Out of My Head

My head is killing me and I haven't written a single word in like four hours my brain is just fried. Had a good couple of hours and worked on fics I have been putting off. I feel mostly good about the amount writing I got done? I wish I'd been less writers blocked at certain points. I wrote just over 4k words, which when I think about it is not a lot. I used to write that in a day, regularly. Now I feel like I'm struggling to even get 1k on a good day. 😔 But that is me, not the event. This is still like the most I've written in ages! I should hopefully have three (!!!) whole new things to post next week assuming I can keep my act together.

Log Date 53496Willow5

Male subject engaging with female in nonthreatening displays. Aggression no longer detected. Final observations to be recorded before release from containment into habitat.

“I’ve kinda gotten used to it.” You shrug and peer around the corner of the cage to the glass of your enclosure. The curtain finally drawn once again. 

Though you can’t read it, a sign stands in front of your window. Most walk over to examine it and stick around for a minute or two before moving on—as you see an alien doing now. You wave and they startle before returning the gesture. 

Kurt clicks his teeth, leaning in the corner of his box, arms folded tight over his chest. “They’re staring at you. All the time.” 

“Only when it’s open hours,” you say, finger raised in matter-of-fact correction. “And I have my privacy. I can show you once you’re let out of there.” 

You bounce over to the window, the pane of his box frosting over again. Kurt grumbles inside. But you’re focused on the creature outside the window. 

You’ve missed watching your visitors. Each interaction expanding a world wider than your habitat. Curiosity piqued by tentacles, claws, fangs, wings, ears, tails. Speculation and imagination carrying you away with them. With the lack of their presence, it’s all the more apparent how trapped you really are. 

Your legs fold beneath you as you perch on the ledge. A few stragglers wander over. You beam and wave. Your fingers find the glass, pressing to it for those who enjoy comparing their appendages to yours. A towering figure hunches to be the first. 

“You could at least stay close enough so I can get a look,” Kurt calls from his box. 

You turn over your shoulder and back to the window, pushing off from your position. A few steps bring you right to the boundary. 

“You sure you wanna see?” you ask. 

“Better than staring at these four walls,” he sighs on an aggrieved breath. 

You nod to yourself and step forward. The pane clears and Kurt’s eyes catch your own. He stares intently, brow furrowed. A guarded kind of focus refusing to waver until he’s ready. Moments pass as he locks you in his stormy gaze—and you find it hard to look away. Then, he turns to the audience. 

Murmurs rush through the assembled crowd. The first time he’s been viewed by the public. Titters of delight and awe fill the air. More and more bodies press around the glass. 

“This is so fucked up,” he mutters to himself, incredulous. 

The noise and clamour only grows closer. Rising to almost drown out the hiss of the door. But you catch it straight away, head whipping toward the sound. 

Virion enters with another by their side. Without acknowledging you, they gesture to your habitat. Chirps and chitters fall past their lips. Each one a snag, dragging at your breath. 

You rock back on your heels. Why are butterflies dancing through your belly? Why do your feet feel as though they are standing on hot coals in their ache to race to them?

Kurt’s head follows your gaze. His shoulders jump as he startles before they square. “Who the fuck are they?” He steps toward you, too close to the wall of the box. He bumps into it with a thunk. 

You can’t force yourself to break your gaze. Too ensnared by your keeper. The soft nudge against your mind a caress. 

Come here, please?

You start moving before thought can form. They turn to their colleague and continue in their foreign language. A more serious tone rounding out their sounds. The other nods but remains unfazed, energy jolly and eyes alight. 

Virion’s hand raises, offered to you. Their lips form around familiar, cooing syllables. 

“Hey,” Kurt says, fist knocking on the wall. Jolting you out of your eager advance. He nods his chin toward the two visitors. “Tell me who they are.”

“They take care of us,” you reply, drifting away as if on ocean waves. “They run this place—they’re friendly.” The side of the box hazes over. Your feet carrying you too far. 

Kurt clicks his teeth but says nothing more. 

“Hi,” you greet, a nervous lilt shaking your tone as your gaze darts between them. Your hands knead together at your stomach. A crack from your knuckles prompting you to continue, “Long time, no see.”

Virion doesn’t immediately respond to you, but turns to the alien beside them. They make a few chittering sounds, gesture at your body, nod their head—an explanation. 

Closer, please, if you would not mind. 

You follow the silent request. Your hand finds theirs, their fingers wrapping over your own. The smooth, gentle grip enough to quiet the nerves and the butterflies and your brain. 

Good. 

Their lips tilt in that almost smiling way. They’re pleased with you. And you’re just trying to figure out how to breathe with their thumb running across your skin again. 

They produce one of your candies as a treat and offer. Your lips open and close around it. All the while, they carry on their conversation. Exchanges about you, gestures toward you or your space. 

Without warning, the other one reaches out a hand to pat your head and, startled, you shrink toward Virion. Their grip pulses, a comfort. Their free hand gesturing and bidding the other to still—and hopefully keep their hands to themself. 

Forgive him. He’s excited to meet you. 

Your limbs lock. Head fuzzing around the edges. Excited to meet you? Why? Is he-Is he taking you? 

Sweat makes your hands clammy. Your lashes flutter. Your breath bursts heavy but quick even as you try to keep calm. Scenarios play through your head, impossible to tame. He’s taking you away. He’s taking you away!?

Virion’s hand releases yours. Instead, both move to cup your cheeks. Thumbs smoothing and soothing. A comment made to the other as their attention focuses on you. 

Breathe. 

Their eyes search yours, concern shining down on you. You do your best. An ache in your chest from the strain on your lungs. 

He will not take you from here. He is an important benefactor and donor. He wished for an up-close visit.

You nod, peeking around your keeper to the other. A catalog in your mind of the differences between them aiding in tempering your panic. Darker hair—the color of stormclouds. Different eyes—sharp and brilliant turquoise. Bulkier build—thickset and more muscled. A more expressive face—he beams and reaches toward you again as he catches your stare. 

Your eyes skip to Virion. Why do they keep their expressions controlled, composed, unreadable? There’s a twitch of their cheek, a slow blink. 

Should you let the other touch you? Does Virion want that? Would that be good? How are you supposed to know? Can’t they just tell you?

With your teeth worrying over your lower lip, you hesitate but withdraw from the safety of your keeper’s grasp and present yourself. 

The other displays no hint of unease. His eager hands target your head and face. Explorations of your features prod at skin, tug at your ears, skim your throat. Cooing sounds and chitters of delight pass his lips. A twinkle in the clear blue green of his eyes. Face scrunched in question. You nod in return and press a perplexed smile, unable understand him—try as you might to recognize familiar phrases. 

At the pinch of confusion in your expression, he pauses. A comment thrown toward Virion as he grabs your face, his eyes fluttering closed and head leaning down. 

It’s just the same as when Virion created your connection. Their mind attaching to yours. You twitch, but can’t escape the grasp on your cheeks. A noise breaks past your lips. Your mind scrambles. 

He seems friendly, you reason. Surely no issue will arise from another voice in your head. Virion did bring him here. Maybe they want this. It may as well happen, right?

The other is inches away from your face, his lips beaming in a smile. His teeth startling white and pointed. You focus on them as he continues his approach, contact imminent. 

A palm with two fingers and a thumb covers your forehead, slipping over your skin from behind and pulling you a step back into a firm build. Mere moments before the other’s forehead would have touched. 

Your lips purse, looking up at the hand covering your head. It’s a familiar comfort despite its perplexing placement. Confusion creases the other’s face as well. Their eyes open, narrow. He moves away, derision cast toward your keeper. 

Your head tilts against Virion’s side. They don’t look at you. Instead, they’re talking in rapid, hurried clips of sound. But their hand, it lingers. A tender, affectionate stroke against you. 

Irritation carves into the other’s face. His eyes narrowing on your keeper. And then on their hold of you. 

You reach up, feeling the back of Virion’s hand. The smoothness of their skin beneath your fingertips. One of their fingers tangles with yours like a promise. Their grip pulses before their arm drops and they step forward, gesturing at the other and blocking you behind. 

The conversation exchanges between them while you stare and listen. Sounds you don’t understand volley from each.

You slink back toward the box where Kurt waits. His shoulder leans against the wall, his eyes snapping to focus on the intense conversation. 

“What’s that all about?” he asks without looking away. 

Your mind remains empty of explanation as Virion guides the other through the door without a glance back.

“I,” you swallow around your confusion, “I don’t know.”

Next Part

“I know it’s a long trip.” Peter’s assistant says from the other side. You retie the belt on your robe. “I could find a stylist in Venice, I guess. I have a few contacts from my previous job…”

“No, I can find my passport.” You stifle a yawn. “I can’t really turn down the contract. Works been tight.”

“Really? I appreciate. And I think Peter really liked you.” She says. “I don’t know if you can tell but he’s a bit all over the place.”

“Oh, like his hair,” you kid. “Give me the date and time. I’ll be there.”

“Sure. Uh, it’s paid for, of course. I’ll forward the ticket.” She says as you hear something chime. “Sorry, I gotta another call and– shit! Um, thanks again. Bye!”

The line clicks. Well, it sounds like she can use all the help she can get. Besides, you hear Italy is nice. If this goes well, you might get something more steady. You wouldn’t mind that at all. Peter’s young, up-and-coming, this could be your in. And after so many years of hustling from set to set.

Your phone vibrates again. You carry it into the kitchen and start on your daily smoothie. It’s a paltry replacement for your previous morning addiction. You miss your caffeine but you don’t need it. Not at your age.

It’s the plane ticket. Frantic but effective. Well, you guess you’ll be missing girls’ night. This time with a real excuse.

You’re an overpacking. An overpreparer. Your clients wonder why you have twenty different brushes and at least a dozen brands of face wipes. You can never be too ready but you’ll sacrifice some clothing to get your whole kit in the overhead.

You take your cherry smoothie to the table and sit. You scroll until your phone buzzes through the table. You don’t recognise the number.

‘Hi! Are you coming to Venice?’

You frown and flip over to the conversation. There’s no previous dialogue. It’s been ages since you got a new phone or number. You flip through your backlog of contacts.

‘Sorry. Who is this?’

‘Peter. Is this–’ the response blips up.

Peter?

‘Yes. I’m packing. I’ll be there.’ You reply.

‘Sorry. Stole your number from my assistant. She’s so busy all the time.’

‘It’s okay. Excited for the trip.’ You send back.

You put the phone down and slurp the somewhat bland sugarless blend. You’re trying to be healthier without diving into the deep end of ‘cleanses’ and ‘fasts’. You don’t need to be a Victoria Secret’s model, just comfortable.

‘What about today? Will you come by today?’

You chuckle.

‘Is something going on?’

‘I need to pack but I don’t know what to wear 🥺’

You almost laugh at the emoji. You look at the time.

‘Might take me a while.’

‘Awesome! See you soon!’ His response doesn’t show an ounce of disappointment.

You stare at the glass before you muster the energy to get up. You put saran wrap over the top and shove it in the fridge. You’ll try not to forget about it. You probably will though.

💗

You pull up to Peter’s building. You hate LA traffic but you’re grateful for the distraction. When you have travel ahead of you, you tend to fixate and agonise over every little thing that could go wrong. What if you get searched? What if you lose something? What if you miss your flight?

You buzz at the front door. Peter doesn’t answer. You try again. Huh.

You pull out your phone to text him. He could be out on the balcony. Before you can find the chat, your name comes from behind you. It’s Peter.

“Hey! Great timing!”

He wears a backwards hat, a muscle shirt, and dark shorts. He’s carrying a tray with two big icy drinks, whipped cream and sprinkles on top.

“They’re having a big promotion down at the shake place! Iced coffee.” He beams over the straws. “Like a Simpsons donut, see?”

You stare at the cups. There’s cream and chocolate layered with the coffee. You hold back a sigh. So much for giving up your vices.

“For me?” You ask.

“Sure! I felt selfish just getting one for me. And you drove all the way down here.” He chimes. “Wait– you haven’t been down here long, have you?”

“No, just got here. All good.”

“Great. I’d feel bad if you were waiting.” He says. “Um, ergh… I’ll let you in.”

He gets closer and you fumble to get out of the way. You brush against him and catch a whiff of his fresh deodorant mingling with his sweat. It’s a warm smell, comforting despite the heat. He scans his fob and the door clicks. You grab the handle before he can.

“Oh no! I got it! You’re a lady. I’m supposed to–”

“Your hands are full,” you say softly. “It’s alright.”

“So are yours.” He says.

“Shoulder strap.” You let go of your bag and it hangs on your shoulder. “Come on.”

He goes ahead of you and looks over his shoulder. “You don’t mind if we take the elevator? I’ve been doing these workouts for the shoot. The stunt coordinator has been kicking my– butt.”

“That’s fine with me.” You assure him with a smile.

He stops and waves you into the elevator first. He gets on and you sense him staring at you. You glance over.

“I don’t have something on my face, do I?”

“No! I’m sorry. I just… I like your hair.” He makes a face then looks away.

“Oh, thank you. It’s kind of… stubborn. Hence the scarf.” You reach up to pinch the knot in the bandana tied to keep your hair under control.

“No, it’s cool. It gives you a real chill vibe.” He says.

“Ha, never thought of it that way.”

The elevator stops. You get off and head for his door. He lets you inside and you look around at the tidy space. His assistant has been working hard you see.

“You have to try it! I waited to try it with you.” He insists as he puts the tray down and grabs the cups out of the cardboard.

“Oh, uh… sure.” You try not to show your dread at the sheer amount of cream. “Thanks again. It was sweet of you to think of me.”

“No, it’s cool.” He holds out a cup.

You take it and eye it. “Wow, that’s a lot…”

“Cheers!” He knocks his cup against yours. He spills cream through the top hole and it drips on his fingers. He prompts sucks on his knuckles as he angles the cup around, dripping even more.

“Alright, hold on.” You look around and quickly find the roll of paper towels in the kitchen. “Let me help.”

You hand him the paper towel and he accepts it with a goofy look. He wipes his hands then picks up his cup again. He looks at you and delicately sips through the straw. You taste the sugary concoction. Oof. You are not twenty anymore.

“Mmm,” you hum.

“Yummy.” He licks his lips. “Oh! Ha.”

He reaches for you and you wince. He runs his thumb over your lip. “That cream gets everywhere.” He looks at his thumb then twitches, turning to wipe it on the crumpled paper towel. “Anyway…” He coughs. “I was hoping you could help me with my press outfits. I have a bunch of interviews. And… Bucky Barnes is gonna be at some. He always looks so cool.”

“Oh, I’ve worked with him before. Briefly.” You say. “At some show. He wouldn’t remember me.”

“Really? You don’t think?”

“Nah, he probably deals with a dozen stylists all the time.” You shrug.

“That’s so weird. My assistant used to work for him too.”

“Oh really? That must be why she’s so good at her job.”

“Right? I really am a mess.” He frowns.

“No, I don’t think so.” You assure him softly. “Here, I’m going to put this down.” You set the cup on a table nearby. “Don’t wanna get it on your clothes. We’ll go pick some stuff for the trip. Do you have an itinerary?”

“Yes, my assistant sent it. Somewhere…” He fishes his phone out of his pocket. He opens his messages, all you see is the contact name. “Dream Girl🥰” before he swipes back. You turn your eyes away. That’s cute. “Alright, I’ll just find it…”

He turns and walks into the back of the couch as he searches his phone. You catch his arm and pull him around it. 

“Oops.” He gives a sheepish smile. “I just… got a million things on my mind.”

Log Date 53496Willow5

Male subject engaging with female in nonthreatening displays. Aggression no longer detected. Final observations to be recorded before release from containment into habitat.

“I’ve kinda gotten used to it.” You shrug and peer around the corner of the cage to the glass of your enclosure. The curtain finally drawn once again. 

Though you can’t read it, a sign stands in front of your window. Most walk over to examine it and stick around for a minute or two before moving on—as you see an alien doing now. You wave and they startle before returning the gesture. 

Kurt clicks his teeth, leaning in the corner of his box, arms folded tight over his chest. “They’re staring at you. All the time.” 

“Only when it’s open hours,” you say, finger raised in matter-of-fact correction. “And I have my privacy. I can show you once you’re let out of there.” 

You bounce over to the window, the pane of his box frosting over again. Kurt grumbles inside. But you’re focused on the creature outside the window. 

You’ve missed watching your visitors. Each interaction expanding a world wider than your habitat. Curiosity piqued by tentacles, claws, fangs, wings, ears, tails. Speculation and imagination carrying you away with them. With the lack of their presence, it’s all the more apparent how trapped you really are. 

Your legs fold beneath you as you perch on the ledge. A few stragglers wander over. You beam and wave. Your fingers find the glass, pressing to it for those who enjoy comparing their appendages to yours. A towering figure hunches to be the first. 

“You could at least stay close enough so I can get a look,” Kurt calls from his box. 

You turn over your shoulder and back to the window, pushing off from your position. A few steps bring you right to the boundary. 

“You sure you wanna see?” you ask. 

“Better than staring at these four walls,” he sighs on an aggrieved breath. 

You nod to yourself and step forward. The pane clears and Kurt’s eyes catch your own. He stares intently, brow furrowed. A guarded kind of focus refusing to waver until he’s ready. Moments pass as he locks you in his stormy gaze—and you find it hard to look away. Then, he turns to the audience. 

Murmurs rush through the assembled crowd. The first time he’s been viewed by the public. Titters of delight and awe fill the air. More and more bodies press around the glass. 

“This is so fucked up,” he mutters to himself, incredulous. 

The noise and clamour only grows closer. Rising to almost drown out the hiss of the door. But you catch it straight away, head whipping toward the sound. 

Virion enters with another by their side. Without acknowledging you, they gesture to your habitat. Chirps and chitters fall past their lips. Each one a snag, dragging at your breath. 

You rock back on your heels. Why are butterflies dancing through your belly? Why do your feet feel as though they are standing on hot coals in their ache to race to them?

Kurt’s head follows your gaze. His shoulders jump as he startles before they square. “Who the fuck are they?” He steps toward you, too close to the wall of the box. He bumps into it with a thunk. 

You can’t force yourself to break your gaze. Too ensnared by your keeper. The soft nudge against your mind a caress. 

Come here, please?

You start moving before thought can form. They turn to their colleague and continue in their foreign language. A more serious tone rounding out their sounds. The other nods but remains unfazed, energy jolly and eyes alight. 

Virion’s hand raises, offered to you. Their lips form around familiar, cooing syllables. 

“Hey,” Kurt says, fist knocking on the wall. Jolting you out of your eager advance. He nods his chin toward the two visitors. “Tell me who they are.”

“They take care of us,” you reply, drifting away as if on ocean waves. “They run this place—they’re friendly.” The side of the box hazes over. Your feet carrying you too far. 

Kurt clicks his teeth but says nothing more. 

“Hi,” you greet, a nervous lilt shaking your tone as your gaze darts between them. Your hands knead together at your stomach. A crack from your knuckles prompting you to continue, “Long time, no see.”

Virion doesn’t immediately respond to you, but turns to the alien beside them. They make a few chittering sounds, gesture at your body, nod their head—an explanation. 

Closer, please, if you would not mind. 

You follow the silent request. Your hand finds theirs, their fingers wrapping over your own. The smooth, gentle grip enough to quiet the nerves and the butterflies and your brain. 

Good. 

Their lips tilt in that almost smiling way. They’re pleased with you. And you’re just trying to figure out how to breathe with their thumb running across your skin again. 

They produce one of your candies as a treat and offer. Your lips open and close around it. All the while, they carry on their conversation. Exchanges about you, gestures toward you or your space. 

Without warning, the other one reaches out a hand to pat your head and, startled, you shrink toward Virion. Their grip pulses, a comfort. Their free hand gesturing and bidding the other to still—and hopefully keep their hands to themself. 

Forgive him. He’s excited to meet you. 

Your limbs lock. Head fuzzing around the edges. Excited to meet you? Why? Is he-Is he taking you? 

Sweat makes your hands clammy. Your lashes flutter. Your breath bursts heavy but quick even as you try to keep calm. Scenarios play through your head, impossible to tame. He’s taking you away. He’s taking you away!?

Virion’s hand releases yours. Instead, both move to cup your cheeks. Thumbs smoothing and soothing. A comment made to the other as their attention focuses on you. 

Breathe. 

Their eyes search yours, concern shining down on you. You do your best. An ache in your chest from the strain on your lungs. 

He will not take you from here. He is an important benefactor and donor. He wished for an up-close visit.

You nod, peeking around your keeper to the other. A catalog in your mind of the differences between them aiding in tempering your panic. Darker hair—the color of stormclouds. Different eyes—sharp and brilliant turquoise. Bulkier build—thickset and more muscled. A more expressive face—he beams and reaches toward you again as he catches your stare. 

Your eyes skip to Virion. Why do they keep their expressions controlled, composed, unreadable? There’s a twitch of their cheek, a slow blink. 

Should you let the other touch you? Does Virion want that? Would that be good? How are you supposed to know? Can’t they just tell you?

With your teeth worrying over your lower lip, you hesitate but withdraw from the safety of your keeper’s grasp and present yourself. 

The other displays no hint of unease. His eager hands target your head and face. Explorations of your features prod at skin, tug at your ears, skim your throat. Cooing sounds and chitters of delight pass his lips. A twinkle in the clear blue green of his eyes. Face scrunched in question. You nod in return and press a perplexed smile, unable understand him—try as you might to recognize familiar phrases. 

At the pinch of confusion in your expression, he pauses. A comment thrown toward Virion as he grabs your face, his eyes fluttering closed and head leaning down. 

It’s just the same as when Virion created your connection. Their mind attaching to yours. You twitch, but can’t escape the grasp on your cheeks. A noise breaks past your lips. Your mind scrambles. 

He seems friendly, you reason. Surely no issue will arise from another voice in your head. Virion did bring him here. Maybe they want this. It may as well happen, right?

The other is inches away from your face, his lips beaming in a smile. His teeth startling white and pointed. You focus on them as he continues his approach, contact imminent. 

A palm with two fingers and a thumb covers your forehead, slipping over your skin from behind and pulling you a step back into a firm build. Mere moments before the other’s forehead would have touched. 

Your lips purse, looking up at the hand covering your head. It’s a familiar comfort despite its perplexing placement. Confusion creases the other’s face as well. Their eyes open, narrow. He moves away, derision cast toward your keeper. 

Your head tilts against Virion’s side. They don’t look at you. Instead, they’re talking in rapid, hurried clips of sound. But their hand, it lingers. A tender, affectionate stroke against you. 

Irritation carves into the other’s face. His eyes narrowing on your keeper. And then on their hold of you. 

You reach up, feeling the back of Virion’s hand. The smoothness of their skin beneath your fingertips. One of their fingers tangles with yours like a promise. Their grip pulses before their arm drops and they step forward, gesturing at the other and blocking you behind. 

The conversation exchanges between them while you stare and listen. Sounds you don’t understand volley from each.

You slink back toward the box where Kurt waits. His shoulder leans against the wall, his eyes snapping to focus on the intense conversation. 

“What’s that all about?” he asks without looking away. 

Your mind remains empty of explanation as Virion guides the other through the door without a glance back.

“I,” you swallow around your confusion, “I don’t know.”

Next Part

Log Date 53496Willow5

Male subject engaging with female in nonthreatening displays. Aggression no longer detected. Final observations to be recorded before release from containment into habitat.

“I’ve kinda gotten used to it.” You shrug and peer around the corner of the cage to the glass of your enclosure. The curtain finally drawn once again. 

Though you can’t read it, a sign stands in front of your window. Most walk over to examine it and stick around for a minute or two before moving on—as you see an alien doing now. You wave and they startle before returning the gesture. 

Kurt clicks his teeth, leaning in the corner of his box, arms folded tight over his chest. “They’re staring at you. All the time.” 

“Only when it’s open hours,” you say, finger raised in matter-of-fact correction. “And I have my privacy. I can show you once you’re let out of there.” 

You bounce over to the window, the pane of his box frosting over again. Kurt grumbles inside. But you’re focused on the creature outside the window. 

You’ve missed watching your visitors. Each interaction expanding a world wider than your habitat. Curiosity piqued by tentacles, claws, fangs, wings, ears, tails. Speculation and imagination carrying you away with them. With the lack of their presence, it’s all the more apparent how trapped you really are. 

Your legs fold beneath you as you perch on the ledge. A few stragglers wander over. You beam and wave. Your fingers find the glass, pressing to it for those who enjoy comparing their appendages to yours. A towering figure hunches to be the first. 

“You could at least stay close enough so I can get a look,” Kurt calls from his box. 

You turn over your shoulder and back to the window, pushing off from your position. A few steps bring you right to the boundary. 

“You sure you wanna see?” you ask. 

“Better than staring at these four walls,” he sighs on an aggrieved breath. 

You nod to yourself and step forward. The pane clears and Kurt’s eyes catch your own. He stares intently, brow furrowed. A guarded kind of focus refusing to waver until he’s ready. Moments pass as he locks you in his stormy gaze—and you find it hard to look away. Then, he turns to the audience. 

Murmurs rush through the assembled crowd. The first time he’s been viewed by the public. Titters of delight and awe fill the air. More and more bodies press around the glass. 

“This is so fucked up,” he mutters to himself, incredulous. 

The noise and clamour only grows closer. Rising to almost drown out the hiss of the door. But you catch it straight away, head whipping toward the sound. 

Virion enters with another by their side. Without acknowledging you, they gesture to your habitat. Chirps and chitters fall past their lips. Each one a snag, dragging at your breath. 

You rock back on your heels. Why are butterflies dancing through your belly? Why do your feet feel as though they are standing on hot coals in their ache to race to them?

Kurt’s head follows your gaze. His shoulders jump as he startles before they square. “Who the fuck are they?” He steps toward you, too close to the wall of the box. He bumps into it with a thunk. 

You can’t force yourself to break your gaze. Too ensnared by your keeper. The soft nudge against your mind a caress. 

Come here, please?

You start moving before thought can form. They turn to their colleague and continue in their foreign language. A more serious tone rounding out their sounds. The other nods but remains unfazed, energy jolly and eyes alight. 

Virion’s hand raises, offered to you. Their lips form around familiar, cooing syllables. 

“Hey,” Kurt says, fist knocking on the wall. Jolting you out of your eager advance. He nods his chin toward the two visitors. “Tell me who they are.”

“They take care of us,” you reply, drifting away as if on ocean waves. “They run this place—they’re friendly.” The side of the box hazes over. Your feet carrying you too far. 

Kurt clicks his teeth but says nothing more. 

“Hi,” you greet, a nervous lilt shaking your tone as your gaze darts between them. Your hands knead together at your stomach. A crack from your knuckles prompting you to continue, “Long time, no see.”

Virion doesn’t immediately respond to you, but turns to the alien beside them. They make a few chittering sounds, gesture at your body, nod their head—an explanation. 

Closer, please, if you would not mind. 

You follow the silent request. Your hand finds theirs, their fingers wrapping over your own. The smooth, gentle grip enough to quiet the nerves and the butterflies and your brain. 

Good. 

Their lips tilt in that almost smiling way. They’re pleased with you. And you’re just trying to figure out how to breathe with their thumb running across your skin again. 

They produce one of your candies as a treat and offer. Your lips open and close around it. All the while, they carry on their conversation. Exchanges about you, gestures toward you or your space. 

Without warning, the other one reaches out a hand to pat your head and, startled, you shrink toward Virion. Their grip pulses, a comfort. Their free hand gesturing and bidding the other to still—and hopefully keep their hands to themself. 

Forgive him. He’s excited to meet you. 

Your limbs lock. Head fuzzing around the edges. Excited to meet you? Why? Is he-Is he taking you? 

Sweat makes your hands clammy. Your lashes flutter. Your breath bursts heavy but quick even as you try to keep calm. Scenarios play through your head, impossible to tame. He’s taking you away. He’s taking you away!?

Virion’s hand releases yours. Instead, both move to cup your cheeks. Thumbs smoothing and soothing. A comment made to the other as their attention focuses on you. 

Breathe. 

Their eyes search yours, concern shining down on you. You do your best. An ache in your chest from the strain on your lungs. 

He will not take you from here. He is an important benefactor and donor. He wished for an up-close visit.

You nod, peeking around your keeper to the other. A catalog in your mind of the differences between them aiding in tempering your panic. Darker hair—the color of stormclouds. Different eyes—sharp and brilliant turquoise. Bulkier build—thickset and more muscled. A more expressive face—he beams and reaches toward you again as he catches your stare. 

Your eyes skip to Virion. Why do they keep their expressions controlled, composed, unreadable? There’s a twitch of their cheek, a slow blink. 

Should you let the other touch you? Does Virion want that? Would that be good? How are you supposed to know? Can’t they just tell you?

With your teeth worrying over your lower lip, you hesitate but withdraw from the safety of your keeper’s grasp and present yourself. 

The other displays no hint of unease. His eager hands target your head and face. Explorations of your features prod at skin, tug at your ears, skim your throat. Cooing sounds and chitters of delight pass his lips. A twinkle in the clear blue green of his eyes. Face scrunched in question. You nod in return and press a perplexed smile, unable understand him—try as you might to recognize familiar phrases. 

At the pinch of confusion in your expression, he pauses. A comment thrown toward Virion as he grabs your face, his eyes fluttering closed and head leaning down. 

It’s just the same as when Virion created your connection. Their mind attaching to yours. You twitch, but can’t escape the grasp on your cheeks. A noise breaks past your lips. Your mind scrambles. 

He seems friendly, you reason. Surely no issue will arise from another voice in your head. Virion did bring him here. Maybe they want this. It may as well happen, right?

The other is inches away from your face, his lips beaming in a smile. His teeth startling white and pointed. You focus on them as he continues his approach, contact imminent. 

A palm with two fingers and a thumb covers your forehead, slipping over your skin from behind and pulling you a step back into a firm build. Mere moments before the other’s forehead would have touched. 

Your lips purse, looking up at the hand covering your head. It’s a familiar comfort despite its perplexing placement. Confusion creases the other’s face as well. Their eyes open, narrow. He moves away, derision cast toward your keeper. 

Your head tilts against Virion’s side. They don’t look at you. Instead, they’re talking in rapid, hurried clips of sound. But their hand, it lingers. A tender, affectionate stroke against you. 

Irritation carves into the other’s face. His eyes narrowing on your keeper. And then on their hold of you. 

You reach up, feeling the back of Virion’s hand. The smoothness of their skin beneath your fingertips. One of their fingers tangles with yours like a promise. Their grip pulses before their arm drops and they step forward, gesturing at the other and blocking you behind. 

The conversation exchanges between them while you stare and listen. Sounds you don’t understand volley from each.

You slink back toward the box where Kurt waits. His shoulder leans against the wall, his eyes snapping to focus on the intense conversation. 

“What’s that all about?” he asks without looking away. 

Your mind remains empty of explanation as Virion guides the other through the door without a glance back.

“I,” you swallow around your confusion, “I don’t know.”

Next Part

Log Date 53496Willow5

Male subject engaging with female in nonthreatening displays. Aggression no longer detected. Final observations to be recorded before release from containment into habitat.

“I’ve kinda gotten used to it.” You shrug and peer around the corner of the cage to the glass of your enclosure. The curtain finally drawn once again. 

Though you can’t read it, a sign stands in front of your window. Most walk over to examine it and stick around for a minute or two before moving on—as you see an alien doing now. You wave and they startle before returning the gesture. 

Kurt clicks his teeth, leaning in the corner of his box, arms folded tight over his chest. “They’re staring at you. All the time.” 

“Only when it’s open hours,” you say, finger raised in matter-of-fact correction. “And I have my privacy. I can show you once you’re let out of there.” 

You bounce over to the window, the pane of his box frosting over again. Kurt grumbles inside. But you’re focused on the creature outside the window. 

You’ve missed watching your visitors. Each interaction expanding a world wider than your habitat. Curiosity piqued by tentacles, claws, fangs, wings, ears, tails. Speculation and imagination carrying you away with them. With the lack of their presence, it’s all the more apparent how trapped you really are. 

Your legs fold beneath you as you perch on the ledge. A few stragglers wander over. You beam and wave. Your fingers find the glass, pressing to it for those who enjoy comparing their appendages to yours. A towering figure hunches to be the first. 

“You could at least stay close enough so I can get a look,” Kurt calls from his box. 

You turn over your shoulder and back to the window, pushing off from your position. A few steps bring you right to the boundary. 

“You sure you wanna see?” you ask. 

“Better than staring at these four walls,” he sighs on an aggrieved breath. 

You nod to yourself and step forward. The pane clears and Kurt’s eyes catch your own. He stares intently, brow furrowed. A guarded kind of focus refusing to waver until he’s ready. Moments pass as he locks you in his stormy gaze—and you find it hard to look away. Then, he turns to the audience. 

Murmurs rush through the assembled crowd. The first time he’s been viewed by the public. Titters of delight and awe fill the air. More and more bodies press around the glass. 

“This is so fucked up,” he mutters to himself, incredulous. 

The noise and clamour only grows closer. Rising to almost drown out the hiss of the door. But you catch it straight away, head whipping toward the sound. 

Virion enters with another by their side. Without acknowledging you, they gesture to your habitat. Chirps and chitters fall past their lips. Each one a snag, dragging at your breath. 

You rock back on your heels. Why are butterflies dancing through your belly? Why do your feet feel as though they are standing on hot coals in their ache to race to them?

Kurt’s head follows your gaze. His shoulders jump as he startles before they square. “Who the fuck are they?” He steps toward you, too close to the wall of the box. He bumps into it with a thunk. 

You can’t force yourself to break your gaze. Too ensnared by your keeper. The soft nudge against your mind a caress. 

Come here, please?

You start moving before thought can form. They turn to their colleague and continue in their foreign language. A more serious tone rounding out their sounds. The other nods but remains unfazed, energy jolly and eyes alight. 

Virion’s hand raises, offered to you. Their lips form around familiar, cooing syllables. 

“Hey,” Kurt says, fist knocking on the wall. Jolting you out of your eager advance. He nods his chin toward the two visitors. “Tell me who they are.”

“They take care of us,” you reply, drifting away as if on ocean waves. “They run this place—they’re friendly.” The side of the box hazes over. Your feet carrying you too far. 

Kurt clicks his teeth but says nothing more. 

“Hi,” you greet, a nervous lilt shaking your tone as your gaze darts between them. Your hands knead together at your stomach. A crack from your knuckles prompting you to continue, “Long time, no see.”

Virion doesn’t immediately respond to you, but turns to the alien beside them. They make a few chittering sounds, gesture at your body, nod their head—an explanation. 

Closer, please, if you would not mind. 

You follow the silent request. Your hand finds theirs, their fingers wrapping over your own. The smooth, gentle grip enough to quiet the nerves and the butterflies and your brain. 

Good. 

Their lips tilt in that almost smiling way. They’re pleased with you. And you’re just trying to figure out how to breathe with their thumb running across your skin again. 

They produce one of your candies as a treat and offer. Your lips open and close around it. All the while, they carry on their conversation. Exchanges about you, gestures toward you or your space. 

Without warning, the other one reaches out a hand to pat your head and, startled, you shrink toward Virion. Their grip pulses, a comfort. Their free hand gesturing and bidding the other to still—and hopefully keep their hands to themself. 

Forgive him. He’s excited to meet you. 

Your limbs lock. Head fuzzing around the edges. Excited to meet you? Why? Is he-Is he taking you? 

Sweat makes your hands clammy. Your lashes flutter. Your breath bursts heavy but quick even as you try to keep calm. Scenarios play through your head, impossible to tame. He’s taking you away. He’s taking you away!?

Virion’s hand releases yours. Instead, both move to cup your cheeks. Thumbs smoothing and soothing. A comment made to the other as their attention focuses on you. 

Breathe. 

Their eyes search yours, concern shining down on you. You do your best. An ache in your chest from the strain on your lungs. 

He will not take you from here. He is an important benefactor and donor. He wished for an up-close visit.

You nod, peeking around your keeper to the other. A catalog in your mind of the differences between them aiding in tempering your panic. Darker hair—the color of stormclouds. Different eyes—sharp and brilliant turquoise. Bulkier build—thickset and more muscled. A more expressive face—he beams and reaches toward you again as he catches your stare. 

Your eyes skip to Virion. Why do they keep their expressions controlled, composed, unreadable? There’s a twitch of their cheek, a slow blink. 

Should you let the other touch you? Does Virion want that? Would that be good? How are you supposed to know? Can’t they just tell you?

With your teeth worrying over your lower lip, you hesitate but withdraw from the safety of your keeper’s grasp and present yourself. 

The other displays no hint of unease. His eager hands target your head and face. Explorations of your features prod at skin, tug at your ears, skim your throat. Cooing sounds and chitters of delight pass his lips. A twinkle in the clear blue green of his eyes. Face scrunched in question. You nod in return and press a perplexed smile, unable understand him—try as you might to recognize familiar phrases. 

At the pinch of confusion in your expression, he pauses. A comment thrown toward Virion as he grabs your face, his eyes fluttering closed and head leaning down. 

It’s just the same as when Virion created your connection. Their mind attaching to yours. You twitch, but can’t escape the grasp on your cheeks. A noise breaks past your lips. Your mind scrambles. 

He seems friendly, you reason. Surely no issue will arise from another voice in your head. Virion did bring him here. Maybe they want this. It may as well happen, right?

The other is inches away from your face, his lips beaming in a smile. His teeth startling white and pointed. You focus on them as he continues his approach, contact imminent. 

A palm with two fingers and a thumb covers your forehead, slipping over your skin from behind and pulling you a step back into a firm build. Mere moments before the other’s forehead would have touched. 

Your lips purse, looking up at the hand covering your head. It’s a familiar comfort despite its perplexing placement. Confusion creases the other’s face as well. Their eyes open, narrow. He moves away, derision cast toward your keeper. 

Your head tilts against Virion’s side. They don’t look at you. Instead, they’re talking in rapid, hurried clips of sound. But their hand, it lingers. A tender, affectionate stroke against you. 

Irritation carves into the other’s face. His eyes narrowing on your keeper. And then on their hold of you. 

You reach up, feeling the back of Virion’s hand. The smoothness of their skin beneath your fingertips. One of their fingers tangles with yours like a promise. Their grip pulses before their arm drops and they step forward, gesturing at the other and blocking you behind. 

The conversation exchanges between them while you stare and listen. Sounds you don’t understand volley from each.

You slink back toward the box where Kurt waits. His shoulder leans against the wall, his eyes snapping to focus on the intense conversation. 

“What’s that all about?” he asks without looking away. 

Your mind remains empty of explanation as Virion guides the other through the door without a glance back.

“I,” you swallow around your confusion, “I don’t know.”

Next Part

Log Date 53496Willow5

Male subject engaging with female in nonthreatening displays. Aggression no longer detected. Final observations to be recorded before release from containment into habitat.

“I’ve kinda gotten used to it.” You shrug and peer around the corner of the cage to the glass of your enclosure. The curtain finally drawn once again. 

Though you can’t read it, a sign stands in front of your window. Most walk over to examine it and stick around for a minute or two before moving on—as you see an alien doing now. You wave and they startle before returning the gesture. 

Kurt clicks his teeth, leaning in the corner of his box, arms folded tight over his chest. “They’re staring at you. All the time.” 

“Only when it’s open hours,” you say, finger raised in matter-of-fact correction. “And I have my privacy. I can show you once you’re let out of there.” 

You bounce over to the window, the pane of his box frosting over again. Kurt grumbles inside. But you’re focused on the creature outside the window. 

You’ve missed watching your visitors. Each interaction expanding a world wider than your habitat. Curiosity piqued by tentacles, claws, fangs, wings, ears, tails. Speculation and imagination carrying you away with them. With the lack of their presence, it’s all the more apparent how trapped you really are. 

Your legs fold beneath you as you perch on the ledge. A few stragglers wander over. You beam and wave. Your fingers find the glass, pressing to it for those who enjoy comparing their appendages to yours. A towering figure hunches to be the first. 

“You could at least stay close enough so I can get a look,” Kurt calls from his box. 

You turn over your shoulder and back to the window, pushing off from your position. A few steps bring you right to the boundary. 

“You sure you wanna see?” you ask. 

“Better than staring at these four walls,” he sighs on an aggrieved breath. 

You nod to yourself and step forward. The pane clears and Kurt’s eyes catch your own. He stares intently, brow furrowed. A guarded kind of focus refusing to waver until he’s ready. Moments pass as he locks you in his stormy gaze—and you find it hard to look away. Then, he turns to the audience. 

Murmurs rush through the assembled crowd. The first time he’s been viewed by the public. Titters of delight and awe fill the air. More and more bodies press around the glass. 

“This is so fucked up,” he mutters to himself, incredulous. 

The noise and clamour only grows closer. Rising to almost drown out the hiss of the door. But you catch it straight away, head whipping toward the sound. 

Virion enters with another by their side. Without acknowledging you, they gesture to your habitat. Chirps and chitters fall past their lips. Each one a snag, dragging at your breath. 

You rock back on your heels. Why are butterflies dancing through your belly? Why do your feet feel as though they are standing on hot coals in their ache to race to them?

Kurt’s head follows your gaze. His shoulders jump as he startles before they square. “Who the fuck are they?” He steps toward you, too close to the wall of the box. He bumps into it with a thunk. 

You can’t force yourself to break your gaze. Too ensnared by your keeper. The soft nudge against your mind a caress. 

Come here, please?

You start moving before thought can form. They turn to their colleague and continue in their foreign language. A more serious tone rounding out their sounds. The other nods but remains unfazed, energy jolly and eyes alight. 

Virion’s hand raises, offered to you. Their lips form around familiar, cooing syllables. 

“Hey,” Kurt says, fist knocking on the wall. Jolting you out of your eager advance. He nods his chin toward the two visitors. “Tell me who they are.”

“They take care of us,” you reply, drifting away as if on ocean waves. “They run this place—they’re friendly.” The side of the box hazes over. Your feet carrying you too far. 

Kurt clicks his teeth but says nothing more. 

“Hi,” you greet, a nervous lilt shaking your tone as your gaze darts between them. Your hands knead together at your stomach. A crack from your knuckles prompting you to continue, “Long time, no see.”

Virion doesn’t immediately respond to you, but turns to the alien beside them. They make a few chittering sounds, gesture at your body, nod their head—an explanation. 

Closer, please, if you would not mind. 

You follow the silent request. Your hand finds theirs, their fingers wrapping over your own. The smooth, gentle grip enough to quiet the nerves and the butterflies and your brain. 

Good. 

Their lips tilt in that almost smiling way. They’re pleased with you. And you’re just trying to figure out how to breathe with their thumb running across your skin again. 

They produce one of your candies as a treat and offer. Your lips open and close around it. All the while, they carry on their conversation. Exchanges about you, gestures toward you or your space. 

Without warning, the other one reaches out a hand to pat your head and, startled, you shrink toward Virion. Their grip pulses, a comfort. Their free hand gesturing and bidding the other to still—and hopefully keep their hands to themself. 

Forgive him. He’s excited to meet you. 

Your limbs lock. Head fuzzing around the edges. Excited to meet you? Why? Is he-Is he taking you? 

Sweat makes your hands clammy. Your lashes flutter. Your breath bursts heavy but quick even as you try to keep calm. Scenarios play through your head, impossible to tame. He’s taking you away. He’s taking you away!?

Virion’s hand releases yours. Instead, both move to cup your cheeks. Thumbs smoothing and soothing. A comment made to the other as their attention focuses on you. 

Breathe. 

Their eyes search yours, concern shining down on you. You do your best. An ache in your chest from the strain on your lungs. 

He will not take you from here. He is an important benefactor and donor. He wished for an up-close visit.

You nod, peeking around your keeper to the other. A catalog in your mind of the differences between them aiding in tempering your panic. Darker hair—the color of stormclouds. Different eyes—sharp and brilliant turquoise. Bulkier build—thickset and more muscled. A more expressive face—he beams and reaches toward you again as he catches your stare. 

Your eyes skip to Virion. Why do they keep their expressions controlled, composed, unreadable? There’s a twitch of their cheek, a slow blink. 

Should you let the other touch you? Does Virion want that? Would that be good? How are you supposed to know? Can’t they just tell you?

With your teeth worrying over your lower lip, you hesitate but withdraw from the safety of your keeper’s grasp and present yourself. 

The other displays no hint of unease. His eager hands target your head and face. Explorations of your features prod at skin, tug at your ears, skim your throat. Cooing sounds and chitters of delight pass his lips. A twinkle in the clear blue green of his eyes. Face scrunched in question. You nod in return and press a perplexed smile, unable understand him—try as you might to recognize familiar phrases. 

At the pinch of confusion in your expression, he pauses. A comment thrown toward Virion as he grabs your face, his eyes fluttering closed and head leaning down. 

It’s just the same as when Virion created your connection. Their mind attaching to yours. You twitch, but can’t escape the grasp on your cheeks. A noise breaks past your lips. Your mind scrambles. 

He seems friendly, you reason. Surely no issue will arise from another voice in your head. Virion did bring him here. