#hi guys. long time no see!

[oh-snapperss]

Promise I Held (Just Out of Reach)

hi guys. this is a cowrite by me and @tunastime, a continuation of our hot tea fics we wrote a few months ago. you don't have to have read them to read this, but it adds to the experience!

words: 3788

warnings: none

read on ao3!

On the top of a large, grey-white slab of rock, a figure looks to the sky.

Bdubs is sitting on the warm rock face and wondering when the sun might set. He sighs. The air in his chest feels short. He chews at the inside of his cheek and wonders when the sun will set, not because he needs it but because he wants it. It’s the only solace he gets here, and it’s the only solace the games give him in general, even when he doesn’t sleep, and even when he’s not allowed to. He’s not allowed to sleep here. The nights are too short to warrant it, and there’s too much killing going around, coupled with the fact that his clock isn’t visible to him. To see his time he has to stand by the river edge and crane his neck to even glance at the ticking seconds, and keep doing the mental math. He’s close to yellow. He can feel that at least. Maybe he’ll get lucky. Maybe there’ll be another chance to get a boogey kill. Some extension on his life. Something he’ll have to get for himself this time, it seems. He’s trying to be patient, something he’s gotten too good at doing, even with the short string it hangs from.

He’s waiting for Etho to come back.

It seems like a hopeless cause, but something deeply entrenched and rooting around in his chest believes otherwise. Etho comes back, doesn’t he? Not necessarily crawling, but something of the sort, standing off to the side, waiting to be welcomed back with a kicked-dog expression. So Bdubs is waiting for him. 

“When will it be enough for you?”

Cleo’s voice is a cut through his train of thoughts like a cleaver. He turns, bracing his hand on the rock to support himself. She’s standing behind him, hands on her hips. At least he has Cleo, he thinks, as a warm tumbling thing rolls around in the empty space of his chest. He turns back around, expression souring.

“Never.”

The it is self-explanatory. It is whatever Etho gives him in lieu of an actual partnership, or an actual apology. They’d exchanged those, once before, after everything. So is he really to blame for thinking this might go a bit differently? That Etho might be beside him, instead of over the crest of the hill, playing house with the remnants of a team he used to be a part of? They’ve gone and replaced him with his better half. Dead weight. The it is the strings of affections Etho tries to tie together. It’s I love you never said but implied. It’s how they’ve always functioned, except in places they know are truly safe. Bdubs doesn’t mind that. But how is he supposed to not yearn for it, even here?

“He’s not coming back, y’know,” Cleo adds. She’s not moved any closer. Bdubs shrugs. He’s too busy watching the sky start to go orange at the edges

“Doesn’t matter,” he says shortly. Cleo huffs. She doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Bdubs, even when her footsteps have long since faded back to their cave.

Bdubs is waiting.

It’s an action he’s gotten very good at.

The good thing, though, is that night comes quicker than usual. It’s something about rotation, or sun’s rays, some science-y thing Bdubs would need to work out much longer than a few minutes to completely understand. He watches the sun brush the horizon for only a moment before he turns away, and the stretch of orange above it. 

Etho never came back. His boots crunch against bits of pebbled stone and granite. So it’s his job to find him. He’s good at that, too. Just keep walking. Walking. Walking. Soon enough he’ll find something, right? Anything?

He pokes his way down, minding the way the stone turns to dirt and dirt to grass. Just beyond the next hill he can see a tall stone structure. He’s not sure what about this place feels so much more alive than previous games. There’s a nervous energy to the air, like a static charge. He makes his way over the hill.

He can see someone at the top of the tower as he manages down the other side of the hill. He hears grumbling, some unmistakable noise only Tango could make. Wading the short way over to the sandy bank, Bdubs stands, looking up on a particularly nicely textured tower, all things considered. He’s tempted to reach out and touch it, but Tango hears his approach. He leans over the edge of the tower, peering over at him.

“Tango!” Bdubs squints at him, smiling. 

“Bdubs?” Tango leans a bit further. “What’d’you want?”

“I, uh…” He stops short. For all his big game, wandering around like he’s made up his mind, Bdubs still isn’t sure exactly what this is going to give him. Closure? Hope? Anything? He’s been standing here silent. Better say something. “I’m looking for Etho.”

“Mm.” Tango jerks his head to the left. He keeps his tone neutral, though, and besides, in the cover of nearly night, Bdubs can’t really tell what he’s thinking anyway. “He’s over at the farm. The uh—the box, there. Why? What’d’you need ‘em for?”

“Just to chat.”

“To chat?”

Bdubs nods.

“Yeah. I mean it.”

Tango shrugs. He seems to believe it. Bdubs isn’t lying anyway. It’s not like he could actually do something right now.

“Alright. Enjoy your talk, man. Lemme know if you need somethin’.”

Bdubs thinks he sees the swish of a tail before Tango ducks away, back to moving stone bricks around. Bdubs nods. Right. Left. To the farm. The “box” as Tango had put it. He can see the outline in the torchlight.

Making his way over, Bdubs steels his expression, trying to sooth frazzled nerves. He makes his way through the beach and around the side of the hill, toward the mass of dirt and granite that resembled its namesake.

Down the stone steps, walled in by the border and the box itself. Bdubs can hear the mobs within fighting, falling, dying. It’s a familiar sound, the clattering of bones and groans of undead… hissing of creepers and the crawling spiders. Not to say a pleasant sound, but… it’s something reminiscent of better times, at least, when time and death meant nothing. 

He’s shaken from his thoughts at the bottom of the steps, where the entrance to the farm lies. There’s a hole, and a rickety ladder into darkness. He shakes his head, but doesn’t hesitate to descend, rung by rung until his ankles land in water. Eurgh. It splashes up to his knees when he turns to get out of it, and he shivers—not cause he’s cold, but… he’s a little cold. 

Even with his soaked boots, and aching arms from the climb down, he falters before fully stepping away from the water and towards his… friend, partner, lover… Etho. Who hasn’t bothered to acknowledge him, save for the hand straying toward the diamond sword at his side and stiffened back. His other hand keeps busy, gathering gunpowder from the chest and placing it straight onto the crafting table.

“Etho?”

This time, his only sign Etho knows he’s there is that both hands go to craft TNT, and his posture gets about as bad as Bdubs knows it usually is. Other than that, Bdubs is ignored, and he frowns, a prickle of hurt creeping through. Dead weight. Did Etho think the same? 

“E-Etho?” Bdubs’ voice falters, and he winces at the crack in his usual facade of boisterous bravado. 

For the first time since the timer started, at least that Bdubs has seen, Etho pauses. Just a heartbeat, just long enough to acknowledge Bdubs’ presence. But the moment passes, and Etho resumes his work, not even bothering to turn to Bdubs as he gathers gunpowder and crafts more of the TNT. 

Gather, craft. Gather, craft. A terrifying rhythm of coming destruction, and Etho won’t look at Bdubs. His hands are too busy, and Bdubs’ own flutter about uselessly before he settles on leaning against the wall and watching. Even then, he picks at the sleeve of his shirt, biting his lip before trying again.

“You’re… you busy right now?” He keeps his voice quiet, as if any volume might shatter the peace and walls both have built up. There’s water dripping from the rocks above his head and he holds back from wrinkling his nose when a drop lands on it. 

“Got things to do,” Etho mutters, turning back to the collection chest. A wrinkle appears between his eyebrows—empty. 

“Of course, of course…” Bdubs tracks Etho’s calloused hands as they pack away the last of the tnt. There’s a spark in Etho’s eyes as he does that Bdubs doesn’t particularly like—it feels wrong, and far too similar to the same spark a flint and steel might make. “Do you have a minute?” (Or a few?) 

“Do any of us?” Etho’s tone is light, but to Bdubs, there’s almost a beat to each word, a tick-tick-tick of seconds passing, of life draining. Etho steps forward, and so does Bdubs, but then Etho steps right past him to the water and ladder, not even sparing a second to look into Bdubs’ eyes.

And so Bdubs follows helplessly, just like he always does, once again grimacing at the water pooled around his ankles before he starts up the ladder after Etho. “W-Etho, c’mon…” 

Up and up and up into the starry night above, up the stairs, past the base and into the woods. Step, step, step, step. Tick, tick, tick, tick. 

“Watcha doin’, Etho?” 

“Resource gathering.” 

“It’s the middle of the night… shouldn’t you be sleepin’?” Bdubs raises his eyebrows, trying to keep up with Etho’s quick march. He’s really too short for this–not that he’ll ever admit that out loud. 

“Shouldn’t you be, sleep king B-double-o?” Etho side-eyes him, raking his gaze down to where Bdubs stumbles over his own feet. 

“Oh, come on…” Bdubs grumbles, but Etho’s right. “...wanted to see you?” 

“Wanted to see me?” Etho sounds teasing and entirely uncaring. “Shouldn’t you be with Cleo ‘n Scar?” They’ve reached a point, lit up with few torches. There’s a rudimentary tree farm ahead, ready to be harvested, but surely Etho isn’t just using his precious tnt, is he?

“Oh, tell me you aren’t just blowin’ it u-”

Bang! It’s lit and fired off before Bdubs can finish his sentence. While Etho heads forward, dragging his axe from his back to harvest and collect, Bdubs backs up a couple steps. 

“Etho, please look at me-” 

“I can hear you just fine. I gotta collect this stuff, ‘dubs.” 

