie, you've got this, you were born for this."

"Adi, Adi promise me..." she gripped his vest forcing him to look at her. "Promise me we're gonna make it."

"I- I can't,” he paused, “Valkyrie..." he whispered as he looked away from her, head hanging in sudden shame, "I wish I could lie to you..."

"Adrux..." she whispered, taking hold of his hands, carefully removing his gloves, "Adrux, I want you to hold me, just for tonight, please! It might be the last time we-"

"Kyrie-" he breathed, a whine in the back of his throat, Spirits if he lost her-!

"Make me forget tomorrow's coming, make me forget everything but you." Valkyrie pleaded, entwining their fingers, them kissing his knuckles, her eyes pleading, "let me pretend we're gonna have forever, just the two of us."

"Yes," he whispered, caressing her cheek, "anything for you, my love."

"Adrux, Adrux I-ACHOO" Jane reeled back, staring at him unblinkingly before breaking down in giggles, leaning back and ignoring Garrus' disgusted face, "Spirits... your face! I'm sorry," she breathed between giggles falling back on the bed and turning to their director, "sorry can we take a break?"

The man, one Alec Freeman, looked at his wrist, the old watch still working perfectly, "okay, that's gonna be two and a half hours, you both still have that interview with the Empire to sort it out."

"Ugh, don't remind me," Jane sighed, "I've no idea why they have an investigative reporter covering a movie."

"You know why, Jane," Garrus muttered besides her removing the prosthetic from his face with a shudder, he hated that thing, "she's still in trouble over the Salarian's egg incubators and the scandal with the Hanar priest," he prodded his right mandible with a finger, flexing it to regain the proper movements.

"And since she did nothing wrong, there's no reason to fire her, but to put her out of the proverbial limelight for a while," she said, eyes far away before she focused on him, "stop probing your face, Garrus, your mandible’s already tender," she frowned at him, swiftly getting up and planting a kiss on the offending part, putting his hand away.

"Ma'am," an Asari understudy called her, handing a datapad, "the reporter is asking if we can move things earlier," she was a pretty little thing, probably not even 90 yet.

They glanced at each other briefly, before Garrus sighed and leaned down to kiss her temple, "I'll order something and then meet you there ok?"

"You're just leaving me to the wolves," she scrunched up her nose in mid distaste while he laughed.

"You are Commander Hawthorn," he mock saluted her before heading in the opposite direction, ignoring her muttered complaints.

Scene 2, act 1:

Jane smiled as Al-Jilani continued to talk about the movie, the needled sentences made her want to punch the woman, she wouldn't, of course, she wasn't a barbarian; Spirits knew she wanted to.

"-he battle with the Reapers is the highlight of the movie, uniting all species in a common enemy, bringing all the galaxy together, personally I think that's quite a feat." The reported said, lacing her fingers together.

Jane remained silent, just nodding in agreement, it was quite a feat, the council, in their 1500 years of existence, had never managed that.

"Do you think, theoretically speaking, that the humans could do that? Would a Human councillor be able to do that?" Al-Jilani asked, eyeing the actress sitting in front of her.

"I don't think humanity will get a seat for at least another hundred years," Jane laughed without humour, "we're the newcomers, the fact we have an embassy on the Citadel, when other species still don't, is a credit in and of itself," she laced her fingers together, staring at the reporter with curiosity instead of animosity, "I still don't think humanity as a whole has proven itself to the galaxy, the events in Mass Effect, are, as one would expect, extenuating circumstances."

"Do you think Humanity’s not ready for that responsibility then?”

“I think Humanity as a whole has a lot to offer the galaxy, but we still have not given anyone a reason to trust us,” she paused briefly gathering her thoughts as she drank from her cup of water, “after working with such a multilateral team I've come to realize that we need to cooperate more with other species, instead of working on the ‘Humans first, Humans only,’ the Terra Firma party would have you believe. They’re not the enemy here, mindless racism, mindless violence is our true enemy.”

“Is that instance influenced by your relationship with your co-star?” al-Jilani asked with a gleam in her eye.

"Definitely, have you ever found that one person you can be yourself with? No walls between you two, no acting? That person you want to be better for? Not because they make you, but because they inspire you? That's Garrus and I."

"Does Vakarian feel the same way? Can those barriers really be breached between people of two different species?" The reporter asked with a dubious frown, Jane didn't blame her, her history with former lovers had been well documented, but Garrus-

"Sure they can," Garrus answered, walking, no, swagging into their interview, a plastic bag with something that smelled heavenly - probably their lunch - in his hand. "If I didn't love her half as much as she just proclaimed to love me I wouldn't be bonding with her," he sat beside her, his face plates arching in the equivalent of a human eyebrow. “The feeling is entirely mutual by the by,” he grinned at al-Jilani, an amused flicker of his mandibles.

“Given that you two met on set, can we assume the chemistry between Commander Hawthorn and Advisor Kryik shares the same intensity?”

They looked at each other, a flicker of her eyes, a twitch of his lips before Shepard turned to the reporter shaking her head, “their chemistry is different, their whole dynamic is different, Hawthorn has the weight of the galaxy on her shoulder, the hopes and dreams of humanity, Kryik has the eye of the Hierarchy, the duty of carrying the Turians through the war, but he is her subordinate.”

“A relationship between captain and subordinate isn't really frowned upon in the Turian Military -” Garrus begun, easily stepping in before Khalisah could question them “- and we tried sending in that message, their relationship is entirely consensual, but there are some things Hawthorn has to do alone and Kryik can't follow, no matter how much he may want to.”

“Such as?” She asked, interested for once.

“Sorry Khalisah,” Jane interrupted, with an amused smile, “spoilers.”

Scene 2, act 2:

“You know,” Jane started as she speared one of her steak cubes with a fork, the meat just that side of rare with a tender red centre, just how she liked it, with a side of potato salad.

“Eat, we still have the cabin scene to finish,” he smiled, amused.

She snorted, swallowing a mouthful, “you just want to kiss me again.”

“I do like kissing you,” Garrus shrugged, unrepentant. “I prefer doing it in private, but kissing Hawthorn is just as good.”

“To think you didn’t get my advances until I kissed you,” she grinned before turning back to her food, ignoring the people passing them by, most of the crew knew to leave them alone between takes, especially since the news of their engagement spread through Council space. Sometimes Ashley or Jeffrey would join them, but it was rare, their fellow actors in their own convoluted romance to care about anyone else.

“I got your advances, make no mistake,” he smiled at her, idly putting a lock of hair behind her ear with a caress of his finger, seeing the goosebumps on her skin. He did love the reactions she had when he touched her.

“Honey you only realized I was interested when I insisted on practising the kissing scene in the second movie and may have groped you a bit during it,” she smiled, looking at him through her eyelashes, chasing the warmth of his hand with a hum.

“There was no ‘may,’ about it Jane; you definitely groped me.” He grinned, leaning back in the chair, watching as she sighed and went back to eating, she did love watching her.

“And you still didn't get the message,” she snorted in between bites of steak, foregoing the fork for a moment as she picked the cubes, savouring them, they still had thirty minutes of lunch.

“Finish your food, Jane,” he rumbled, amused.

“You’re just gonna stand there and watch?!” She laughed, cleaning her hands on a napkin, picking up at the salad, she knew she would need it, they would be filming most of the scenes between Kryik and Hawthorn.

“By the by, have you seen Nihlus?” She asked between bites; they had met Spectre Kryik at the very start of the franchise, during pre-production, the Spectre got a kick out of having his name on a movie, ’almost as awesome as Blasto!’ he had said at the time.

“He called you when you were finishing up the scenes with the goodbyes yesterday, said he wanted to be present at the wedding, still moaning you chose me over him though, also that I choose you over him,” he smiled at her, an embarrassed flick of his mandibles, he had somewhat forgotten about the call since Jane had gone home upset with the scene, it was finally hitting her Mass Effect would end, sooner for them rather than later. “He said he’d be by whenever we marked the wedding, just make sure he knows about it.”

“Was there gunfire at his end?”

“Surprisingly no, I think he was at the Citadel or maybe Illium, I hope he was at the Citadel anyway.”

“Remember last time we were on Illium? Jackie almost got sold to slavery if not for Nihlus,” she laughed remembering, more of a giggle than a full-out laugh.

“Come on, finish it up, we have that scene to finish,” he smiled at her again, the softness that settled over his heart whenever he saw her laughing something was something he hoped never to get used to.

Scene 2, act 1, take 2:

"Need some company?" Adrux Kryik asked, walking into their room, Commander Hawthorn was looking at the datapads, looking for a last effort, a last something she could dig out of the ass-end of nowhere so they could have a chance at winning.

"I don't know how we're going to win this Adi," she whispered, confirming his fears, putting the data pad away and looking up to him.

"With you leading the Victory Fleet my love; focus on getting the weapon going, I'll clear a path for you, let me take care of the rest." He smiled, crossing the room slowly and sitting beside her, "you've got this, we've gone over the plan over twenty times Kyrie, you've got this, you were born for this."

"Adi, Adi promise me..." she gripped his vest forcing him to look at her. "Promise me we're gonna make it."

"I- I can't,” he paused shutting his eyes tight before he could look at her, “Valkyrie..." he whispered even he looked away from her, head hanging in sudden shame, "I wish I could lie to you..."

"Adrux..." she whispered, taking hold of his hands, carefully removing his gloves, "Adrux, I want you to hold me, just for tonight, please! It might be the last time we-"

"Kyrie-" he breathed, a whine in the back of his throat, Spirits if he lost her-!

"Make me forget tomorrow's coming, make me forget everything but you." Valkyrie pleaded, entwining their fingers, them kissing his knuckles, her eyes pleading, "let me pretend we're gonna have forever, just the two of us."

"Yes," he whispered, caressing her cheek, "anything for you, my love."

“I love you, so much,” she whispered even as tears gathered in the corner of her eyes, even as he lowered her down on the bed and they rested against each other, a gentle bump of their foreheads.”

“Cut!” Alec shouted, looking at the datapad in his hands, “we definitely got it this time, thank you.”

Jane smiled, caressing her lover’s mandibles, Hawthorn’s personality and Shepard’s intertwining, looking at the gorgeous man on top of her. She felt him caressing her face, wiping out her tears even as she felt him rumbling, “Garrus?”

“Right, scene over,” he smiled weakly at her, a rumbling in his chest that clearly signalled distress, that much she had learnt.

“I love you big guy,” she leaned forward, stealing a kiss from him. They usually avoided PDA’s on set that weren’t between their characters, but in such a heavy and emotionally draining scene. She looked at their audience from the corner of her eye, all of them politely looking away from the two of them, and hugged her partner her hands resting at the back his neck. “I love you so much,” she smiled, indulging in a second kiss even as he stood stock still, hands gripping her waist even as he relaxed against her.

Alec cleared his throat pointedly, and they parted in somewhat embarrassed silence, they never had to have the ‘Talk’ from the director, not about being professionals; Jane looked at the man rolling his eyes at them, smiling sheepishly, looked like they wouldn’t be breaking their form, not that day at least.

Scene 1, act 3, ‘home’:

“So what happened today?” She asked as soon as they finished wrapping up the day, walking side by side to their shared trailer, mostly to remove make up and, in Garrus’ case, the prosthetics on his face.

“Got overwhelmed, just-” he stopped, taking her hand in his, caressing her fingers.

“Intrusive thoughts?” She asked gently, rubbing his knuckles, “stop poking at your mandible, it’s gonna be sore the whole night.” She admonished, changing sides so she would walk on his right, taking a hold of the offending hand and dropping a kiss where the prosthetic usually went; Garrus had zero patience for letting make up crew remove it.

“Just don’t want to lose you, not now,” the ‘not ever’ was silent but she still squeezed his fingers.

“Lucky for you, you’ll never have to.”

“Jane,” he sighed, a displeased note to his subvocals, he hated platitudes.

“I’m not gonna promise forever unless I mean it, Garrus, and I do, you know I do,” she sighed, their trailer was in sight, but she didn’t want to go inside, not yet. “How’s this, I’ll never voluntarily leave you, I’ll try my damned best to honour that promised,” she smiled at him again, impish, “and you know my best is pretty damn awesome.”

“Because you’re Commander Hawthorn?” He asked lightly, his thumb running through her knuckles, a gentle caress neither of them were exactly aware of.

“No, because I’m gonna be your wife, and that’s one role I cannot fail,” she grinned, suddenly stuck with a thought and dragging him back to their trailer.

“Jane? Jane!”

“You know when we talked about living together? Getting our own place? I may or may not have gone ahead and gotten a contract signed up for a flat on the Citadel, one of the nicer Wards, just you, me and Commander Whiskers. What do you think?” She turned to him with a blinding smile, her hands shaking slightly, it was almost like asking him to marry her all over again.

“I think you need to show me the place, then we need to buy furniture,” he gripped her hands tight, drawing her into a hug and getting her off her feet, “I think your collection of ships are gonna look awesome next to my collection of riffles.”

“I think… I think I’m gonna stay with you for the rest of my life.”

[bookedsuccess]

DAY TWENTY ONE

The Book “Incognito” in Three Sentences

Summary by James Clear

Conscious thought has a surprisingly small impact on your life and most of your behaviors are driven by the unconscious mind. There are competing beliefs within your unconscious mind that are all battling for the single output of your conscious behavior. The complex interactions between your genetics and your environment determine the trajectory of your life.

Incognito summary

This is my book summary of Incognito by David Eagleman. My notes are informal and often contain quotes from the book as well as my own thoughts. This summary also includes key lessons and important passages from the book.

Your brains is built of cells called neurons and glia.

Each cell sends electrical pulses to other cells.

A typical neuron makes about 10,000 connections to other neurons.

There are more connections in one cubic centimeter of the brain than there are stars in the Milky Way.

Thoughts don't seem like physical things. They don't seem like they exist in a tangible form, but that's exactly what is going on. The physical structure of the brain determines the thoughts that flow from it.

Men in a study voted pictures of women with dilated pupils as more attractive than those without.

Consciousness is the smallest player of our mind. Most of our brain operates in a hidden mode.

Your conscious mind is like a newspaper. It delivers headlines but rarely show you what's going on behind the scenes.

When you say, “I just got an idea!” You are actually referencing all sorts of work your brain has been doing behind the scenes for minutes, days, or months.

“In each of us there is another who we do not know.” -Carl Jung

First of all, you have to realize that conscious thought should NOT be involved in most decisions and actions. If you had to decide every damn thing you would never get anything done.

Conscious awareness takes about 0.5 seconds. Hitting a baseball takes 0.4 seconds. It's literally impossible to consciously hit a baseball. Your brain makes the choice to hit and swing with unconscious information.

Bruno was burned to death with an iron mask on his face to prevent him from speaking eloquently and firing up the crowd. Interesting story about the power of ideas.

There is a concept that a conscious idea is actually a collection of signals your brain picks up that all point in the same direction. Once the signal becomes strong enough, it becomes a conscious thought. If you brain gets a signal that points one way and another pointing a different way, then they sort of cancel one another out. It's like the brain needs enough unconscious votes before it generates a conscious thought.

I like the concept of your mind as an iceberg. Conscious thought is just the visible tip. Unconscious thought is the mass beneath the water.

The only way society functions is by groups of people consciously focusing on things. Whether I'm on a plane or not, I never think about pre-flight procedures, how much gas is in the plane, whether the landing gear is working well, and so on. (By the way, if you're on a plane right now–my apologies.) but I don't need to think about those things because someone else is consciously focused on them. This is how we build well-functioning teams and societies. We are all running on autopilot in nearly every area of life, but each of us has the capacity to be consciously focused on a few things. Divide those areas of focus up in smart ways and you get a really effective team.

We are astoundingly poor observers of our own experience. (Reminds me of the gorilla video experiment. This is called “change blindness.”)

One-third of the human brain is allocated to vision.

It's interesting to note: your vision is simply a cone of vision where you point your eyes. We all live our lives by viewing only the world of vision that is inside this little cone… without even realizing it.

The brain is organized like a marketplace, not an assembly line. Even tasks that are historically depicted at a straight line (vision, for example) are actually the result of a network or inputs (vision is impacted not just by light, but also by sounds, etc.). This means that the entire world as you know it is not a simple series of cause and effect relationships. Rather, there are many tiny causes that build into some final effect. There are many bits of information that impact vision. (If this is true, then there are many bits of information that impact behavior.)

Chicken sexing is really hard, but the best in the world are in Japan. Male and female chicks look almost exactly the same at 1 day old. They trained new chicken sexers by trial and error feedback … Even though they couldn't explain how they did it. It's unconsciously learned.

There is a really cool research test covered in chapter 3 that helps identify your internal biases. Are you biased toward certain religions, genders, races, body types, etc? It could be very interesting to take this, uncover your hidden biases, and then take active steps to reduce those biases.

People tend to love reflections of themselves in others and on products. This is called “implicit egotism.” We like people who share our birthdays, have names similar to our, and so on.

People named Denise or Dennis are disproportionally likely to be dentists.

The mere exposure effect proves that our brains tend to like things that we are exposed to often. Similarly, we tend to associate two things with one another if we hear that pairing often. (This reminds me of people who say they have “great networks” over and over. Eventually, you associate the two things together and you're like “That guy is a great networker! He has tons of amazing contacts.” Mere exposure effect at work — and with hustle on that guys part it can become a reality too.)

It can be a very good idea to “trust your gut” because a variety of studies have shown that your unconscious mind knows the correct decision before your conscious mind does.

We make decisions consciously and then begin to automate them and follow them unconsciously.

Humans have an incredible ability to learn and, with enough practice, mindlessly automate almost any skill.

We are designed and hard-wired to like certain animals (humans), foods (fruits, veggies, rtf.), and even thoughts. For example, we only see a small portion of the light spectrum (visible light and not infrared, for example). Our biology determines our reality.

We accept the reality presented to us. And this reality is constructed by our brains, not merely interpreted by our brains.

Reality is far more subjective than we suppose.

Social behavior is wired into our brains. We are born with a tendency for social behavior.

We are least aware of what our mind does best. Our instincts are often blind to us. They are burned down so deep into our genetic code that we don't even notice them.

William James said we have more instincts than other animals, not less. And this is why we are flexible thinkers.

We often assume instinct is low level thinking, but in fact it has millions of years of evolution built into it.

The benefit of instinct is speed and automatic behavior. The cost is failure to notice them.

We are unable to see the instincts that drove our behavior. They are so critical, they are subconscious.

The more simple something seems, the more neural circuitry there usually is behind it.

Research shows that women are deemed most beautiful by men and women at the peak of their menstrual cycle (10 days before menses). These changes in a female's appearance are incredibly subtle, but they only need to be enough to trigger the unconscious realization by partners to work. It's not quite clear what the tip offs are (ears and breasts become more symmetrical, for example).

Women are particularly sensitive to other women's cycles. Perhaps due to competition?

Researchers found that strippers earned more at the peak of their cycle ($68/hr average) than when menstrating ($35/hr average).

The human mind runs on conflict. There are competing beliefs within your unconscious mind that are all battling for the single output of your conscious behavior.

Reason wants one thing. Emotion wants another. But they both think they have the right way of solving the problems they face.

The brain is made of competing subsystems. For example, system one and system two. System one is automatic and heuristic. System two is conscious and analytical.

The neuroanatomy of your brain maps roughly with system one and system two.

Rational cognition involves external events. Emotional cognition is about your internal state.

Emotion (or lack of emotion) often tips the scales of our behavior.

Kahneman and Tversky's famous studies on discounting ($100 now vs $110 in one week compared to $100 in 52 weeks vs $110 in 53 weeks) were investigated by neuroscientists. They found that immediate payoffs activated the emotional centers of the brain (impulsive behavior) while long-term rewards activated areas of higher cognition (rational behavior).

Your behavior is simply the end result of the battles between short and long-term desires.

Some philosophers refer to commitment devices as Ulysses Contracts after the famous story about Ulysses and the Sirens.

Our brain is a highly overlapping and redundant system. That is, various parts of the brain can accomplish similar tasks.

Possible countermeasure against Alzheimers: Cognitive Reserve. This is a term scientists use to describe why some people have brains that were ravaged by Alzheimers but never showed symptoms. By challenging their brain and staying mentally active, these people developed multiple pathways for solving the same problems. Alzheimers might prevent one approach, but you still have other pathways. This cognitive reserve counteracted the Alzheimers symptoms. When part of the brain degrades it was not even missed because of alternative solutions.

