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everamazingfe · 3 years

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A Close Shave

Fic Summary: After being picked up by the Urania and brought back to the Hephaestus station, Communications Officer Doug Eiffel tries to come to terms with his new look. It doesn’t go well. Luckily, Jacobi comes along to save the day.

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Words in this fic: 2082 Pairings: Doug Eiffel/Daniel Jacobi Warnings for this fic: Brief mentions of abuse

Notes: I got into Wolf 359 at the start of this year, and after relistening to it recently I decided to start writing some fics. I was pretty nervous about posting this, but I couldn't keep it in my drafts forever, so here it is! There’s also a link to this fic over on A O 3 as the source of this post! Click it to go read it over there, or you can search up the title or ‘everamazingfe’ on the site.

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There was something about him, Eiffel had decided within the first few seconds of seeing him for the first time. His face was mostly blank unless he had some sly comment to say, some sarcastic remark, and then that stony expression was replaced by something cockier, more smug. Sometimes there was a flash of softness to it, usually when Maxwell was speaking. But even when his face was at its blankest, there was a mischievous gleam in those bright green eyes of his.

Eiffel had never really noticed anyone’s eyes before. He didn’t know Minkowski’s eye color, or Lovelace’s for that matter. Hell, Eiffel didn’t even know if he knew his own eye color at this point, he avoided looking in mirrors at all costs. But for some reason, he’d noticed Jacobi’s. Not only had he noticed it, but he had committed it to memory as well.

For a moment, he was convinced he could picture them clearly as he stared out the window above his comms panel, making eye contact with them in the reflection of the glass. Somehow, he was able to picture his face with perfect clarity too, despite only seeing it a handful of times while he was in sound mind.

“Feel good to be home?” The Jacobi that Eiffel thought he was picturing in his mind so clearly spoke, startling him out of his trance and making him jump because it wasn’t his imagination, it was the real deal. It made sense, he’d never had a very visual imagination anyway, but there was always hope for a change of mind. “Wow, I didn’t think I was all that scary, Officer Eiffel.”

“You’re not,” he grumbled with a huff of indignation, grabbing the edge of his station and pulling himself back to it, hooking his knees beneath it to keep himself there. “I just… Got lost in thought.”

“You? Capable of thought? Now that’s something that wasn’t included in your file.” There it was, that stupid sly grin that Jacobi always had when he thought he was being oh-so-clever. Usually, he was. But that joke had become played out within the first month on the station.

Eiffel responded with mock laughter, trying to ignore the way that comment made an invisible knife twist in his chest. After all he’d done, no one thought he was good at anything. What a surprise. But he didn’t have time to unpack all of that right then. “Get some new material, I’ve heard it all before,” he drawled, hoping he looked as bored as he sounded. “I’m a slacker, I’m an idiot, I’m a motormouth. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Your shoe’s untied.”

Maybe there was some truth to one of those three things, because like the idiot he was, Eiffel had that brief moment of panic everyone had when someone told them that their shoe was untied, or their fly was down, or there was something on their shirt. And because of that panic, he looked down. It had completely slipped his mind that he hadn’t even worn shoes in the two (Three? Did those hundred days hurtling through space count? He didn’t know.) years he had been on the Hephaestus. “Oh, goddammit!” He groaned as he stared down at his socked feet in dismay, trying to tune out the cackling laughter Jacobi let out behind him that sent him halfway across the room.

“You’re also gullible, apparently!” He let himself continue his path across the room so he could push off the back wall, still in a fit of giggles as he sailed back to the console. “You actually fell for it! I can’t believe it! I’ve never gotten anyone with that before.” Jacobi’s grin was bigger than it had ever been, and he wiped the tears from his eyes before they wreaked havoc on the station’s internal systems. Maxwell was too smart to fall for a simple trick like that, and Kepler… Well, Kepler didn’t like being pranked.

Eiffel grumbled something incoherently, waiting patiently for Jacobi to get over himself before he spoke again. “Was there a real reason you came down here?”

“No, not really. Kepler’s giving Minkowski an orientation for her new role and then he needed to discuss… something with Hilbert, I don’t even wanna know. And Ala- Maxwell’s busy with Hera. So, I was bored.”

“What about Lovelace?”

“Dunno. Didn’t ask. Didn’t care.”

“Right… So you came to interrupt my very important work?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Lucky me.”

“Lucky you.” Jacobi made himself comfortable, lounging in the free-floating bliss that was zero-g as Eiffel pretended to look busy, though his eyes were fixed on the reflection of the man in the glass. The bright light of Wolf 359 backlit him beautifully, and the color in the star seemed to desaturate everything else in the reflection, except for those damn eyes.

Eiffel let out a sigh, bringing a hand up to run it through his hair, his fingers brushing through the empty space where his long curls used to be. He let out a frustrated growl, moving his hand up to his scalp. The little hair that was left was scraggly and damaged as hell. It was coarse and patchy, and it scratched his hand uncomfortably when he ran his hand over it. “Actually. I have an idea of something we can do.” He turned around to look at the real Jacobi, who arched an eyebrow in silent encouragement for him to go on. “Come with me.”

He’d had his head shaved a handful of times, and it was usually under duress. The first time was as a punishment for getting gum stuck in it, even though he hadn’t been the one to put gum there, and it would’ve been much easier to just cut the chunk out rather than shave his whole head. The second time had been when he’d joined the military. This would make number three, but this time it was necessary, despite the fact that his goal had really been to never cut his hair again. All that length had meant a lot to him, it meant that he had control over something in his life, finally, but the cryofreeze had, apparently, had other plans for it.

Additionally, most of the shaving kits, particularly their razors, had been dismantled for Minkowski’s crusade against Blessie. God only knew where all of those had ended up, or if they were still even on the station, but he knew there was one that was still safely tucked away.

“Wow, Eiffel. I thought you would’ve liked to wine and dine your dates before bringing them home. You always struck me as more of a gentleman than that.”

“Shut up.” He rooted around in his locker, letting various pieces of uniform and whatever else had been shoved in there float freely around them as he did so. Most of it was contraband that he should’ve been more careful about getting seen, but he was too focused. Once he found the kit, he let out a soft, ‘a ha!’ And underhand tossed it to Jacobi. “You’re shaving my head.”

For once, Jacobi didn’t have some sort of sarcastic remark to make in response. He was just confused. “Sorry?”

“I can’t… I can’t stand it being like this. I can’t. And it’ll never grow back right with the ends this damaged, and I don’t really feel like cutting myself a thousand times in the process. So you’re doing it for me.” He tried to make his voice sound commanding, authoritative, but instead he just sounded desperate, irritated, upset. His hair meant so much to him, but he could stand to be without it for a little bit. He’d done it before, he could do it again. What he couldn’t stand was the sorry excuse for hair that he’d been left with.

“You don’t think I’d use the razor to kill you? It’d be the perfect opportunity.”

“If you wanted to kill me, you could’ve done it back on the Urania when I was half dead.”

“You hadn’t annoyed me as much back then.”

“I mean, if you really want to, I guess you can, but… I’d really just like my head shaved, please.”

A dramatic sigh filled the silence, and then: “Ugh, fine. But you owe me.”

That was good enough for Eiffel, and he trailed along behind Jacobi to the Hephaestus’ bathroom. Gravity was a little different in there, as in it was actually present in order to make showering and other general acts of hygiene (that Eiffel didn’t really partake in) a little easier. So he was able to sit on the counter and stare their reflections down as Jacobi stood behind him, setting the kit beside him on the counter.

Jacobi wasn’t a friend, not by a longshot. In Minkowski’s book, he was part of ‘the enemy.’ But they’d spent a decent amount of time together after he’d been picked up by the Urania, and even a little bit of time before that over the comms. Someone had to keep in touch with him and keep up-to-date on his coordinates so the ship could get a lock on his location, and Kepler had felt like that work was beneath the highly intellectual minds of himself and Maxwell, so it had fallen to Jacobi. And Eiffel hadn’t minded, because beneath all the smart remarks, the guy was alright to talk to. A little stilted, maybe, but that wasn’t anything he couldn’t work with. It was better on the Urania. Easier, at least, because Jacobi’s body language did a lot of the talking for him. Once again, helping Eiffel was deemed grunt work, so Jacobi had been the one stuck tending to his wounds, helping him get around when he was too weak to even keep his eyes open, and adjust to eating again after not doing it for a hundred days (though with all of the substitutes for rations Hilbert dared to call food, one could argue it had been even longer since he’d really eaten).

Long story short, Eiffel liked Jacobi to some degree. The guy was alright in his book, and he was sure the feeling was mutual, because he could’ve easily said no, or done a hackjob of it, or killed him. But instead, he took his time and made sure that he didn’t miss any spots, his other hand resting gently on Eiffel’s head to keep it steady despite all the fidgeting.

After the first pass, Eiffel moved to get off the counter, to turn around and thank Jacobi, but a firm hand on his shoulder pushed him back down.

“I gotta go again, make sure I didn’t miss a spot. It looked awful before, but it’ll look even worse if there’s just a tiny patch with a few hairs left.”

Eiffel furrowed his eyebrows together, but nodded and got comfortable again. As comfortable as he could, at least. His ass was already numb and the feeling was starting to spread down to his legs, but hopefully the second pass would go quicker.

And it did, kind of. Jacobi didn’t need to clean the hair from the razor as often because there was barely any left, but he still took that same slow and gentle care as he had the first time. When he was done, he wiped off the leftover shaving cream with a nearby towel, smiling genuinely as Eiffel lifted a hand to feel over his scalp. “Well? How does it feel?”

“It feels great,” he answered earnestly, laughing in relief. He didn’t hate the way his reflection looked anymore, and now he could actually believe everyone when they told him to pull it together because it would grow back eventually. Hopefully this made the process easier. His eyes drifted to Jacobi’s in the mirror, mirroring that same smile. “Thank you... I really do owe you.”

“Yeah, you do.” The genuine smile faded to his usual cocky grin, and Eiffel threw the towel at him. It hit him square in the face, but it didn’t wipe away that look. “But… You’re welcome.” He offered him a hand to help him off the counter, steadying him with a chuckle when he nearly lost his balance. “Gravity that hard on you, Doug?”

“No! It’s just… That counter was not very comfortable to sit for that long on. And yeah, I guess gravity’s pretty hard to adjust to too.”

“Well then we’d better get you back to the lazy embrace of zero-g.”

#wolf 359 #w359 #daniel jacobi #doug eiffel #jacoffel #fic #my fic #my writing #everamazingfe #mini episode #oneshot

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pigeontheoneandonly · 4 years

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Routine

For @autodiscothings, whom I told I would write this thing about eleven million years ago.

The droning buzz of a hairdryer woke Nathaly Shepard from a sound sleep.

It took a solid minute to identify what she was hearing. Another to raise her bleary eyes to the bedside clock. 0530. Though an early riser by nature, it had been a very long night, they were in port, and she was relishing the thought of sleeping in, tucked warm into her own bed.

She rolled onto her back, and winced at a twinge in her hip. Yes, a long and, ah, energetic night, and she had receipts to prove it. Ones that seemed to get longer as she got older. Shepard rubbed her eyes, old mascara flaking onto her fingertips, and reached out her arm across the sheets, fully intending to cuddle into Kaidan and go back to sleep.

And kept reaching, all the way to the far edge of the mattress. Then patted the bedding, and finally looked up towards the bathroom. Right. She could hear the hairdryer, ergo someone was using a hairdryer, and the only candidate was her intended body pillow. Not that this answer made any more sense. For all his years in the service and the early mornings that implied, she’d learned to schedule briefings after nine if she wanted any sense out of him.

Stifling a yawn, she dragged herself to sitting, shivering in the cold canned air of the ship. Wrapped the duvet around her shoulders like a cape and wandered to the coffee maker. For a minute she made a bleary contemplation of the work required to load the machine, before deciding yesterday’s grounds still had some life in them and simply pressed start.

The hairdryer cut out. Her ears rang in the sudden silence. God, that thing was loud. But as her hearing ramped back up into normal range, she detected another sound coming from the bathroom. Whistling?

Shepard shuffled across the cabin. Yes, definitely a whistle, off-key and a semblance of the same song they heard last night leaving Apollo’s. She pressed her hand to the door’s haptic pad and it zipped open.

Kaidan stopped mid-bar and flashed her a smile. Shirtless, a towel wrapped around his hips. “Morning.”

Ordinarily she might have been distracted. But instead, she stared in dismay at the dozen-odd tubes, canisters, and combs littering her sink. “What is all… this?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t remember?”

At the shake of her head, he continued, “We were half asleep. I said it would be hard to go back to a hot bunk after sleeping in the lap of luxury.” Gesturing vaguely at her cabin. “And you said to hell with that, and dragged us downstairs to collect my stuff. I think you woke up half the crew scrounging around.”

A fuzzy memory of doing exactly that trickled back. Exhausted Nathaly didn’t typically look after her interests quiet that well. “I guess that’s one awkward announcement we were spared. But it doesn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

She picked up a jar. “What is all this stuff?”

He gave it a glance. “That one’s pomade.”

“Ok.” Then it dawned on her, like an ancient horror rising from the sea. “These aren’t all hair care products… are they?”

Hoping against every instinct and the evidence of her own eyes the answer was no.

Kaidan considered the array. “Yeah. I mean, I always have to pick and choose to meet baggage allowance on deployment, and it’s been hard to find anything since the war started, but we make do.” Then he got a look at her face. “What?”

Shepard tread carefully. “You’ve collected quite a few.”

“Well, you must have your own, right? Since you lost most of your hair.”

That was delicately put. Cerberus had shaved off eleven years of growth to better access her scalp, and in a little over a year it felt like it’d barely grown out at all. Especially because she had to trim it to keep it healthy. Impulsively buzzing off the sides a few months after being resurrected hadn’t helped, either. “I’m more of a wash and wear type.”

An expression of sudden understanding came over his face, a major mystery enlightened. “You can’t do that with short hair. Especially not with all of it growing out of the top like that.”

“You can’t?”

“No.” More than a bit of a suppressed chuckle behind that. “Come here.”

He pulled her into the bathroom. She let the duvet fall off before it dragged through the puddle of water from his shower, and let Kaidan position her in front of the mirror. He pressed his hand into her head, palm tickling over the buzzed portion above her ear. “See how it’s sticking up here?”

The left side stood up perpendicular to her skull, a frozen tidal wave of red brushing up against his fingers. “So? It’ll go down when I shower.”

“Which will only dry it into new and stranger patterns.” His fingers combed through it with a fussiness that bordered on professional. “Let me show you an easy fix. If you hate it, you can always wash it out.”

She heaved a sigh. But his hands felt good against her scalp. “Fine.”

“Great.” He seized a spray bottle.

A realization came over her. “You’ve wanted to do this for years, haven’t you.”

“Well…” He tilted his head back and forth. “I always assumed you were rushed in the mornings. You get up so early. I never realized you weren’t doing anything at all.”

Kaidan said this as if it were a great offense. Which, considering his array of products, maybe it was. She switched topics as he started to spray, lifting her hair to get at the roots. “You know, it just occurred to me. All these years and we’ve never done this. The whole morning routine thing.”

“Gender-segregated bathrooms will get you every time.” He scrutinized his work.

“I always thought hairspray came last.”

“It’s not—” Flabbergasted. “Don’t tell me you’ve been in the navy this long and you’ve never heard of dry shampoo.”

Shepard snorted and leaned forward on the counter. “Dry shampoo sounds like a wet sandwich. Useless in every way.”

“It absorbs the grease.”

“So, now I’ve got a head full of greasy powder instead.”

He rolled his eyes. “Is it possible for you to maybe curb the cynicism until I’m finished?”

This was not what she was looking for at the crack of dawn. It was particularly not what she was looking for this morning. But they’d come this far, so she might as well let him finish. “If it comes out weird, you know I’ll never let you live it down.”

“A little confidence, please.” But he smirked as he said it, and reached for another bottle. The label had smudged. He answered her unspoken question. “Frizz control.”

She tilted her head to accommodate his motion. “Feels oily.”

“It won’t when I’ve got it worked in all the way.” His hands roamed her hair. This ordeal felt as intimate as it did awkward. Shepard had no idea which way to tip, emotionally. Kaidan held her hostage by the roots. All she could do was wait for it to be over.

Sure enough, as he combed the serum through, it became weightless on her hair—not that Shepard could see any difference in how it looked. But Kaidan was just getting started. “Great. Now the big one.”

Her eyes widened as he pumped an entire ocean of white foam into his palm. “That’s way too much—”

“Trust me.”

She watched it go into her hair. “It looks like one of those idiot homemade shampoos. Like I’ve got egg whites in my hair.”

Kaidan turned her around, so they were face to face, and she couldn’t see the mirror. “Trust me.”

Shepard sighed and gave up all resistance. His eyes were on her hair. Hers fixed on his mouth, watching it thin and thicken as he worked, chewing it just the slightest bit when he got to a tricky part. She hated standing silent like this. Nowhere to go, nothing to do, because sometimes it felt like she’d missed him so much that she missed him still, now, even though he was here, right in front of her. Like missing him was a groove worn down in her emotional treadmill. A residual reflex. Or like the metallic ghost of adrenaline in her mouth after she won an unexpected fight, lingering on after its purpose was spent.

All those things she didn’t want to remember came back when there wasn’t anything to say or do but wait. The sound of his helmet hitting the shuttle frame on Mars. How pale he got on the flight to the Citadel afterwards. Storming the Presidium in pursuit of Kai Leng, and hearing Bailey say over the comm all the Council’s guards are dead.

Something betrayed her, a flicker in her face, a slight stiffening of her posture, because Kaidan paused and lifted her chin with only slightly sticky fingertips. “You ok?”

“I’m fine.” She forced an easy smile, reassuring. “I’m just… really happy you’re here.”

“Hmm.” By all appearances, he didn’t totally buy it, but he only leaned forward and planted a light kiss on her mouth. Then he made a few final adjustments, and spun her around. “Ta-da.”

Shepard blinked. Her hand rose without any conscious thought and stopped bare millimeters from her hair. “Can I touch it?”

“It’d be a piss-poor job if you couldn’t.”

Her fingers ran gently through the strands. “It’s so soft.”

“Alcohol-free mousse is the way to go.” He watched her in the mirror.

“It looks…” Intentional. It had shape, and volume, more organized than natural thickness. Not just a clump of red falling into her eyes. “It’ll do.”

His face split into a smug grin. Her glance was withering. “Don’t think I’m going to let you do this every day.”

“Nah. You’ll be doing it by yourself within a week.” Then he laughed as she gave him a shove. “Wanna bet?”

Shepard gave herself another look. Very grudging. “Well. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to do it like this, just sometimes. Once in a while.”

He put his arms around her, kissed her cheek, and rested his chin on her shoulder. “Despite what you’ve heard, change can be good.”

Her hand cupped his cheek, as she watched them together in the mirror, ridiculously domestic. Together. “There’s at least one I could definitely get used to.”

His answering smile reached his eyes, and made it clear he knew she wasn’t talking about hair.

#mass effect #nathaly shepard #kaidan alenko #shenko #fanfiction #fshenko #ME3 #fluff #with just a drop of angst #my spouse owns more hair care products than me #despite the fact that he's had long hair for maybe three years and i've worn it this way most of my life #write what you know 👍

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jaggedwolf · 5 years

Text

TSCOSI Ficlets #2

Not being from the US

"So, Jeeter, what'd you learn this week?" Arkady plopped into the seat opposite him, stealing one of his fries. "The horrors of Fahrenheit?"

"Man, that was day one of international student orientation. We're on to way more advanced terrors now." Brian considered a token protest at the fry-theft. Eh, he'd get her back when she got dessert.

Arkady shrugged off her backpack. "Why do you even bother still going?"

"It's mandatory."

"Like you give a crap about that."

"Gotta be up to date with all these cultural differences."

"You're Canadian."

"Hey man-"

"And you told me you spent every summer in the States, anyway," Arkady said, looking suspiciously at him. Well, she tended to look suspiciously at a lot of things, so it wasn't the worst sign. "There's no reason for you to subject yourself to-"

A wide grin crossed Arkady's face. Oh no. "Wait, they're also an international student, right?"

"Maybe," said Brian defensively.

"Now, remind me what you said about their cheekbones?" Arkady's voice sounded even more delighted.

Brian pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, and buried his head in his arms on the table. His voice muffled, he said "Drinking with you was a mistake."

"I for one, could not be happier that Tripathi took pity on a couple of freshmen and did us that favor."

Brian groaned. Three months into the school year and he still didn't understand how or when Arkady and him became friends.

"Should have guessed you'd be a poetic drunk." Arkady clapped him on the back. "Woah, speaking of-"

She tugged his sweatshirt. Brian reluctantly looked up, following her gaze to find the subject of their discussion striding towards them.

