#so ive got this patch on my scalp yeah? and ive had it for fucking Years
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part of the reason i shaved my head is so i could heal my scalp (see: compulsive excoriation) and its NOT FUCKING WORKING. this bitch is more excoriated than ever :(
#so ive got this patch on my scalp yeah? and ive had it for fucking Years#its a bigass swath of damaged af skin thats p much solid scar tissue and scab#and last time i had a buzzcut i Think it healed#thus the re-shaving#i been putting Products on it too to try and help but NO!!!#like itll heal for a couple days but then i just cant take it/i have a bad day#and i tear up all the progress (literally)#its just too fucking DEEP to heal overnight and then it SCABS and then!!!! and then!!!!#aaaaaaaaa#like the excoration of my face is whatever#same with my body (generally)#it never gets that bad#i move on from a spot pretty quick#so i dont end up doing any real long-term damage#but i cant seem to get over this one spot on my fucking scalp#anyways im gonna try eczema lotion tonight so we shall see if that helps#send help i cannot control my fucking hands#ask to tag#excoriation#OCD#dermatillomania#whatever the fuck
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Bordertober - Time For Two, Part 1
Tyreen’s view of waking up at Dr. Black’s. Contains medical/injury material, Tyreen being gross and some vaguely hinted at Troyreen. Note that Part 2 is shaping up to be more obvious about this. Probably nothing graphic, since I’m planning to recut all of the Dr. Black shorts into a single story. Oh, and I put her H/C post at the bottom.
Waking up at Dr. Black’s had been embarrassing more than anything else. She’d had no idea where she was the first few times she came around. There were now two holes in her torso and two in her right arms. She couldn’t do anything for herself. Ugh-- that part was the worst. Troy gave her a bath with fucking people wipes. She got sacks full of doped up skag pups and chickens for food. She did not get to toilet herself. Nope, stuck in bed except for leg stretches twice a day, no complaints, ring the bell if you need anything.
And then that woman, leaning over her, poking her with clamps and sounds because she couldn’t use her hands. Well, it took the fever rolling off of her for Tyreen to take notice of it, but Dr. Black seems to keep all of her dexterity in those fingers of hers. The rest of her had some mild form of dyskinesia, probably an old injury pretty far down her spine. It happened to make her look like easy prey, but Tyreen figurds not devouring the person who procured her pain meds might work out better in the long run.
Meds meaning she slept a lot. Actually, Tyreen wasn’t sure that she’d ever slept so much in her whole life. She spent most of the days under for a few restless hours at dawn or dusk spent ticking over a third-hand ECHO and feeling her guts lurch at random as the moon smirked down the operating theater skylight. She made it to the bottom of a music swapping forum she’d been eyeing and listened to old school synth jazz while reading Vonnegut or something called “Pirate AU Fanfiction” which she didn’t realize was derivative until she found the one starring Arthur Gordon Pym of all characters.
So it wasn’t like she was bored. Hell, the weird thrum of her body knitting back together could have kept her occupied.
The stillness in her bones though ached worse than her bullet wound.
Tyreen sighed. She ran her hand down her torso to the sore, bruised place trailing off from her entry wound. She pressed ever so lightly until her belly twinged and her toes curled.
This didn’t so much remind her of the fact she was going to be wearing a lovely S&S Munitions bullet for the rest of her life. It reminded her of that other itch she couldn’t scratch, the one that was going to take talking instead of prowling to fix.
~*~
Dr. Black at least took hints. Tyreen bitched at her about being woken up closer to noon than not exactly once. Next time? Dawn hadn’t even cracked
She got her vitals taken and her bandages changed. The IV came out and that was the only blood that leaked out of her that day. Her wrappings still got all sticky and rheumy, but they weren’t brown anymore in that way that kind of made her want to suck on them.
So, a lot of next times later, it finally happened: “Well, you’re healing up nicely if I do say so myself. What do you want to do first?”
Weird. Tyreen never asked Troy what he wanted to do when he started improving after a spell or a fall. She squinted at Dr. Black. “Is that a trick question?”
“Well, I don’t recommend BASE jumping for obvious reasons, but no?” Not that Dr. Black sounded sure of this.
“I need my hair washed. That dry shampoo made it all sandy and shit. Then I wanna go outside and, you know.”
“I’m out of chickens, sorry.”
Tyreen rolled her eyes. She’d actually meant piss on a fence post and scope out the best vantages for ambushes, but she was getting hungry too, so of course the woman had to mention. “Whatever. Hair first.”
“Well, your brother and me already figured out how to do that since you’re still not cleared to shower because germ transfer. Get ready.”
The two of them maneuvered her onto one of the rolling stools and pushed her into the kitchen rather than any of the bathrooms-- for a woman living alone, Dr. Black had at least three according to her hallway.
Tyreen’s impression of the kitchen was what it smelled of some unfamiliar grassy-brown spice and eggs. Most food didn’t tempt her anymore, but there was something about the whiff of a runny yolk that got her tongue to stir. Anyway, the stainless steel sink had been scrubbed out and Tyreen knew where this was going. She groaned.
She’d been all of four the last time anybody washed her hair for her, let alone in a sink. Sink salons were for babies.
Troy’s hand rested on her shoulder. “It’s just for a couple of times. What else have I been doing for you? And did the world end, Ty?”
“Fine. I want two washes and extra gooey stuff.” She meant conditioner, but she flicked her tongue over her lips pronouncing it gooey stuff like a drunk her.
Troy blinked way too hard, but he nodded and finished wheeling her over.
So much for innuendo getting her anyplace today. He was probably stuck in his own head for a change. Contemplating caring for her. Like it was… like it was that big of a deal after all the trash that had happened.
Just like when they worked on her, Dr. Black handed over the equipment and he used it, though this time, easy on the instructions.
Troy bundled her up in a towel, wet her and worked the first round of shampoo in slow, scratching over the residue on her scalp and using the dish sprayer to double rinse. The whole time he leaned over her, face tight with concentration. He wouldn’t look her in the eyes and Tyreen couldn’t say she wanted him too, not even when he went for the wet/dry trimmer and neatened up her unintentional undercut.
“You want anymore off?” he asked the window and not her.
“Just get the really messed up part in the back.”
“OK, turn.”
The hum of the trimmer felt kind of nice on her damp skin; that and the way he combed his fingers over her fuzz after, even though the next spritz got her free of snibbles, would have without his intervention.
For the conditioner, he let that set and combed her out, streaking the remains of her bangs down her forehead, then rubbing them away from her eyebrows when they got too close.
Tyreen sighed up at him.
Since she caught his eyes, he did manage something resembling a smile and his fingers dragged against her for the last round of rinsing.
With him and her both patted dry, she finally got hoisted back to a sitting position, her hair dropping once more down her cheeks before she reached up, scruffing it out and sneezing by some coincidence.
Dr. Black stifled a laugh.
Dr. Black
Dr. Black was a small, fat woman with a crooked jaw and a crooked smile and a penchant for wearing hoop skirts with no panties underneath.
-Says her full name is Calvin Decker Black
-Has at least one ex-husband and is possibly using his name???
-Probably not a doctor, but close enough
-Good at working with what she has; absolute kludge queen
--Has an affection for out-of-date equipment, but can run almost any test off of her ECHO. Somehow. Don’t ask.
---Speaking of which, carries the Twin’s genomes around on hers and has heavily notated them. Heaven forbid that got into the wrong hands.
---Recognizable ECHO device with a formal Delft print
--Sometimes uses medical equipment for secondary purposes, i.e. pointing with a sound, employing that nice steel vomit tray as a casserole
-Cheerful, enthusiastic, curious, bit of a spazz, insensible to gore.
--It’s possible to get her and Mouthpiece going at the same time. Mind your eardrums.
-Loves food. Pretty good cook. Rather more fond of food other people have prepared.
-No, she doesn’t eat her patients! Any human flesh stored in her fridge is from other people, you silly.
--Yeah, I can’t in good conscience recommend her ‘famous breakfast scramble’.
-What’s she doing in the CoV? She’s the person who walked Troy through patching up Tyreen after Satellite. They couldn’t leave her running around after that. Apparently joined their caravan without complaint and has been riding around with them ever since.
-Has been known to dress up and give sermons or go out in the field for negotiations.
--Ugh. Torture takes so long. Don’t make her do that. We could have steak instead.
-Is mostly still around for Troy mending purposes nowadays.
#bordertober#border-tober#borderlands 3#fanfic#fanfiction#medical ccontent#tyreen being gross#Tyreen Calypso#Tyreen Calypso PoV#Troy Calypso#original character#oc: Dr. Black#vauge Troyreen#domesticity#also OC headcanon
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The Delilah Affair
Note: I promised I would post something and I did...late as fuck. I apologize for that. I literally wrote half last night and then half on the plane today as I was flying from London to the United States. This is probably chalk full of erros and for that I apologize, but I’m jetlagged as hell. I was originally going to write a nightmare fic with Wes, but for some reason this muse stuck with me. It’s kinda the original behind Wes’s long ass hair. Anyway, I’m planning on posting A LOT of stuff this week. It’s going to be crazy. In case you were wondering, the title is based upon the story of Sampson and Delilah. Anyway, happy anniversary to my bestie @welllpthisishappening, who is instrumental behind the creation of this series and without her influence, I wouldn’t even posted this nonsense.
Summary: She and Killian weren’t in a bad way when it came to their finances, but they try to save their pennies when they can. So naturally when it came to haircuts, they preferred to do the cutting themselves rather than spend an extra twenty dollars on a professional job in a salon or a barber shop. However, during a routine trim, Emma makes a grave error.