Brains seek patterns. In many ways, our brains are wired to create meaning from meaningless data.

Dreams illustrate our skills at generating a narrative from unrelated pieces of information.

Research by Pennebaker: studies or rape victims have shown that not discussing your problems (keeping secrets) might lead to more harm than the event itself.

Biology and brain research has revealed that instead of asking, “What's the best way to solve that problem?” We should ask, “Are there multiple, overlapping ways to solve that problem?”

Who you have the probability to be starts at conception. For example, the Y chromosome leads to an increase in criminal behavior of more than 800 percent. The majority of prisoners carry these genes as well as 98.4 percent of inmates on death row. If you are make, you are predisposed to violence.

When an accident happens with animal handlers (a lion attacks a tamer, for example), we often refer to the fact that it is an animal. What were you expecting an animal to do? But humans are animals too. And yet, we often assume that people are rational brings that would not resort to animalistic behavior. We assume that humans have free will. That assumption may be wrong.

Given the current state of research nobody can find a way around the lack of free will. If free will exists, then it must appear somewhere in the brain. But there are no free sections of the brain. Every section of the brain is connected to other parts of the brain.

Research by Lippet: ran the famous study on free will which sparked the idea that our conscious mind was the last one to know what we are doing.

According to the author, it doesn't matter whether or not we have free will.

Acts cannot be separated from our biology.

Societies will always need to get bad actors off the streets. A lack of free will does not mean there is no need for our justice system.

Our perceptions and behaviors are controlled by hidden, neurobiological factors.

There is no distinction between “his biology” and “him.” They are one in the same.

Research by Steven Laconte and Pearl Chu: you look at a picture of chocolate cake. A screen displays a vertical bar that shows the areas of brain activity present during your craving. Then, you try various strategies to make the bar go down. When it does, you are effectively decreasing the activity of the brain that causes cravings. This “pre-frontal workout” helps you strengthen your circuitry to combat cravings.

The complex web of genetics and environment constructs the trajectory of human life.

The conscious mind is not the one driving the boat.

We are the sum total of our neurobiology. What we think of as “him” or “her” is really the average or that person's neurobiological chemicals (and resulting behaviors) over time. The personalities we think of as ourselves are time averaged versions of our neurobiology.

Huntington's disease is the result of a change to a single gene, but it is an outlier. Most genetic diseases are the result of subtle changes and interactions across many genes. (So even our DNA is the result of many small changes.)

The contributions of the genome to our behavior can only be understood in the context of interactions with the environment.

Research by Avshalom Caspi: they looked at gene-environment interactions and depression and found a bit of a link.

Environmental effects can multiply the impact of biology and genes. Our behavior is both nature and nurture.

Although our biology underpins everything about us, we cannot reduce the human experience to a collection of molecules and atoms. Why? Because of the concept of emergence. Just as the ability to fly emerges from pieces of metal in a plane, the ability to think emerges from our atoms. And we don't yet understand how this beautiful mystery works.

Reading Suggestions

This is a list of authors, books, and concepts mentioned in Incognito, which might be useful for future reading.

Your Brain Is Almost Perfect

The Principles of Psychology by William James

The Society of Mind by Minsky

Psychology writings from psychologist Julian James

Robert Sopolsky's writing

Additional Thoughts

This is a list of interesting notes, side stories, or additional thoughts that were sparked as a I read the book.

If it is true that the brain runs incognito and our conscious mind makes up a very small portion of our thoughts, then how do we become consciously aware of all of this going on behind the scenes? How can we consciously know what is unconsciously going on? Is it by observing others unconscious behavior?

The second half of the book is really about the author's opinion of our justice system and neuroscience. I feel like that topic should be a second book. It was probably meant to be an extended example that illuminated the secrets of the brain, but it felt like justice was at the center of the argument and neuroscience was the supporting evidence whereas the rest of the book was the other way around.

I think the author mixes up two different things when he discusses blameworthiness and modifiability. They are not substitutes for one another. The first function of the legal system is to determine if someone is guilty (blameworthiness). The second function is to determine how to deal with people who are guilty. That's modifiability. They work with one another.