Yep, Krejjh looked about as handsome as they always did. That was fine. Their pace slowed as they approached the table. "Hey, it's Brian, right?"

"That's him," chimed in Arkady. "And I'm going to get some actual food now instead of skimming off Jeeter's"

She abruptly stood up and left. Krejjh seemed startled by her departure and asked "Is this a bad time?"

They sounded oddly hesitant, not at all like how Brian had heard them speak with their friends.

"Nope." Brian shoved back his hood. "Arkady's just like that. Do you want a fry?"

Holding your hand in mine

Arkady's always appreciated privacy. Couple of decades of sleeping in crowded rooms will do that to you. Being alone can be nice.

Being alone sucks a hell of a lot more when you're dying in one of Zone Z's dim-lit hallways.

Asshole shot her and her comms before she took care of him, and she supposes she'll only have his body for company as blood spurts out from under her collarbone. The instinctive pressured she applies slows it down. Not quick enough. He'd picked his shot well.

It's a waiting game now. She might as well distract herself. After all, hiding from the world in foolish dreams is a talent she's cultivated.

It's easy to paint a picture, as the world becomes fuzzy. No one could fault her for it. If someone wants to, she's not exactly going to be around to take their complaints. She squeezes her eyes shut. Folds herself smaller into the corner. Presses the heel of her right hand harder into the bleeding wound. Ignores how slick it feels. She's going to lose this fight, but like hell she's not clinging on all the way down, fingernails dug deep into life.

Back to the imagining.

What does she want, in these final moments?

What doesn't she want, is the better question. Her dreams had always been too stupidly big for reality. And yet. This is...this is a better death than she ever thought she'd get. Not much more to ask for. To her mind's rendering of the scene, she only adds a couple of selfish touches.

Long, soft fingers curl over the back of her right hand. They push insistently, added pressure to the wound, steadily, as if confident they can fix this. Fingers she's seen idly drum the table in the mess hall, fingers she's seen wrapped around a hypodermic syringe, fingers she felt trail through her hair just this morning. A presence that refuses to leave.

A rougher palm meets that of her left hand. The resulting grip is firm. Gentle. The calluses have a different contour from her own. Earned from building, where hers were made from breaking. They press against each other in a way that feels right anyway. Feels right, like twice-offered new beginnings. And even now, offering more.

It's good, Arkady thinks, that this is how it goes. Her alone.

Wouldn't be fair to them any other way.

Lesbian gaze

The ship turns out to be a monstrous patchwork, but Tripathi promises it'll fly, so she busies herself with staring at her new ID card. Arkady Patel. The card is new, nothing like the faded, scratched-up one in her back pocket. She'd gotten that one when she enlisted, been excited as hell about it, actually.

"Hey, Arkady?" asks Tripathi, sounding apologetic and swiveling the pilot's seat. "Could you check the local channels to see if they're tracking us?" Tripathi nods her head towards one of the panels.

She grunts in affirmative, shoves the ID card into a pocket and makes herself useful. She's mostly blocked out the pain. The channels are clear, takeoff goes without a hitch, and an hour later, they're as free as can be.

She could fish out that ID card again. There's a lot of people she's imagined being. Arkady Patel's the first one she actually will. If the IGR doesn't end up finding them first, that is. But that's not the name echoing in her head.

That would be Sana Tripathi.

Who's busy piloting, which means she can get away with looking her over. Tripathi's hair had been longer back on Cresswin, a single black braid that moved with her head through with every point made in those meetings snuck into. Now, Tripathi's hair isn't even shoulder-length. Nice and practical. Grey roots too. Tripathi seemed a little young for that. Not that she actually knew the woman's age, come to think of it.

There was a lot she didn't know about Tripathi. Maybe less if she counted Cresswin, and maybe she should, since Cresswin's what landed her here but - people changed. From time. From the war. From working a shitty job day-after-day. Easy enough to slip on an old skin if it got you a desperately needed crew member.

Not that it matters. She isn't looking for the noble, non-existent hero her teenage self had fantasized about. Now that she's on the IGR's bad side, she's pretty fucking good with settling for a place to sleep and food to eat. She can wait this out. See who Tripathi ends up being, and see if Tripathi figures out she isn't worth the trust.

Till then, she'll keep an eye on her new boss.

Low Expectations

It's ludicrous, he thinks, how exposed he feels without his eyepatch. Even more so when Violet's gloved fingers rest on his skin where the edges of the eyepatch would have. No matter. The feeling is a sign he has let himself become too comfortable. He's been far more exposed.

"Can you open the eyelid?" asks Violet.

There's that familiar half-second where he expects his range of vision to expand, and it grates on him, that his body has not yet adapted to its new reality. He opens his eyelid as wide as he can.

If Violet is perturbed by the sight of an empty eye socket, she doesn't show it. Her head comes closer to inspect it, fingers shifting slightly along his skin, and he tilts his face towards her to make it easier.

"Thanks," mutters Violet.

His hands start to tremble.

They're not in Violet's line of sight. He has the time to compensate, and the freedom to move his hands, so as carefully as he can manage, he grips his knees. He forces himself to start speaking, informing Violet of the current status of his eye socket and how the IGR had healed it.

It's no challenge to keep his face still. Whatever they do could only hurt more with unexpected head movements, they'd told him.

Eventually, Violet pulls back. Her fingers leave his face. Before he can even take a breath of relief, Violet pauses midway through turning to grab something, a concerned look on her face. "Park, you're shaking."

"I-" When Park looks down, he sees that his knees have joined his hands in trembling uncontrollably. His mind blanks. "My apologies," he acknowledges, "it shouldn't affect the checkup."

"What?"

He'd given an uninformative answer. Needed a better explanation. "My head. It shouldn't affect my head, so-"

"Park," interrupts Violet quietly, a slow frown taking over her face, "I think we're done for today."

Wooing with sharp-edged gifts

As soon as Arkady was unhorsed for the last time, and her opponent declared the victor, Sana appeared out of nowhere to act as her crutch.

"You should be escorting Rumor, not me," Arkady pointed out, her helmet weighing down her free hand. Her left foot throbbed when she put any weight on it. "Who knows what she'll get up to without your supervision?"

Sana huffed, her armor clanging against Arkady's. "I could say the same about you. Besides, Krejjh is handling her fine."

Sure enough, a glance behind revealed Krejjh eagerly chattering away to Sana's steed. They swung a leg over to ride even that short distance to the stables.

"Showoff," muttered Arkady. "Krejjh bribes your horse with too many sugar cubes."

"Be that as it may," continued Sana, "I'm afraid there'll be no escaping the medical tent today. It's tournament day! We're safe, you need to get your leg taken care of, and if something happens you'll have the simple pleasure of saying 'I told you so', won't you?"

"It's not a pleasure."

Sana ignored her, holding up a flap of the tent they'd arrived at for Arkady to hop under. She did so, making sure to look as annoyed as possibly, and Sana followed, supporting Arkady over to the nearest cot...where Violet stood expectantly.

Sana flashed a quick grin at Arkady. "You know what, Kady, you're right, I should go check on Rumor. Just remember you did your best out there." With that, Sana nodded at Violet and exited the tent so quickly it was as if she were never there.