Rating: T
Word Count: 3,300+
Most people tend to believe that the hardest part about being a parent was the near constant juggling of obligations or the lack of real social life, but for Emma Swan, the hardest part was screwing up. It didn’t happen too often but when it did, she couldn’t help but feel like a failure. She realized how illogical it was to assume everything would go perfectly but still whenever it happened, whether it be a missed football game or forgetting to make dinner, Emma would feel like the worst person in all of the realms.
Which is why when she accidentally sheared Wes’s hair off like sheep wool, she nearly had a mental breakdown.
She and Killian weren’t in a bad way when it came to their finances, if anything, they were in pretty solid shape despite the rather large size of their brood. (She wasn’t entirely terrified by the concept of potentially paying for five college educations as most in her position would be.) Nevertheless, they were frugal in their spending; past experience on both ends dictating that they squeeze each and every penny of its full worth. If a piece of clothing was torn, they were more likely to mend it than purchase a new one. Leftovers from dinner were frozen for later consumption rather than tossed away thoughtlessly. Emma saved every single takeout container they accumulated rather than buying more Tupperware. Their children prepared their own lunches at home under her careful supervision rather than spending money on hot lunches. They weren’t deliberately trying to be austere, it was just an ingrained habit to be cost effective.
So naturally when it came to haircuts, they preferred to do the cutting themselves rather than spend an extra twenty dollars on a professional job in a salon or a barber shop. Both of them had been cutting and maintaining their own hair for years (centuries in Killian’s case), so it wasn’t necessarily a hardship.
And yet, Emma made the most rookie of all rookie mistakes: not checking the setting on the razor before she began her work. (However, in her defense, the razor wasn’t normally set on the lowest setting. Neddy’s preschool class recently had an outbreak of head lice and in a preemptive measure they had shaved his head. Obviously, they had forgotten to change the setting.)
Her error became very apparent when Emma brought the razor against the curve of his head and more hair loped off than anticipated, leaving a large and very noticeable bald spot.
“Oh shit.”
She immediately turned off the device and stared at it in horror. She had been planning on giving Wes a small trim since it had become quite unruly, but instead she had buzzed it down almost entirely to his skull; pale skin peeking through the barely there short blond bristles.
“Mom…what’s going on? Is the razor not working?” Wes asked, completely unaware of his mother’s folly.
Emma didn’t reply; not knowing what to say or do. She just stared at her mistake, internally screaming. She tried to will his hair to grow back with every fiber of her being but no matter how hard she tried, the bald spot remained. (A part of her wished she knew a spell to regrow hair but then again her magic had always been a tad unpredictable and there was no telling what other affects it would have on her son if she tried.)
“Mom…what’s wrong?”
“Mom made a little mistake, kid,” she replied, feeling like the worst parent in the universe.
“What did you do?”
She couldn’t see his face, but she could imagine his panicked expression vividly in her mind; blue eyes the size of dinner plates and lip trembling.
“Ummm…”
“Mom…what did you do?”
She couldn’t bring herself to voice what had happened. When she didn’t speak, Wes immediately reach behind with an inquisitive hand, probing his hair. His fingers stilled when he discovered the patch where Emma had shaved his hair off. She cringed, guilty filling her.
“Mom…” His voice cracked.
“I’m so sorry,” Emma said, dropping the razor and squeezing his shoulders.
“I’m bald.”
“Only in that one spot.”
“I can’t go to school with a bald spot!” he squawked.
“I know! I know! I know!” She pulled her hands away from his shoulders and rubbed at her face, trying to scrub away her mortification. She screwed up majorly. She was the worst.
“What are we gonna do?”
“We could call Regina…” Emma replied, biting her lip.
“She won’t help on this,” Wes replied, shaking his head. There was a slight whine to his voice.
“You don’t know that,” she said sympathetically, rubbing his back.
“No, I know she won’t. Bobbi tried asking her for a spell to get rid of acme and Regina said magic wasn’t a toy and shouldn’t be used for trivial things. And Bobbi legit looked like a pizza face! If she didn’t help Bobbi when she was looking like that, and she loves Bobs, then she’s definitely not gonna help me!”
“I’m sure if I asked her –” “No!” he interrupted her. “That would be so, so, so much worse!”
“Okay, okay, okay! No Regina! I heard you loud and clear,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What do you want me to do, kid?”
“I don’t know…”
“I think I’m gonna have to shave off the rest of it.”
“Seriously?” he groaned.
“I don’t see any other way out of this, kiddo.”
Wes didn’t reply immediately. He just stared at the wall in front of them, shoulders stiff. Emma didn’t necessarily blame him. She had just suggested to shave the rest of his head and there was no telling how that would go.
“Do it,” he replied in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Okay,” she sighed, picking up the razor once more. “For what it’s worth, it’s hair and it will go grow back…in like two-three weeks. Hopefully.”
“Might as well be an eternity,” he moaned.
A muscle in Emma’s cheek twitched. A part of her wanted to hit him on the shoulder for his dramatics, but she had to remind herself that this was all her fault in the first place. She was the one who had fucked up.
“Hardly an eternity but for what it’s worth, I’m really sorry. Like really sorry.”
“Yeah, I know,” he grumbled. “I’m gonna look like Leroy, Mom.”
“I don’t think you have the beard to fully pull that look off, kid.”
“But I will look just as ugly.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“But I will,” he insisted.
“You’re gonna look fine,” Emma said firmly. “I’ve seen you bald before when you were a baby. It took literally forever for your hair to come in. You had nearly no hair until you were two and you looked absolutely fine.”
“Yeah, but I was a baby and nobody cares about babies being bald. That’s, like, normal.”
“You know right now, I’m not sure if you’re a baby or not with all that whining you’re doing,” Emma replied, losing her patience. “No, stop whining and hold still while I shave the rest of it. I don’t want to hurt you accidentally.”
Wes let ought another heavy sigh but didn’t offer any further commentary. She took this as a signal that he was going to stop whining and finally let her do her job. She turned the razor back on and went to work, carefully and slowly shaving off the rest of his fair colored-mop. Wes flinched a few times as the razor got a little too close to the sensitive skin of his scalp but Emma, for the most, was patient and gentle with the instrument. She couldn’t help but grimace as she watched the golden strands fall to the floor. Wes was the only one of her children to inherit her fairer complexion and blond hair. While all of her sons all bore a rather strong resemblance to their fathers, Wes was the only one who noticeably had some of Emma’s features; inheriting her cheeks and chin alongside her colouring.
When she was finished, she ran her hand carefully against his scalp; silently mourning the temporary loss of his pale locks. Before her mishap, Wes’s hair was soft and fine, almost silk-like, but now it was barely there and rough against her palm.
“Turn around and let me have a look.”
Wes obeyed but when he faced her, his lips were twisted into a deep scowl and honestly, Emma couldn’t blame him. This wasn’t what she had imagined when she had decided to give him a trim.
“I look horrible, don’t I?” he asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“You look fine,” Emma reassured him, giving him a quick pat on the shoulder.
He didn’t look fine. Maybe the shaved look would have worked for him if he had inherited his father’s darker features but unfortunately he had her fair coloring and without his hair, it also looked like he had no eyebrows. Her second youngest son looked like he belonged on a St. Jude’s charity advertisement. All he needed was the hospital bed, a pale blue smock and an IV running through his arm.
“You’re lying,” he stated flatly.
“Am not.”
“You are. You always have that funny look on your face when you lie. For someone who is oh so good at detecting lies, you’re positively crap at telling them. Word of advice, Mom, don’t play poker.”
“You’re worrying about this too much,” Emma responded, dodging his statement. As borderline disrespectful as it was, she knew it was the truth. The kid had inherited her blunt and near non-existent social grace. Sometimes she found Wes to be disturbingly similar to her in a way her other children weren’t; sharp acid tongue, weaponized sarcasm, quick sticky fingers and a little angry with the world.
“And now you’re avoiding the subject. I must really look ugly.”
“You don’t look ugly, I promise. You look absolutely fine.”
As she spoke, Harrison and Beth walked into her bedroom, both sweaty and covered in dirt. Blood was trickling from Beth’s chin, which looked nastily scrapped. Despite this, she looked fine, chattering away while her thirteen-year old son nodded obligingly. Both stopped in their tracks when they saw Emma and Wes.
“What happened to you?” Wes asked, gesturing to Beth’s chin.
“Fell out of a tree.” Emma’s nine-year old daughter shrugged casually, as if she were discussing the weather rather than a painful looking facial wound. “Har said he was gonna catch me and totally let me drop. He owes me like a million Star Wars band aids.”
“You don’t need million band aids. That’s overkill and I didn’t do it on purpose!” Harrison replied defensively before regarding his younger brother with a frown. “And what happened to you? You look like a cancer patient.”
Wes’s face colored at the comment and Emma get her second oldest son a reproachful look. Harrison, ever the most observant of her children, also flushed when he noticed his mother’s silent reprimand; tugging on his earlobe and shuffling his feet uncomfortably.
“I was gonna say he looked like a skinhead,” Beth said bluntly.
Harrison punched her arm, frowning at her.
“That wasn’t nice. Do you even know what a skinhead is?”
“Of course, I do!” Beth snapped back, hitting him back. “It’s one of those creepy people that Mom and Dad arrested last week with the bald heads and the crap tattoos and the weird leather and that stuff they were trying to spray paint on the school.”
“It really looks that bad then,” Wes grimaced. He brushed hand against his shorn scalp self-consciously.
“It doesn’t,” Emma said firmly, raising her eyebrows at her other children; signaling to them that they were not to contradict her.
“Well, you don’t look like you…” Harrison replied. “So, it’s…interesting.”
Wes’s flush deepened at his words. He didn’t reply, just ran into the bathroom as he continued to run his hands against his freshly razored hair. He slammed the door behind him with enough force that it nearly caused Emma to jump. As the door shut, Emma turned to glare at her other two children.