And that’s just it, isn’t it? It’s frustrating, and so very Etho, and none of it makes sense, because Bdubs just wants to talk to Etho and he wants Etho to look at him even if it’s just for two seconds, would he please just acknowledge, or sit down, or-

Two short breaths, then one deep, and Bdubs thinks maybe he can fix this. Maybe-

He leaves Etho to his farm, staying within sight to gather sticks and wood. When he drops to the ground to place it all, to make a fire, twigs push into his knees uncomfortably, the ground itself damp and cold. It’s awful, and it’s worth it to light the campfire, to place that rickety old tin kettle he’d brought with him. The kettle trembles in his grasp, a memory of a time with it hadn’t been his, it had been theirs. He waits to use it though, wanting to bring Etho over first. 

But then Etho walks out, glances over, and just shakes his head, like it means nothing, like it never did. He scrambles to his feet, the kettle left empty on the ground. He makes it over to Etho before he can walk away fully, out towards the river nearby. Once again staring at the ground over Bdubs, Etho tries to slide past, but Bdubs just can’t help it, heart aching in all the worst places. 

“Please-” Bdubs’ hands fly out, then halt just before touching Etho. His plea is quiet too, but Etho hesitates to move away and Bdubs reaches fully forward to take both of Etho’s hands in his. He runs his calloused fingertips over the backs of Etho's hands, gently turning them palm up with his thumbs. Scars cover Etho’s hands in angry red ridges, and Bdubs traces over them without a word, keeping his eyes on them instead of Etho’s face. He doesn’t think he could possibly look at Etho right now, not when Etho could shove him away, call him dead weight or laugh it off or-

But he doesn’t, and Bdubs barely catches the soft, too-fast intake of breath from Etho. Another moment of memorizing the palms he already knows by heart, and he closes his hands fully, squeezing them tightly. 

“Just-come sit down. Please?” He won’t take no for an answer, tugging Etho forward with both hands until they’re next to a couple rocks near the farm. “Here.” 

Etho’s eyes squeeze shut, stressed in the way Bdubs sees when he’s worked too long on a project without sleeping, or the times in the snow fort he’d thought Bdubs hadn’t seen in the nights spent across the fence. “I shouldn’t.” 

“Just a few minutes.” (Just tonight. Just for tonight.) 

He doesn’t miss the way Etho tenses, or the shuddering breaths he takes. 

“Okay,” he sounds tired, already shifting his weight from leg to leg. 

Bdubs doesn’t let go of his hand, though, as he pulls Etho with him to the unlit fire. It’s funny, in some type of way, that he came prepared thinking that Etho would say yes, when every other part of him knew Etho would say no. He drops to the ground, Etho still standing at his side, to light the fire. It takes a second to catch, but when it does, Etho is dropping next to him. He holds his hands out in front of him, palms turned toward the heat. Bdubs takes his time setting up. It’s a process he’s seen Etho follow too many times to count on his hands. If he’s being honest, he’d originally brought the set for himself, knowing a day without it would leave him grumpy and nonfunctional. Being able to share it with Etho now was a luxury he’d surely taken for granted back home. Now it, for this small moment, was all they had. 

He fills the kettle halfway with water from his canteen, tosses in the tea leaves, and sets it in the coals. Chamomile. His preferred stuff. He watches the kettle for a second, listening to it start to rumble. Then he glances at Etho. Etho glances up, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His eyes flick across the dark sky they both know will soon be gone, replaced with the sun and a bright, scary blue. Bdubs sighs.

“Mind if I join you?” Etho extends one of the mugs towards Bdubs, and Bdubs takes it gratefully, hands curling around the heat of the mug. Then Etho sinks to the ground on the other side of the campfire, legs crossed. He places his mask on the log next to him.

I love you, I made you tea.

Etho hasn’t taken off his mask, yet, but he’s just at the side of the campfire. His familiar, left-hand spot to Bdubs.

Bdubs fishes two cups out of his bag—the last bit of the set. As much as he would rather wooden ones, the metal ones will have to do. He lifts the kettle as it starts to boil, and pours out a cup of tea. It smells strong enough as Bdubs lifts it. Then, he holds it out for Etho to take. Etho finally looks over, and his eyebrows furrow.

He’s still wearing his mask.

Bdubs swears he doesn’t flinch.

There, he takes another small wooden cup from the satchel and turns back to the pot. The metal tin is lukewarm at best, and only a few long wisps of steam rise from the cup’s surface, but Etho cradles it in both hands. With a deliberate slowness, he turns to Bdubs, and extends his hands.

Etho takes the cup, and Bdubs feels their hands knock together awkwardly as he tries to grab it from him. He manages the last bit of a wheezing sounding laugh, and pretends not to notice Etho’s eyes squinting shut for a moment.

Etho sits with his tea for a moment, holding it in the cradle of his hands. Bdubs knows the motion—he saw it a long time ago, before Etho got comfortable with him. He lowers his eyes to the second cup, and Etho seems to relax after a second. He hears him sigh tiredly. Bdubs stares into his newly poured cup of tea and chews his bottom lip.

“Etho...” Bdubs says, still looking up into the sky. Etho turns his head to him, and in the light of the fire, he can just see the profile of his face, tipped back. Etho’s eyebrows raise questioningly.

“Yes?”

“I want to offer you a proposition.”

“Etho?” He asks. Etho hums. “I want to offer you a proposition.”

Etho laughs. The sound is warmer than he’s expecting.

“I can’t run away with you, B,” he says, and his tone stays light. Bdubs feels his stomach turn over—both in a good and bad way.

“Hey!” He swings out, trying to catch his arm and failing. “I never said…”

But that is what he was going to ask. Etho’s stolen the words right out of his mouth. He takes a sip of tea. The chamomile is bitter without honey.

“It’s not that I don’t want to…” Etho starts, and it sounds an awful lot like a rejection. Bdubs shakes his head. When he looks over at Etho, his leg bounces nervously. He’s not looking directly at Bdubs, but over his shoulder instead, eyes occasionally flicking over to his face. His mask is forgotten, hooked around his ear, and his mouth is a fine line. 

“You just can’t,” Bdubs finishes. “Look, I get it…I do, I promise.”

Etho sighs. It’s a weary sound Bdubs doesn’t hear often.

“I don’t think it’s good for us,” he manages, turning the cup in his hands. Luckily for Etho, Bdubs is watching his hands move, rather than studying the pinched expression on his face. 

“No, Etho, it’s fine,” Bdubs says, despite the way his chest hurts when he says it. “You don’t have to make excuses.”

Silence stretches between them. Bdubs watches Etho turn the cup, like he’s studying the contents, and Bdubs feels his chest start to stuff up with cotton. It’s a lingering silence, like a sticky heat, something tangible, like a thread. He wishes he could reach out and cut it with a knife, but Etho coughs, and the stillness goes back to being the sound of crickets and water lapping at the shore a few paces away. There’s a shock of cold to the air. The fire fights to warm them both.

“Bdubs,” Etho starts. The words are slow and deliberate. “You don’t take this seriously. You're just treating this like it's a game." 

Bdubs makes a noncommittal noise. "Well that's what you're supposed to do, isn't it?” He shrugs. “In the title and everything…"

Etho shakes his head. There’s that silence again. At least it’s shorter this time.

“I can’t come with you.” Etho doesn’t look at him. Bdubs shrugs again.

“‘S fine…at least finish your tea, will you?” The words are half-caught in his throat like he’s coughing them out. The dregs of his tea have gone cold in his cup, but he knocks back the contents and grimaces as he swallows. It’s better than nothing. Etho nods. He drinks slowly, even as Bdubs knows his tea has cooled, and even as the thread taut between them pulls at them both. Just one night, right?

“Just one night,” Etho says. Bdubs shuts his eyes.

“Right.”

Etho leans forward, still holding his cup. Then, he stands, brushing his free hand on his pants, rehooking his mask over the other ear. The expression Bdubs manages to catch is pained, tight, uncomfortable. Etho curls and uncurls his hands. 

“Thanks for the tea, ‘Dubs.” Etho sounds unsure, like he might be looking for something else.

“Sure thing.”

Etho’s back is turned to him, now, where he stands at the very edge of the flickering light the campfire gives. And he’s about to leave, and they’ll meet again, sure, and pretend, and play two different games, and then they’ll go home and pretend to play the same one. He blinks back tears, because he knows, he knows Etho’ll come back to him, eventually. It’s just a game. Staggering to his feet, he stumbles towards Etho out of time–tick, step, ti-step, tick, tick, step. Even with his fumbling, loud movement, Etho doesn’t flinch, staring down into his cup just emptied, rather than the woods promising resources, or the stars that no longer promise safety. 

He shuffles forward, to rest his forehead against Etho’s back. It fits just between his shoulder blades, pressing against the thin padding of Etho’s jacket. 

For a second, Bdubs rests, and it's as if nothing's changed at all. For a moment, he holds his breath, and feels as if time stops ticking. It's over, though, as soon as it starts. Just one day.

He reaches up, hardly daring to breathe, until his fingers just barely brush against the arm of Etho’s jacket, tracing along his elbow. Part of him wants to wrap his hand fully around, wants to tug Etho around to face him, to beg him to stay with him, even if it means sacrificing their time. He knows better. He knows Etho loves him, and he knows it’s not enough, not in the game. So instead he stays perfectly still, save for his shuddering, unsteady breaths. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and he means it. 

Etho’s own breaths are out of time, too. Just for a few seconds, but it’s enough. “I’ll see you after, ‘dubs.” 

Bdubs doesn’t watch Etho walk forward. But he certainly feels the pull and the cool air on his face instead of fabric. Behind him, the fire splutters back into nothing, and the creeping chill against his back sets him shivering. He drags his hands up and down his arms quickly, trying to warm himself, and rather than linger and stare at his failed proposition, he steps forward in the direction of his bed. Step, tick, step, tick, step, tick. 

[toxungen]

guard dog

[ilk-insolence]

Raph Is A Great Strategist

Numerous times in the show Raph has shown to have a preference for straightforwardly punching his problems away rather than think up a more complex solution. Like how his immediate fix to getting Mayhem out of the mirror in Mystic Library was to punch everything in the bathroom but the mirror. However, when Raph understands the situation requires more in depth strategy, he’s shown to be an incredibly capable tactician.

(long post ahead!)

In nearly all the plot heavy episodes like Shadow of Evil, Many Unhappy Returns, and the season finales, Raph gets moments where he’s highlighted for his strategic thinking. In Insane in the Mama Train, he’s the one who figures out which eyeball-button goes to the front car with the dark armor, because “‘it was the only button [the Foot Clan] didn’t want me to press!’” [21:05]. He’s also the one who came up with the scheme to defeat all the (known) combatants in the train, with Leo specifically attributing Raph as the deviser during their mind meld [19:46]. In Many Unhappy Returns, after spending a single night waylaying the Shredder, Raph formulated a plan using all the tricks the team learned, seamlessly transitioning the mystic collar Leo acquired into it [19:53], to defeating the Shredder. Additionally, he’s repeatedly called for a retreat during fights, like in Shadow of Evil, Shreddy or Not (Finale pt 2), and the movie, when he can tactically recognize that a battle couldn’t be won. Each time, the show/movie implied that that was the right call, for the family to lose the fight but win the war.

And it’s not just that Raph is good at strategy when he’s pushed to be more serious; the show characterizes him as passionate about creating plans, he enjoys doing it. Literally in the first episode, Mystic Mayhem, after the turtles’ initial plan failed of getting Splinter out of the living room to touch his Do-Not-Touch Cabinet, Raph immediately started devising a new plan that involved “ten chickens [and] a gallon of rubber cement” [9:35]. It was convoluted, sure, and they didn’t end up using it, but it was inventive and the opposite of reluctant. This is also shown in Bug Busters, where Raph planned out dousing Mikey in honey to attract the oozequitoes [2:52]; Snow Day, with the idea to freeze Ghost Bear like in Jupiter Jim Pluto Vacation 4; and Raph’s Ride-Along (and also Bad Hair Day), where Mind Raph created multiple schemes to get the criminals arrested. The show wouldn’t have made Raph be so creative with his plans if they were trying to characterize him as someone who didn’t like strategizing.

So does why Raph do stupid shit sometimes where he doesn’t think things through at all? Well, even though Raph is good at strategy and enjoys doing it, it’s clear his immediate impulse is still “punch the problem in the face”. In fact, all the turtle boys contain the fascinating dichotomy of being incredibly smart in some areas, and the dumbest teenagers alive in others. Just look at Donnie. It’s also how Raph is a loving protective older brother, and the guy who shoved Leo into a wall so hard he disappeared in one frame for shits and giggles (The Mutant Menace x). None of this means that Raph is bad at strategy though.

tldr: Yeah, Raph has a lot of dumb and, frankly, insane moments in the show, but he’s still an incredible tactician who’s plans consistently saved his family and sometimes the world. He's a great strategist.

[turtleblogatlast]

Big Mama must have lost some serious standing in the yokai underworld because it’s gotten apparent that she keeps being beaten by a small group of teenagers and the occasional rat man, and when it’s not them then she’s taking L’s from her own schemes working against her.

And in the ensuing power vacuum, the Hamatos accidentally become the most feared crime family known to all the big bads of the Hidden City.

After all, they’ve publicly outplayed Big Mama multiple times, a couple of them have taken out the heads of two of the most well known criminal organizations, one took out Heinous Green, two are responsible for the destruction of Witch Town, they have ties to both the infamous Baron Draxum and Captain Piel, they won the Doom Dome death race, they’re Battle Nexus Champions, they’ve displayed insane feats of power and defeated impossibly strong enemies, most of them have been to jail, and they regularly mingle with humans.

You can just imagine the notoriety they’d accumulate from word of mouth alone.

[aroaceleovaldez]

It's honestly wild to me that ToA went through so much trouble to emphasize the fact that Will did not magically fix all of Nico's problems and was explicitly not Nico's only doctor.

Only for TSATS to have Will fix all of Nico's problems and have Nico be entirely reliant on him the entire book and literally helpless without him and LITERALLY have Nico's problems be magically removed.

[stewyhosseini-bf]

they are literally brothers that's his little brother man!!!!!! you don't get it!!!!!!