Arkady frowned at Violet. "Liu. Wasn't your shift yesterday?"

Looking amused, Violet replied. "They're hardly going to complain about an extra hand. Let's get that armor off your leg."

They did. Arkady winced the whole time, cursing herself for her choices. Jousting, really? Arkady would have fared better in the melee, her own two feet and her weapon of choice to depend on.

They could hear cheering from the lists from even inside the tent. Another bout ended, then. Violet examined Arkady's foot, fingers pressing various spots around the swollen ankle.

As if reading her mind, Violet asked, "Why the joust?"

Embarrassed, Arkady shot back, "You mean, why'd I pick something I'm so piss-poor at?"

"You won your first two bouts," said Violet mildly.

Oh. She'd been watching.

Of course she'd been watching, how else would she have known to come to this very tent? Even Sana's encouragement didn't extend quite that far.

Violet continued, "You've never mentioned it when talking about other tournaments."

The simple, foolish answer was the smallest prize the winners received. A single rose, fresh from the royal garden, to be presented to whoever they chose.

The melee was an ugly, crowded thing. It was not the melee's rose lauded in those songs she'd loved as a child, snatches of music caught in taverns and lyrics sung in street games, and it was not the melee's rose she had wanted to give to Violet. It was not the melee she had wanted Violet to see her fight in.

It was not after the melee she had wanted to broach a topic she had thought unbroachable.

Yet it was the ugly things in life that Arkady was good for, and so she was left here with empty hands and another injury.

Arkady half-smiled at Violet. "Thought I'd try something new."

"I...don't think that's the whole answer," said Violet, but she didn't press as she normally would have. She turned to her satchel, retrieving a cloth bundle and unwrapping it to reveal a dagger, sheathed in dark leather. It was good work, deceptively simple. She wondered how much coin it had cost.

Violet took a deep breath and then spoke slowly. "You probably haven't been counting the days but, um, it's been a year since you saved me from that ambush. A little less than that since you cleared my name."

Had it been that long? Had it been that short?

Violet pulled the dagger out of the sheath. The dagger's edges gleamed in the snatches of sunlight filtering into the tent, but Arkady only had eyes for the sharpening of Violet's gaze.

"You told me, once, that I didn't know what you'd done. What you'd do." Violet sheathed the dagger. "I do now."

She offered out the dagger, pale fingers around the sheathed portion of it, her face tentative yet determined. "A gift. A thank-you. You don't"-A short laugh escaped Violet-"Refuse it if you will. I just thought I ought to say it."

"I-" For once, Arkady didn't have the words to respond.

Instead, she took the dagger, and let the slowly growing smile on Violet's face be answer enough for them both.

#ficlets #tscosi #tscosi ficlets #arkady patel #the ficlets keep happening idk #arkady and brian #arkady and sana #violet and park #arkady and violet

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kinsbin · 6 years

Text

Camera Shy

Title: Camera Shy Word Count: 2098 Ship: Lance/Alexys [Canon/Self Insert]

Summary: Lance convinces Alexys to go on her first trip with the Grave Encounters crew, not telling her that he plans to make sure she’s front and center on the show with him as his girlfriend. He’s sure she’ll get the hang of it, however.

Author’s Note: A writing comm for @bad-blue-moon-rising! They let me pick the prompt so I did a piece based off of this cute artwork by @morphinetune-art! Alexys ships are the most fun ships to write hands down I had fun! ;u;

It was nerve wracking, to say the least.

Despite their dating for a solid few months now, each one as exciting and amusing as the last one even with specific challenges completely related to Lance being...well...Lance, Alexys hadn’t actually seen the camera crew of Grave Encounters in action. Sure, she had sat down in their now shared apartment and listened to Lance talk excitedly about adventure after adventure, describing each event in the way only a true storyteller could manage. He enraptured her with his words, his smile and passion burning through like the sun each time he set up a scene for her to grow immersed in. It was like she was there half of the time, feeling the cold air of an abandoned factory on her skin or jumping at the sound of a sudden door slamming without their permission in the depths of an old mental asylum. If ghost hunting stopped working out, Alexys had mused at some point within her mind, then he could always go into story telling or authoring.

The end of one of his more intense stories crescendoed between them as they sat together on their couch, cups of warm coffee between their hands as they shared the morning together. Alexys paused to take a short sip of the sweetened beverage between her hands, relishing the warmth of it in comparison to the cold day outside. A smile wet her lips as she licked them, catching Lance’s attention as he watched her movements, always one to be fascinated by how she could look so...so beautiful by just doing simple tasks like drinking coffee. Was that a sign he was seriously in love? He was going with that it was a sign he was seriously in love.

“That sounded like such a fucking wild time,” Alexys laughed after swallowing her coffee, “I wish I could have been there and gone with you.”

The indication made Lance sit up, his eyes wide and hopeful as he forgot to think about his next words before he spoke them out loud:

“Would you like to?”

“Would I like to what?”

“Come with me next time,” He reached out to hold one of her hands in his own excitedly, “Come on the show with me! We’re exploring a six hundred year old haunted farm in the countryside. You should come and be part of the team! Add some commentary, spice it up! It’d be great!”

The excitement to his tone was infectious, helping to alleviate some of the growing anxiety in Alexys’ heart and replace it with sets of her own excitement as she sat up, blue eyes boring into her boyfriend’s with a matching smile that grew due to seeing his.

“Do you really mean it? That sounds so badass, I want to see a creepy abandoned farm. Can I actually come with you guys this time?”

“Hell yeah!” Lance laughed, putting his coffee down and leaning over to hug Alexys into his arms, bringing her into a long kiss that warmed her soul much more than the beverage in her grip ever could, “It’ll be fucking perfect. I’ll introduce you and everything! You’ll do great, babe.”

The conversation happened days ago before being followed up by a whirlwind of preparations. Lance helped talk her through what she would need. Alexys packed up a single duffle bag of overnight supplies to hold together, enough room left for in case the crew needed someone to hold extra equipment that they could not, and with her sneakers on and hoodie flung over her body she had been ready to join them in the upcoming episode.

It was only then that the nerves had started to set in. Sitting in the front seat of Lance’s car, she could feel her hands beginning to pick at one another, nails being brought up to her lips as she bit at the already shortened extensions. What if she messed up? There was a high chance that the fans of the show would react with hostility towards her or say that she was an unwelcome addition to the group as a whole. The what ifs attacked at the back of her brain, crashing together like a percussion of worry that overflowed her mind and burned at the inside of her stomach like lava. Maybe this was a bad idea, she had begun to think in terror, maybe-

A hand reached out, touching her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. Alexys yelped, the soft ‘eep’ echoing in the otherwise quiet car as she turned to see what had happened. Lance’s hand rested on her shoulder. She followed it up his arm and to his face, where he gave her a soft and rather amused sort of look that sent a blush warming up her cheeks. With the sunlight of the day straining through the car window, hitting the side of his face and illuminating it, he looked incredibly handsome. A stupid, loud, handsome face she wanted to both poke and kiss all at once. She focused quickly though as he leaned over and pressed a soft kiss on her cheek before focusing back on driving.

“You’re worrying too much,” He spoke with a hum, “You’re going to do great and everyone is going to fucking love you.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well, because, I fucking love you. And I’m the host of the show, right? So whatever I say goes either way.”

“That’s now how it works!” Alexys laughed as she smacked his shoulder, earning a chuckle from the man as he reached to turn on the radio, drowning out her worries in his own stupid humor and loud blasting rock echoing bass-like against the entirety of the car. The music and his company helped to take her mind off of the previous anxieties that plagued her mind. Perhaps he was right, though she would never admit it out loud, and things would...somehow...managed to go okay. However they did go, though, she knew that he would be by her side to support her as best as he could. Perhaps that was the best thing they could get out of the trip.

They arrived at the designated site close to 4, the sun already dipping its way westward as it prepared to make way for the night. Lance hopped out of the car first, greeting his friends and crew while Alexys took her time sliding out of the passenger’s seat. When they saw her, their eyes lit up and she, too, was greeted with a series of hugs and pats on the back, welcoming her to the trip.

“It’s about time Lance brought you along,” Matt hummed jokingly as he gave her a hug, “I thought he was making you up for a while there.”

“Yeah,” T.C. chuckled as well, “How he got anyone to date him is beyond me.”

“Hey!” Lance argued with a smirk, “I have my good qualities!”

“He doesn’t,” Alexys returned the quip easily, sending the group into a fit of laughter while Lance looked on at her in mock shock before she reached out and hugged him, kissing his chin while containing her own laughter, “I’m only half kidding I promise.”

“This is what I’m supposed to put up with while we’re together,” Lance groaned, gesturing to Alexys while his crew slowly came to the consensus that, indeed, the loved this new girl easily. Sasha was the one to call everyone to attention, bringing them back into the reality of only having a little while longer to set up the equipment in the farm house and shoot the first opening scene of the show. It brought everyone scrambling to work, Alexys tagging along to help where she could when the others asked.

It ended up being mostly back and forth, fetching equipment from one person to bring to another person in a separate part of the barn. It was a lot of holding things up for people while they screwed nails into walls to secure camera pieces so that they wouldn’t fall over in the middle of production. It was also a lot of complaining (though not just from her) about how the middle of the country had the worst cellular service any of them had ever had the displeasure of experiencing.

Several struggles of getting their systems connected came and went with at least half of the cast groaning over the less than pleasant scenario before they finally had everything settled together. Cameras set up and ready to roll, Matt called Lance over from his spot sitting next to Alexys in the slowly setting sunlight of the ancient farm.

“We’re getting ready to shoot! Get over here.”

“Coming, coming,” Lance returned easily, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind Alexys’ ear and smile at her, “Come up with me and watch how it’s done.”

“I see you all the time on television,” Alexys snorted with a raise of her eyebrow, “Why is this going to be suddenly any more interesting than those times?”

“First of all, OW,” Lance pretended to clutch at his heart as if the words had truly wounded him, “Second of all, it makes a HUGE difference. You’ve seen me in person, sure, but never THIS way in person. Come on, I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“You’re such a liar.” Alexys groaned as she was dragged up by the hand by her boyfriend, pulled lightly on the way to the frame of the shot. She stood just outside of the frame, arms crossed over her chest as she watched Lance get into place. There was a select amount of mumbling and fumbling as the crew got ready to shoot the first shot, cameras angeled perfectly to catch all of Lance’s good sides. Though, Alexys mused, she thought all of his sides was his good sides.

“Welcome to another episode of Grave Encounters,” Lance began to speak, the charm on his voice turned up in front of the rolling camera as he smirked into the lense, “I’m your host, Lance Preston, as always. Today, we’ll be investigating the Mayville Family Farm, a nearly six hundred year old establishment that, allegedly, is the sight of not only a series of grisly murders but cannibalistic ritual practices as well. That’s no the only exciting thing this team has for you today, though.”

Alexys raised an eyebrow at Lance as he took a step back, his smile growing wryly to the camera as he continued, “Today, we have a special, and beautiful, guest that’s going to be joining our team in this adventure.”

He turned to her and her eyes widened. No, she mouthed in shock as her mind reeled. Face flushing, she couldn’t believe it was happening. Was he really going to do this? He was NOT really going to do this. He was bluffing. They were NOT going to use this take and have this entire adventure with her by his side. No. No way this was going to happen.

Alexys’ trail of thought broke with Lance’s next words, “Let me introduce you all to my beautiful girlfriend, Alexys.”

He reached out to her, his hand extended with expectancy. Alexys felt her face flush red as she thought about the situation, hesitantly offering out her own hand only to have it yanked by the man in front of her. With his grip firm on her wrist, she was dragged into the frame of the camera, pulled tightly at his side as he pressed a kiss onto her temple. The lights of the camera were bright, almost blinding as she was exposed to them, yet, the closeness of Lance and the confirmation that he would love her enough to actually introduce her in such a bold way...the smile that crept up onto her face was genuine as she laughed and hugged him back.

“You’re a fucking dork.” She wheezed as he hugged her in return, pressing another kiss onto her head while smiling at the camera.

“And that’s why I love her folks.”

The entire camera crew laughed with him as Alexys hid in his chest, the cut being called as Matt agreed that it was the perfect cold opening. “You two are too damn cute.” He mused as the group watched Alexys pop out from her hiding spot, a smile warm on her lips.

Perhaps she was a bit camera shy, but, with Lance at her side willing to do that for her...she could learn to like the spotlight.

#self ship #self insert #self shipping #kinley writes #writing commission #grave encounters #lance preston #ILU ALEXYS I HOPE THIS WAS OK <3

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squirenonny · 7 years

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Dude do you have any tips for writing fight scenes using the lions because I am utterly blanking, I have no idea how to write a fight scene

For the most part, Iwrite battles that involve the lions the same way I write battles onfoot, so I’m going to start with some general tips and then give afew pointers for the lions specifically at the end.

1)Establish the stakes and the odds.

Beforeyou even start writing the battle, know the context. Know why itmatters. In visual media—film, TV, comics—you can get away withmindless action if it’s pretty enough. With writing, you don’thave that advantage. Some people have a talent for vivid actionscenes, so they can come close (see Brandon Sanderson), but noteveryone can manage it.

The good news? You can have anaction-heavy story without relying entirely on the imagery. The keyis to make each action scene count.

First, establish the stakes. Why dothe characters need to fight? Why can’t they employ any otherstrategy? What do they lose if they fail or have to pull out? The mostimportant thing about writing fights is to make us care about theoutcome.

Second, consider the odds. Ifvictory is a foregone conclusions, do you really need to show thebattle? If you do, it should be brief. Fights where your heroes arethe underdogs are generally more interesting. You can, of course, setup a fight that shouldbe an easy win and have something go wrong. In fact, I encourage youto do so. Which brings us to

2)Battles should be dynamic, both in the details and on a larger scale.

You’re probably already thinkingabout how to make the actual fight interesting, but before you get tothat, think about the big picture. You set up a scenario, but thenwhat? Do the two sides just show up, trade bullets/lasers/punches,and then one side wins?

That works sometimes, especially insmall clashes with relatively unimportant enemies. But with biggerbattles or battles that involve a major antagonist, you’re going towant to do more. Havereinforcements show up, have the villain try a risky gambit. Have theheroes switch to adesperate Plan B (or Plan M.) Let the heroes defeat the enemy, onlyfor another enemy to show up.

I like to look at my battles instages. Minor battles typically only have one stage. Major but notclimactic battles might have two or three stages. Climactic battleshave a minimum of three, sometimes many more. For example:

Stage 1: Heroes are gatheringinformation in preparation for a battleStage 2: The enemiesdiscover the heroes, leading to a frantic battle as the heroes try toretreat/fortify their positionStage 3: Heroes formulate a newplan and enact itStage 4: One of the heroes isseparated from the team, maybe injured, and suddenly is in a desperate fight for their lifeStage 5: Heroes areabout to accomplish their goal when the villains launch a secondaryattack, forcing them to adapt to the new challengeAnd so on

If you’re just throwing in alittle bit of action and don’t want to do a whole big battle, maybeyou only include stage 3. For a little bit longer battle, you coulddo stages 1-3, or maybe stages 3 and 5. Including all five stageswould make it longer still, and as you write you might find otherchallenges to throw at the characters.

Another way to make things dynamicis to have the battle happen on multiple fronts and to jump back andforth between them. Short scenes ending in min-cliffhangers keep thetempo quick and the tension high. It might take some practice tojuggle multiple fronts, so start small—maybe pick two people, onefrom each front, to focus on and jump back and forth. Reallylarge-scale battles might have half a dozen fronts or more, and youmight rotate among the POV characters present at each front, butthat’s something to work your way up to. (Also, outlines reallyhelp for juggling lots of simultaneous action.)

3) Don’t giveus a blow-by-blow.

At least, not all the time. There are moments where blow-by-blow canbe used to great effect, but if you use it too much, it’ll justslow you down. Think of it like slow mo in a movie—it can make adramatic hit stand out, but an entire fight shown in slow mo probablywouldn’t work. Use them sparingly--for the “Oh, shit, something bad is about to happen” moments or the “Hell yeah!” cathartic shots.

Instead, you want to capture the flowof battle. Use short, vivid images; let us know whohas the upper hand, who’s struggling, whether or not people aretaking injuries/ships are taking damage. Don’t linger on thescenery, but show us how the battle is progressing through space.

4)It’s not always about the fighting.

I write a lot of big, action-heavystories, but when you look at it, there’s not nearly as muchfighting as you might expect. There are other ways to up the tensionand energy that aren’t necessarily battles—you can doinfiltration, arguments, suspense, ect.And even when you do have a battle, you can (and should!) break it upwith conversations, strategy discussions, momentary lulls in thefighting that allow for reflection or sudden understanding. Someonecan get wounded/their ship can be knocked out and they have towithdraw from the battle momentarily.

It’s hard to give specificsuggestions here, because so much of this point depends on thesituation you’ve set up (in a specific scene or across the wholestory.) The important thing to remember is that for the most part,and doubly so in fanfic, people are reading for the characters.Action is great, but don’t lose sight of the people in the middleof the battle. What do they want? How do they feel?

You’ll have to be concise withwhatever you do sprinkle in so you don’t slow the pacing down toomuch, but dialogue, internal monologue, and other breaks from pureadrenaline-fueled fight will ultimately heighten the drama.

Lion-specifictips

The thing about Voltron is…Voltron itself isridiculously overpowered. It works in a cartoon because you get somepretty action sequences and some nice explosions, but in fic, thatgets boring fast. But you can’t ignore that it exists, because thepaladins aren’t going to make things harder than they need to be.Which means if you want to keep things interesting, you either needto create a challenge that even Voltron will struggle with, or youneed to come up with a legitimate reason for them not to formVoltron. Maybe that means giving the team two targets, maybe it meansone of the paladins isn’t in their lion for whatever reason.

Aside from the Voltron conundrum,the main difference between fighting on the ground and fighting inthe air is the kinds of risk the characters are faced with and thekind of challenges you can throw at them. On the ground, injury is avery real danger, and it’s comparatively easy to split the group upor to give them tasks they have to do (hacking, leading prisoners tosafety, sabotaging a weapon…)

In the lions, you’re one stepremoved from all that. It’s possible for the paladins to get hurtstill, but more often the risk is that the lions will get hit badenough to impact their performance. This could mean the shields aredown, the comms are jammed, the stabilizers aren’t working… Or itcould mean the lion is out of commission entirely. Whatever the case,the paladin can (and should!) react to this, though it might meanthey won’t be able to focus on the battle as much.

They can also still have differenttasks, but they might lookdifferent. The lions are mostly only useful for transport or forfighting, so unless its something that can be done remotely, anyspecific tasks are probably going to require some of the paladins tostrike out on foot.

The best thing about writinglion-based fights is getting to be a little more over the top thanusual. The lions are tough, and they have some badass weapons—so goahead and have Yellow headbutt a Galra cruiser. Let Red melt throughan ion cannon with her fire breath. Invent new abilities and play aroundwith them. The lions aren’t invincible, but they are incrediblytough.

Which brings up another point: in aground battle, the paladins’ lives are basically always on theline. The same mightbe true inside the lions, but not to the same degree. So if they’rein the lions, you need to put someone or something else at risk. Aplanet, a base… Or something more abstract. Maybe this fight is allabout buying time so some allies can enact a plan to sabotage aweapon or something. Something so that failure is a real possibilityand has real consequences.

I’m sure there’s a lot more to be said about writing fight scenes, but hopefully that helps you get started!

#voltron #writing advice #fight scenes #advice #writing #confused-bird #answers

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mia-cooper · 7 years

Text

Ficlet: Casualties of War (K)

From my prompt me post:

@eyetagonthebridge said: It’s spider season in UK atm, I was watching tv last night and a huge one ran across the floor right at me. I shrieked like a little girl! What if KJ or C hates spiders and needs the other one to spider-wrangle for them? x

I may not have followed the prompt exactly, but here’s a bit of nonsense.

He’s really outdone himself this time.

“Mr Neelix.” I can hear the ice in her voice, and it sends the object of her ire into paroxysms of trembling. “Would you care to explain why you elected not to follow the correct biocontainment protocols when you beamed this … substance aboard my ship?”

Neelix’s whiskers are quivering almost as ferociously as his voice. “Ah, ah, well, Captain, you see… I, er…”

“Never mind,” she cuts him off, cracking like a whip. “Just fix it. And you, Commander,” she turns her glare on me, “I want you to supervise every move he makes. Personally.”

“Uh…” I’m starting to tremble internally as much as Neelix is on the outside. “Captain, I don’t think –”

“Well, that makes two of you.”

Ouch. She’s really steamed. Still, I try again. “Captain, it might be better if I have Tuvok take over. I’m really busy with the –”

“I don’t care what you’re busy with. Just fix it!” she snaps and stalks off.

Shit.

“Well, Commander,” Neelix has already regained his joviality with the captain’s exit, “where shall we start? Er, why are you backing away, sir?”

I force myself to stand still. “No reason at all. So, where did they all go?”

“Oh, all over the place, most likely,” he says cheerily. “Agile little things, they are. And they can jump like they’ve got springs in their legs. All eight of them,” he snorts.

I cringe.

“And those webs they shoot out are terribly sticky, but you learn to avoid them pretty quickly. Just make sure when you grab hold of one, you get both hands around its belly. It’ll flail around a bit, but as long as you hold on you won’t hurt it.”

I can’t help it: I whimper.

“Is something wrong?” Neelix’s orange eyes focus on me.

“No,” I mumble. “It’s just that … well, I’m not … I don’t really like…”

“You’re afraid of spiders?” Neelix asks at the top of his voice.

“Shh,” I hiss at him, glancing around. Sure enough, half the crewmen in the mess hall are staring at me and snickering.

“They’re perfectly harmless, you know. Just big. And ugly.” Neelix pats me on the shoulder, then chortles. “Who’d have imagined it? A strapping fellow like yourself, afraid of a few little creepy-crawlies? Ha ha ha!”

My teeth are gritted. “Not so little, in this case.”

“Oh, they’re only about the size of a Starfleet padd, Commander. And as I said, they won’t hurt you.”

“Maybe not,” I grumble, “but they’re sticky… and all those legs… and you said they jump.” The last word comes out more like a groan.

I can see Neelix is trying to be sympathetic, but there’s a smirk flirting with the corners of his mouth.

“If you like, I can go first into the Jeffries tubes,” he offers oh-so-helpfully.

“Let’s just get it over with,” I growl.

-------------------------------------------------

“What was that?” My voice is an octave higher than its usual register.

Neelix glances back over his shoulder at me. “Commander?”

I scoot backward in the cramped Jeffries tube, hugging my knees to my chest. “I saw something move. Over there.”

Neelix squints. “You’re right! There you are, my little beauty!”

He scrambles forward and makes a grab for the eight-legged horror. It scuttles sideways. He lunges. The arachnid abruptly changes direction and launches itself directly at my face.

Oh Spirits. The hairy legs! The plump body! The beady eyes! The terror as it spins its slimy, glutinous web from an orifice in its belly!

I’m screaming like a schoolgirl in a haunted house, batting wildly at the Thing that’s malevolently gripping onto my hair with its horrid little feet. I can all but hear its awful thin spidery voice cackling at me. The web is sticking to my face and uniform. I can’t breathe…

“Commander!” Neelix is shouting, grasping without success at my hands. “Hold still! The poor little thing, it’s terrified of you!”

If I wasn’t so preoccupied with being absolutely petrified, I’d laugh. Or slug Neelix in his spotty, spider-loving, non-alien-food-barrel-scanning face.

Finally, with a particularly wild flail of my arm, I manage to dislodge the fuzzy crawler and fling it halfway down the Jeffries tube. It ricochets off the wall and drops to the deck with a splat, then scuttles away into the distance.

Neelix is lying on his back howling.

“What is it? Did it bite you?” I’m still shaking, but I’m his superior officer and it’s my job to keep him safe.

Neelix can barely speak, but he manages to pant out, “Oh Great Tree… your face… oh my, Commander … I haven’t laughed so hard in ages!”

I feel like curling up in a ball and crying.

“Janeway to Chakotay.”

My heart is still racing as I tap my combadge. “Yes, Captain.”

“Have you and Mr Neelix cleared my ship of vermin yet?”

“Uh…”

Neelix leans over and speaks into my combadge. “Hello, Captain, it’s Neelix. Commander Chakotay and I are making good progress. We’ve almost managed to trap one of the little critters, so I’m sure the ship will be de-spidered in no time.”

There’s an ominous pause, then: “Are you telling me you haven’t managed to trap a single spider yet?”

“Err…”

The venom in her voice could out-poison a Terellian tree spider. “Mr Neelix, when you requested permission to beam up three cartons of leola root, I agreed against my better judgment. When you took it upon yourself to circumvent the proper transporter protocols for biomatter, I considered having the whole shipment flushed out of an airlock. But if you don’t contain this infestation, I’ll beam the whole lot into space with you inside. Now get it done!”

Our ears ring in the sudden silence as the comm snaps off.

“Don’t worry, Commander,” Neelix offers, perking up. “I have an idea.”

-------------------------------------------------

It takes two hours to reconfigure the sensors to detect each furry hell-beast and set up forcefields to trap every last one of them, adjust the fields to allow a stun-set phaser beam to penetrate each one, and scoop up each unconscious arachnid into an empty flour sack. The task is made ever more onerous by Neelix’s never-ending chatter about the anatomy of the chubby little creepers, loaded with advice about ‘facing my fears’ as he swindles me into doing the scooping.

But by the time we’ve collected every last one, I have to admit his theory has some merit: I am finding the plate-sized creatures less horrifying. I’m even beginning to take an interest in the brown and bronze striations on their fuzzy little carcasses and the short little front legs that look a bit like kittens’ paws (or so Neelix claims). And when Neelix rhapsodises about their bugged-out little eyes, which he claims are ‘adorable’, I find that I no longer feel as though my spine is attempting to forcibly climb out of my body.

Contrary to Neelix’s optimistic exclamations, though, I doubt I’ll be actively seeking contact with any kind of arachnid any time soon.

Finally, all the spiders are sleeping peacefully in a containment field in Sickbay, and I trudge wearily back to my quarters, desperate for a long sonic shower. My quarters are dark as I step inside, navigating on autopilot. I’ve already stripped off my jacket and started pulling off my turtleneck when something large and furry strikes me in the chest.

Screaming like a startled targ, I hop from foot to foot, brushing frantically at my violated body. How could we have missed one of the horrible creatures? And where the hell did it go? I’ve kicked off my boots and am halfway through yanking off my pants, terrified that the crawly horror has found its way inside my clothing, when I hear it.

That low, throaty, distinctly evil, very familiar chuckle.

Shaking but forcing myself to remain still, I croak, “Kathryn?”

“Lights,” she says, and I blink at the sight of her and almost scream again.

She slinks toward me, all skin-tight fishnet and enormous winged collar, her stocking garters flashing at me through the split in her skirt with every step. As she moves right up into my personal space, her long eyelashes sweep downward and her talon-like fingernails trail across my shoulders.

“Not Kathryn,” she husks. “Arachnia, Queen of the Spider People.”

She hooks a finger into my belt, and I’m starting to tremble for a different reason altogether now.

“I hear you’ve had a very interesting time today with my minions,” she murmurs. “Did the big bad Maquis manage to face his fear after all?”

My hands are busy mapping the exposed parts of her skin under that body-stocking, and my lips find their way to her throat.

“And here I thought you didn’t like spiders,” she purrs, slinking her arms around my neck.

“I’m starting to come around to …”

But the last of my words are muffled as she takes my mouth with hers. And I decide that I like contact with this particular arachnid very much indeed.

#miawrites #ask prompt #eyetagonthebridge #ficlet #ridiclet

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