“Was that necessary? Seriously, both of you!” she hissed.
“Sorry Mom!” Harrison replied, placing his hands up in surrender.
“He looks like a skinhead!” Beth replied defensively, not as willing as her older brother to admit her blunder.
“Even if he does, you don’t say things like that! That’s a horrible thing to say and I raised you better than that, Elizabeth!” Emma admonished.
Beth wilted a bit under her mother’s scolding, eyes darting down to look at her feet. Harrison took a step away from her, as if distancing himself from his sister would lessen his chances of being yelled at as well.
“Sorry,” her daughter mumbled.
“It’s not me you need to say you’re sorry to,” Emma replied, folding her arms across her chest. “And when he gets out of the bathroom, you’re going to tell him you’re sorry and that you love him and you aren’t going to say mean things anymore. Got it?”
“Got it,” she mumbled, eyes still trained on her feet.
Emma allowed herself to soften a bit, stepping forward and kneeling down so she could inspect her daughter’s face, particularly the bloody scrape on her chin. Now that she was close enough, Emma could see the beginning of a bruise starting to form around her right cheek.
“That must have been a nasty fall. Are you hurt?” she asked gently.
“No.” Beth shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. If there was one thing that Emma knew about her nine-year old, it was that she tried constantly to appear tougher than her brothers. Emma couldn’t decide if this was a product of her environment or something she had inherited from her father.
“Well, if don’t look deep enough to get stitches over. But it definitely needs to be cleaned,” she commented before her eyes flickered in the direction of her son. “There’s hydrogen oxide cleaner in the downstairs cabinet along with some band aids. Help your sister get cleaned and get her an ice pack while I’m tending to your brother who is justifiably traumatized. You are not to tease him. Do you understand me?”
Harrison nodded obediently, placing his hand on his younger sister’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.
“I don’t need an ice pack,” Beth pouted. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“You forget my superpower, kid,” Emma responded, tapping her on the nose. “I know when you’re lying and that definitely looks like it hurts. Just be good for Harrison.”
With that Emma clapped her hand on her daughter’s shoulder for a brief moment than turned to head towards the bathroom, where her son was more likely than not freaking out about his hair loss. She rapped her knuckles gently against the door.
“Westley? Kid? Can I come in?”
She sighed quietly when she received no response. She pushed the door open as gently as she could. Wes was standing in front of the mirror, hands slightly quivering as they ran over his shorn hair. He looked miserable.
“Oh kid,” Emma sighed, moving behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She placed a kiss on the top of his head. “I’m so sorry. This is my fault…”
“I look like Caillou, Mom,” he replied miserably. “No one likes Caillou. He’s annoying and bald and even Neddy hates him and that kid would cuddle the Black Fairy.”
“You do not look like Caillou, Wes. It’s gonna grow back. I promise…” Emma replied helplessly. “I’m so sorry. This is my fault…”
“What am I going to do? People are gonna laugh at him. Bobbi is going to totally take tons of pictures of this so she can torture me with them. Even Gideon is going to laugh.”
“Gideon is not going to laugh and Bobbi is not going to take pictures of you, I promise. I’m not gonna let that happen to you.”
“You can’t stop them” he replied stubbornly.
“But I can.”
“How?”
“How is not important. It’s going to happen. It’s my job as the Savior, kid. If I can’t protect you, then I can’t protect anyone.”
Wes didn’t say anything. He just scowled at his reflection in the mirror, which made it quite to clear to her that he didn’t necessarily believe her. Emma sighed, placing her hand on his head, rubbing circles against the skin. Her thumb grazed the thin delicate shell of his ear and she couldn’t help but notice how pointed the tips of it was.
“You got your dad’s ears along with his eyes, kid,” she thought aloud.
“No, I look like bald elf.”
“You don’t. You look like your dad. Especially without the blonde.”
“Dad’s not bald.”
“I think you’re focusing a little too much on the baldness, kid,” she replied, tugging on his ear.
“Yeah because it makes me look like a freak!” he said bitterly. His posture then deflated, shoulders sagging and lip trembling. His eyes met hers in the mirror and the sad look in them was a direct stab in her heart. Wes, who was seemed so confident and so resilient, looked ready to cry. “I can’t go out in public looking like this, Mom…”
“I’m sorry.” She repeated the two words she had been saying all night. There was nothing else she could say except those words.
“I know,” he huffed, annoyed. “You keep saying that.”
“Because I am.” She rested her head on top of his as she ran her hands from down his arms in what she hoped was a smoothing manner. “I don’t know how but I’m going to figure this out and we’re gonna get through this…”
“How?”
Emma was silent for a moment as she tried to think of a solution. There was absolutely nothing they could do about his hair now, but it was very clear to her that her son would avoid going out in public in such state if he could help it. He needed something to cover it. Perhaps a hat.
She then smiled as an idea hit her. She placed a quick kiss on his head.
“Wait here. I have an idea.”
She immediately left the bathroom and made a beeline to her closet. She reached for the cardboard box, which held all of her winter things. She smiled as she pulled out one of her numerous beanies. It was black and made from one of the most softer materials she owned.
When she returned to the bathroom where Wes was still agonizing, she immediately placed the beanie on his head, folding the brim so it fit snug and covered the tips of his ears.
“There,” she smiled. “Now you can’t tell that you have no hair.”
“Where did you get the beanie?”
“It’s from the Emma Swan collection.”
Wes scrunched his nose in response.
“So it’s a girl beanie?”
“Kid, it’s black. Black doesn’t have a gender I’m pretty sure so who cares? The point is that no one can see the hack job that I did to your hair…Also, for once, you kinda look like me…with the beanie and the red hoodie…it’s about time I got a Mini Me,” she replied, placing another kiss on his head.
“Beth kinda looks like you.”
“Beth is almost disturbingly your father personality wise. You and I both know that,” Emma chuckled. “And then there’s the conspiracy theory that Har is really a clone gone wrong. And don’t get me started on Neddy…”
Wes merely arched his eyebrows at her in response.
“Sorry,” she chuckled. “Either way, how are we feeling about the beanie?”
“I’m not sure my teachers will let me wear it in school, but yeah. It looks okay. I mean, it’s not bad for a girl beanie.”
“Beanies don’t have genders, but I can talk to your teachers about letting you wear it until your head comes back.”
“Okay. The beanie can stay, but Mom?”
“Yes?”
“You’re not touching my hair ever again.”
#captain swan#cs ff#cs fic#cs fanfic#little pirates#little pirates fic#my shit#my fic#the delilah affair#wes jones
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Scrappers Part II
Scrappers Angie and Ruggy have been sent by their operator to a location deep within The Lost. This is no ordinary Scrapper mission. The two came across a crashed starship. Is it one of the deadly Harvesters or something else entirely?
Scrappers Part II continues August’s flash fiction that brings readers into a continuation of a sci-fi horror universe. Enjoy the story in written word, audio, artwork and soundscape.
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Scrappers Part II
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Dual Freaks
Flames crackled. Gravel moved around with each step. My heart pounded. Sweat beaded up over my face. I kept my gaze forward, keeping a close eye on my partner, Ruggy. He moved closer to the flickering orange heat. The sun had set entirely. The night vision goggles we used tried to balance out the contrast of light and dark but were of little use. One thing was clear, the silhouette of a muscular arm reaching for the skies.
The small UI chat message window at the bottom corner of the goggles lit up as Ruggy typed out a new message.
LET’S CIRCLE AROUND, WE’RE HEADING STRAIGHT FOR IT, he typed.
My eyelids twitched, navigating the chat program’s keyboard, typing.
GOT IT, I replied.
The two of us circled around as a haunting groan came from the silhouette’s location. The arm moved down to the ground. The being was trying to push itself up. It was wounded, how injured we didn’t know. Ruggy and I had to be cautious. This thing was looking more and more like a Harvester the closer we got.
As bold as Ruggy was for investigating the fire, I was not. All I wanted to do was run. Get the hell out of here as quickly as we could. The lack of site, the obscure stinging smell, and this massive being was enough to send me heading for the cruiser. Ruggy needed me though. Scrappers stuck together. There was no other option. Scrapper’s code always comes first.
Another sound screeched through the fire, this one was more distant. Violent. The noise caused Ruggy and I to turn towards the origin, trying to spot anything. Large torn scraps of metal pierced from the ground. The remnants of some sort of spacecraft.
THERE’S TWO, Ruggy typed out.
THAT DIDN’T SOUND THE SAME, I replied.
NO SHIT. STAY ON GUARD.
Ruffling from the first being picked up. We turned to see it attempting to stand upright, limping. A second screech erupted. The being reached for an object on the ground, a large spear.
SEE? HARVESTER. Ruggy typed.
The spear was a clear indicator of a Harvester. All humans knew it. They used those damned electrically charged spears to numb us. Harvesters needed us in good shape, ideally. That didn’t mean they weren’t afraid of brutal force.
WHAT’S THE PLAN? I asked.
The Harvester collapsed onto its spear, holding the rod tightly for support. Okay, it was critically wounded.
KILL IT, Ruggy typed.
A howling shriek boomed before I could type anything. A new bulky humanoid burst from the flames. Naked, claws, spikes, all colliding with the Harvester. The two humanoids tumbled onto the ground towards us, skidding to a stop. We leaped back as they came into view, rifles aimed.