[puppyeared]

meow

[cumulonimbus58]

this is sakusa kiyoomi he has 9 counts of attempted murder via eye offending clothes

Part 1 | Part 2

[mblue-art]

once again i was fueled with coffee (did not sleep the whole night) but this time i doodled college au to cope bc ofc i did (also did not feel like sleeping wooo)

[front-facing-pokemon]

[arthursfuckinghat]

"I was gonna say you're like a son to me.. but you're more than that."

"It ain't that complicated!"

How quickly that shoulder pat of comfort turned into a condescending one.

[marlynnofmany]

Not Special, Part Two

(Part One is here)

Oscar Tennyson grabbed his purchases and hurried after the rest of his crew. As usual, they were walking quickly on their longer legs and bellowing for him to keep up. The teeth-and-scales Mighty had no patience for human weaknesses. Of which there were many.

But, as Oscar had just learned, there were some strengths as well. And he couldn’t wait to show them.

He scampered onboard before the door shut, wondering if they would actually leave without him if he dawdled too long. Probably not — who would handle their finances and hunting permits? They’d have to hire someone else, because they certainly didn’t want to do it themselves. But he didn’t want to test that.

He had much better things to test. While the stark metal walls vibrated with the engine’s revs, Oscar wove between scaled biceps and tails to his own quarters. He pressed the panel by the door, which was oversized and cracked like all of them on this ship. The Mighty were not fans of fiddly little buttons or keys. Not when they could have panels big enough to punch, which only broke sometimes.

When Oscar stepped through and closed the door behind him, he felt immediately relieved. This was his private space to decorate as he chose, without worrying that someone would take things down or make fun of him. Ship rules were clear about personal quarters. Oscar’s fake orchids and real cactus made the room homey, along with more posters than the walls could hold. They spilled onto the ceiling, lining it with nature scenes from Earth, sports figures he admired, media announcements, and a good number of fluffy kittens. This was the one spot on the ship where he could feel comfortable, and he was making the most of it.

The bag of refueling station supplies crinkled as he set it on his small table to remove the contents. A high-end store might have had Waterwill bags that evaporated after a day, but this place used regular old plastic. Inside were food cubes, bottled water, and the purchase he was most excited about: six cans of very weak caffeine.

He scanned the label. It was just like the other human had said. Tall cans in dramatic colors, but not much of substance inside. At least, not as far as the average human was concerned.

Oscar couldn’t wait until dinner time.

Before then, he had a permit to submit and several other things to check. The ship should be on the way to Argosha, which was notorious for welcoming outsiders in to hunt the Dagger Birds that were giving everyone so much trouble, but he had better get their paperwork in order anyway.

He grabbed his tablet and left his safe haven, heading back into the public parts of the ship where he could face taunts from any direction. Really, these guys were just like his cousins. At least it was familiar.

Fending off tiresome conversation — “How’s the weather down there?” “Why don’t you ask your mother?” —he reached the bridge and found a corner to stand in. The captain and the pilot were arguing about where to land when they reached Argosha.

“The main site will have more people to admire our ship!”

“The new one is closer to the hunting grounds!”

“Dagger Birds are overrunning the place; everywhere is a hunting ground!”

“Do you want to pay the damages for shooting a building instead of a bird? We can take it all out of your pay, if you want!”

“Fine, but if we land on some overgrown hedge and the ship is scratched, you get to pay for that!”

“Fine!”

The pair of them stopped yelling and sat back in their seats as if nothing at all was the matter, because it wasn’t. Polite disagreements were always held at that volume.

In the brief lull while the pilot manipulated the controls with more force than a lesser console could withstand, Oscar spoke up. “I’d like to come too.”

Both dinosaurian heads turned to stare at him in surprise. “Why?” the captain demanded. “One kick from a bird, and you’re useless to us.”

“Thanks,” Oscar said flatly. “I’ll keep out of the way. I want to take photos of your fighting prowess; I should be able to sell them.”

Both of the Mighty preened at that, as he’d known they would. Ego was big here. The captain agreed, and Oscar didn’t let slip any hints of his secret plan. He just finished working on his tablet, then retreated to his quarters to practice Dagger Bird mating calls.

The air on Argosha was breathable but hot, at least this part of it. Oscar was ready with his Tool in his pocket. (He’d gotten out of the habit of calling it a phone, since the Mighty were right in that it did a near-infinite number of things.) (He still smirked quietly at the potential innuendo, but it was a conversation he didn’t really want to have with giant dinosaur aliens, so he kept that to himself.)

“This way,” announced the captain, pointing in what looked like an arbitrary direction into the wilderness. Whooping with the alien equivalent of testosterone, the crew raised their blasters and tromped off the landing pad with Oscar following close behind.

True to his word, he did take some pictures as he went. But he was waiting for his moment.

It didn’t take long to come. The shouting scared off all the wildlife, then the Mighty found a boulder to crouch behind and wait for the creatures to come back. They played a silent counting game to see who was best at guessing when they’d spot something worth killing.

Distant footsteps on leaves made them smack each other in excitement, but nothing appeared between the trees.

Now or never, Oscar thought. Knowing better than to startled his crewmates, he whispered, “Here, let me.” Then he took a deep breath and let loose with his best imitation of a Dagger Bird seeking a mate. “Woarrrrrrk!”

While the Mighty shushed him and wondered what he was doing and started to figure it out, an answering woarrk sounded from nearby.

Then another, then, three.

Oscar wondered if he’d overplayed his hand.

No less than five large and eager Dagger Birds crashed through the undergrowth at once, croaking and flapping, taking offense at each other’s presence. The Mighty all roared and leapt out, firing in every direction.

Oscar dashed for a tree he’d been eyeing, the one with lots of branches, and didn’t stop climbing until he was out of beak-stabbing range. He held tight to the trunk, catching his breath and watching the chaos. Belatedly, he remembered to take out his Tool and snap some photos.

This was actually a good angle. He got a great shot of the captain aiming down the throat of a wide-open beak, then another a split second later when the beak snapped shut inches from his head. Another of the engineer shooting one from beneath. Two of the pilot tackling the largest bird and sinking teeth into the back of its neck where it couldn’t reach to stab.

Other species did their trophy hunting from a distance. The Mighty liked the fight as much as the kill. Their blasters were set on a deliberately low setting, and their teeth were sharp.

Safe up in his tree, Oscar grimaced at how bloody things were getting down below. He yelled another bird call to distract the one about to spear the crewmate who’d been knocked to the ground, and he got a cheerful “Nice save by the little guy!” which was as close to a thank you as he was going to get. The crewmate scrambled up and bit off a chunk while the bird was distracted. A couple of the crew looked like they were bleeding their own blood, but most of it was coming from the Dagger Birds, which were just as stubborn as the stories had said. Not one of them ran off. The last to die fell on top of somebody, which just added laughter from the rest of the crew to the triumphant cheers.

Oscar took a picture of the bird being dragged off his disgraced crewmate. That photo he wouldn’t sell, but would keep as minor blackmail if he ever needed it. Sticking it up on the wall to remind everyone of this moment could be a valuable strategic move.

“We are the MIGHTY!” bellowed the captain, and the whole crew joined in with a deep-voiced cheer. Oscar climbed down to more approval than he’d gotten in the last month.

“Good work by our human here! Who knew you could do that?”

“That’s sure an efficient way to hunt!”

“We should bring you out every time. That was great.”

Oscar took the praise with pride, not bothering with modesty. That was just another word for weakness as far as these guys were concerned.

He managed to dodge when one of them made to slap him on the back with a large bloodstained hand, which just made them laugh more. Luckily the captain directed everybody to gather their kills for dragging back to the ship, rather than chasing the human and messing up his clothes.

Oscar took a position on the lowest branch of his tree, taking a couple more photos as the victorious hunters figured out how to get it all home. If anyone had asked Oscar, which they never would, he’d have suggested going back for a hovercart, or taking them one at a time. But of course they did neither.

Definitely the type to insist on carrying all the groceries in at once, Oscar thought as his crewmates strained to drag the giant carcasses through the undergrowth. He hopped down and kept pace out to the side where there was no blood on the leaves.

They finally made it back to the ship, doing nothing to clean up the smears of blood they left on the landing pad. Oscar darted off to his quarters as soon as the door opened. The rest of them could handle getting the birds into cryo storage, or chopped up right away, whichever they saw fit to do. The lowest-ranking one without significant injuries would be in charge of clearing the blood from the hallways, but only after they’d all taken a walk through the water-and-air blast chamber that passed for a shower here. It had always reminded Oscar of a car wash.

He kept to himself until dinner, sorting his photos while everyone else dealt with the catch and the mess and the injuries. The mechanical medsystem on this ship was just as efficient as the shower. They’d all be in decent shape by mealtime.

And mealtime after a successful hunt was also drinking time.

Oscar usually ate in his room, wanting nothing to do with the raucous meat-tearing and drunkenness. But today was different, because he’d learned something valuable about the liquid they were getting drunk off.

Oscar considered the cans he’d bought, then decided it would have more of an impact if he just took one of the communal supply. So instead he grabbed his new food cubes and a premade tin of spaghetti from his mini-cryo, and followed the sound of laughter.

They were already a little drunk when he got there. Sprawled across chairs with a table full of meat slabs spilling over the edges of the plates. And as expected, there were tall purple cans everywhere.

“Heyyyy, it’s the little guy! Let’s hear it for the human with the surprise talent! Maybe you’re not useless after all!”

“Thanks,” Oscar said as they pounded fists against anything in reach as a form of applause. He leaned against the open doorway and shuffled his belongings so he could get a fork in a meatball without setting down the food cubes. “That was pretty easy where I’m from. You guys really can’t do that?” He popped the meatball into his mouth, casual as you please.

The Mighty of course, thought this was funny, and took it in stride. More gulps from their drinks, more savage mouthfuls of food, and a few questions about the surely-excellent photos he’d gotten, which would make them all look amazing.

Oscar said he’d share the best ones. These would make fine decorations in their own quarters, and would probably be appreciated by the right paying audience.

Then came the moment he’d been waiting for. The captain raised his drink in another cheer, and somebody noticed that the human was the only one without a can in his hand.

“Get the human a warrior’s drink!”

“Bet you he passes out after one sip.”

“Nah, he can take at least two.”

Oscar smiled quietly. If they’d been paying attention, they might have changed their bets at that smile. He set his food down in the hallway to free his hands. When one muscular, taloned arm offered him a can of their most potent intoxicant, he took it. Oh so casually.

Then he whipped his head back and chugged the whole thing.

“Oh! Human’s gonna die!”

“I’m not cleaning up the puke!”

“What the supernova! There are better ways to go than that!”

“Somebody drag him to medical so we don’t have to find somebody else to do the boring stuff.”

“Yeah, he was just getting interesting.”

Oscar ignored all of them, giving the empty can a thoughtful look. It felt like the same thin aluminum he remembered from Earth. And if there was anything his cousins had taught him, it was the proper way to dispose of a beer can.

He dug his fingertips in and crushed it against his forehead. Then while the room reacted to that, he wiped off the drips and threw the can across the room. When it went into the trash on the first try, he was internally very glad, but he didn’t let it show. Instead he picked up his food and resumed eating. “What’s the big deal?” he said. “Is that what you guys have been getting drunk off? How quaint.”

“How in all the black holes—”

“No, he’s gonna fall over any second; just watch.”

“Quaint, that’s hilarious.”

“He’s totally bluffing. Just wait and see.”

Oscar was enjoying being the center of the crew’s attention today. He made a show of sweeping his eyes across the various cans in the room. “None of you has finished a can yet, I see. Was that supposed to be strong?”

There was widespread laughing and elbowing of each other, most of them still clearly convinced that the silly little human was going to throw up and die any second now.

So Oscar set down his food, walked over to the table, and chugged a second one. It was a bit more liquid than his stomach was really happy with, but that was a small price to pay for the uproar that followed.

They exclaimed; they renewed their bets; they drank from their own cans; they got visibly drunker and abandoned their bets.

Oscar leaned against the doorframe, eating spaghetti and food cubes.

After one particularly unsteady crewmate tripped onto the table full of meat, and someone pointed out that the human wasn’t wobbling at all, Oscar said, “You guys don’t know much about my species, do you? Half of what I eat would liquify your insides.” He held up a food cube, eyeing the different colored specks of all the ingredients that made it balanced for an omnivorous digestive system. He laughed. “You guys just eat meat. How boring!”

They only got drunker after that. Oscar was pretty sure that the nearest two wanted to pat him on the back, but the floor was moving too much for them to make it all the way to the doorway. Somebody offered him a raw slab of Dagger Bird. He turned it down with casual scorn.

“Nah, meat isn’t worth eating unless it’s passed through fire. That’s weakling meat you’ve got there. Get back to me when it’s cooked brown.”

They loved that. The party was an epic one, only winding down when most of the crew was too drunk to reach more drinks. Oscar demonstrated his steadiness by picking through the mess to drop his food containers in the trash, then move back to the door.

“Well, it’s been fun,” he said. “I’ll send in the med-drone to make sure nobody’s going to wake up dead. Let me know if you want to get your tails handed to you by any more Dagger Birds. I’ll call ‘em in close for you again.”

He got groggy approval to that.

Oscar left with a smile on his face, and a mild amount of caffeine in his blood. Maybe after stopping by the medcenter, he’d use that energy on some exercise. Thoughts of the run to the hunting grounds, and the way his crewmates had paced themselves, suggested that it wouldn’t take much practice for him to out-endurance the Mighty on the VR treadmill.

I wonder what else I can do?

~~~~~~~~~

By popular request, this is the sequel to the story I posted last week, which is part of the ongoing series of backstory for the main character in this book. (It started that way, at any rate, and turned into a sprawling series in its own right. Fun stuff.)

Patreon opens the day after tomorrow, on May 1st! There's a free tier and everything if you want to keep up without strings attached! And you can even request more delightful nonsense like this.

Onward!

[duskerot]

i disappear inside myself / my friends don't know it can't be helped

[Pure You - Nothing But Thieves]

[thankstothe]

MMM YEAH.

many interesting questions right here!

[decamarks]

“Suddenly, there was a light As brilliant as the Lord himself, Ushering me from the darkness With mighty arms that held me As I have never known”

[seiwas]

there is a very specific image in my head of early-mid 20’s iwaizumi hajime