Pareidolia
An entangled, burnt lump of bloody limbs wrestled to get on top of one another. I froze, staring at the Harvester who landed with its back to the ground. The helmet was half-complete. Hardened foam caked around the damaged edges, revealing the face of the Harvester. It had blond patches of hair, most of it had scorched off the scalp. It scowled, blue eyes looking at its opponent. The Harvester’s large arms shook violently as it held onto the primitive being’s wrists. The second humanoid, slightly shorter, drooled as it’s sharp jaws remained open. Spikes pointed upright all along the back and outer limbs. The clawed feet hooked into the thighs of the Harvester, puncturing the flesh. Reddish-green blood poured out of the wounds.
SHOOT, Ruggy ordered.
I didn’t reply. I could only stare at the Harvester’s eyes as it wrestled with the naked beast. Harvesters were taller than us – more perfect you could say – stronger, and relentless. Yet, they were once us.
An ear-shattering clack erupted from Ruggy’s rifle. He fired several times as the automatic weapon projected the bullets into the Harvester and beast. The Harvester yelped in pain, a human cry. The beast howled like a dog. It ripped its claws free from the Harvester and landed on all fours, dashing away from the scene, blood drizzling on the ground behind it.
I lifted my rifle at it and pulled the trigger, firing at the creature as it disappeared from the crash site, vanishing into The Lost.
Shit, I thought.
Ruggy shouted, “eat it gene freak!” as he continued to fire at the Harvester. The bullets pinged off of the remaining armour. The exposed skin was defenceless, letting the bullets pierce into the flesh. Blood splattered all around. Its eyes squinted in agony as red and green liquid oozed out of its mouth.
I turned my weapon to the Harvester and paused. No human had been this close to a Harvester before. Especially in such a defenceless state. A part of me wanted to try and help the Harvester. Reason with it. Show the being that we weren’t that different after all. We could create a paradigm shift between the two species. No. It’s been tried before. It was a foolish idea.
No Traces
“He’s going to spray!” Ruggy shouted.
Rugg’y words shot me out of my internal dilemma. My eyes widened as the Harvester managed to reach for his inner bicep, fingers pressing a touch screen that lit up red.
“Go!” Ruggy said, snagging my arm.
A loud beep came from the Harvester’s torn-up suit as small black holes opened all over the armour. Translucent liquid sprayed out of the suit in all directions and over the Harvester. Sizzling sounds followed as the liquid came into contact with the Harvester and the ground.
We barely made it out of the vicinity of the sprinkle, coming to a halt. The liquid had wholly covered the Harvester. A chemical reaction transformed it to foam, expanding in size. The Harvester clenched its teeth in pain as the foam ate away at his armour and flesh. The foam’s colour shifted into a slight green as the rest of the Harvester’s form was shrouded in the foam substance.
“Damnit!” Ruggy said.
I looked over at him to see that some of the liquid had gotten onto his shoulder. He tried to brush it off as it swelled up.
“I think it ate through my coat. I can feel it compressing,” he said.
The foam had stopped expanding, turning a slight red – proof that it had eaten some of his flesh. “It’s toughening,” I said, looking at it.
“Don’t get too close, kid,” Ruggy said stepping back. “Shit it stings.”
“We gotta get back to the cruiser and take care of it.”
“It’s not that bad. It hardened. Doesn’t matter if we slice it off now or later.” Ruggy said, his gaze locking onto the Harvester’s consumed form.
The being was engulfed by the froth. Snapping sounds picked up – crushing bones from the hardened fizz that began compress. Only a blob remained, in a rough humanoid pose. The surrounding ground had speckles of the foam in a light grey. All of the foam continued to compress inward, crushing the rocks – and Harvester – underneath.
“Pricks,” Ruggy said while walking towards it. “They always manage to pull off that stunt just when we got them.”
“I’ve never seen that before. I mean, I’ve seen videos of it in training,” I replied while walking up to Ruggy.
“Not the same is it?”
“Not at all. We really can’t cut the foam open?”
“No point. The acid eats away the surface and the foam crushes everything else. Plus, this shit is harder than diamond once it shrinks,” Ruggy said, kicking the foam on the ground. “If we could ever get our hands on even a fraction of their tech, it could change our situation.”
“Or understand their biology better,” I replied. “They look so human.”
Ruggy sighed. “Don’t let their appearance fool you next time. When I say fire, fire, understand?”
“Yeah, sorry. It just threw me off. I’ve never seen one without their suit.”
“Most don’t, because they pull off that stupid self-destruct system. Remember, just because they look like a perfect us, doesn’t mean they are us. Their minds are fucked up with a superiority complex.”
“Right,” I said, turning to look at the fire and nearby torn metal. “What do you think happened here?” I asked.
Ruggy shrugged. “The Harvester crashed. The question is, what the hell was it doing with that other thing?”
“I don’t know. It ran away before I could do anything about it,” I replied.
Ruggy walked from the caked Harvester towards the ships remains. “It was fast. Now it’s wandering The Lost. That’s something we gotta report.”
“We should go back,” I said.
“Not yet, let’s scope out the rest of this mess. The operator sent us here. Let’s see what was going on.” Ruggy said while walking towards the flame.
I followed Ruggy, taking one last look at the deceased Harvester. The fizz had compressed to a solid-state, perfectly outlining the shape of the giant humanoid, like some sort of dried-acid statue. Never before had I been so close to a Harvester. Most people that did didn’t survive. They were too fast, too strong, and too cunning. If that thing hadn’t been wounded and attacked, we would have been dead. That was a guarantee. In an odd turn of events that hostile beast was our saviour.
Review
Ruggy and I walked cautiously through the rubble of the Harvester’s spacecraft remains. There were remnants of cables and hardware on the ground, too burnt to try and sample. We continued on, deeper into the mess. Most of the ship had been destroyed in the crash. Plus, Harvesters had a pretty clean method of destroying their technology, like they do with themselves. Anything of value regarding their ship was mostly disintegrated.
SOME GOOD METAL HERE, Ruggy typed out.
YEAH, I’LL GET THE ROVER, I replied while navigating through the goggle’s interface. My eyelids made slight movements to get to the rover’s retrieval command. The interface confirmed the rover’s signal. It’d be here in no time to carry the scraps. It’s always wise for Scrappers not to keep their rover around until we found something of value. Rovers are expensive and the one good piece of tech we get. The last thing we need is a Harvester to destroy it. Man do those rovers save our asses from having to haul heavy scraps.
WE MIGHT NEED THE WHOLE CRUISER AT THIS POINT, Ruggy typed out while walking around a large curved exterior of the craft. He carefully avoided nearby flames and any sharp pieces of metal that stuck out of the ground.
YEAH. LET’S JUST SEE WHAT ELSE IS HERE AND THEN WE CAN CALL THIS IN, I replied.
We stopped several times, looking to see if there was anything useful on the ground. Most of it was just scraps, the type of things we’d usually gather. Regardless of the danger, we both knew that this was going to be a good scrapping session. The operator would be pleased.
CHECK THIS OUT, Ruggy typed.
I hurried up to my partner to see a human-sized glass pod was shattered on the ground. It was probably not glass, but some Harvester equivalent. The broken pod was half melted away and a third missing. Tubes could be seen at the base of the cylinder shape.
“Think that beast came out of here?” I asked.
“Maybe,” Ruggy said in a low tone. “Look,” he added.
Several smaller pods were beside the large one. These were a little cracked but intact. Inside the pods were flesh-sacks floating in a translucent substance. The sacks were a light pink colour, but semi-transparent. Inside, small baby-like beings floated. Their eyes were closed, sleeping peacefully, undisturbed by the chaos that had just occurred.
“What are these?” I asked, leaning down.
Ruggy extended his arm out, stopping me from tilting any further. “Stay up,” he ordered.
One of the small creatures wiggled, moving its tiny, undeveloped hands around in the sack. An ambilocal cord was attached to the belly that reached the top of the sack.
“These are infants,” I said, standing upright.
“No, they’re not Angie,” Ruggy said, pointing his rifle at the baby.
“Are you dense?” I asked. “I know what a damn baby looks like.”
“Yeah but this was a Harvester’s craft,” Ruggy replied.
I shook my head. “Harvesters capture people. They take us to mess with genetics. This is a damn baby!”
“They also grow their own people in incubators.”
“So even if it is a Harvester baby, it’s a life,” I argued.
“A Harvester life. Or maybe that beast we saw,” Ruggy replied. “Either way, it isn’t one of us.”
“Ruggy, are you listening to yourself? You want to shoot these infants?”
Ruggy let go of his rifle and threw a swift hand across my face. The slap hit hard, probably turning my cheek pink. My eyes widened, feeling my flesh hum from the aftermath.
“Angie! Wake up. These are not humans.” Ruggy shouted. “They’re genetic freaks. They forced their DNA to evolve away from us. They look similar to us, but so did the great apes, and look at how we treated them when they were around.”
I swallowed a thick lump of saliva. Ruggy was trying to be a good person, but I knew he was getting frustrated. That slap was ‘nice Ruggy.’ ‘Mean Ruggy’ would have decked my ass and just do what he wanted. He was only trying to educate me.
“I know it’s tough to grasp,” Ruggy said. “We’re living in a fucked-up world where the lines of being human are blurred. This is why we stick to the code. Us against them. Harvesters broke all morale centuries ago when they edited their first DNA strand. Even if we saved these offspring and try to raise it, they don’t grow like us, and they don’t think like us. They’ll question themselves, and that is a can of worms we don’t need. Now raise your damn rifle.” Ruggy lifted his weapon, pointing at one of the pods.
I stared down at the second pod, looking right into the small being’s soft face. It wiggled around gently in the sack, stopping until it was facing me. Its eyes flicked open. White. Nothing but a white ball inside of the eye socket. Inhuman.
We fired at the pods, the bullets shattered through the glass, ripping through the embryo sacks and shredding into the small beings. The translucent liquid poured out of the broken glass, followed by streams of reddish-green fluids.
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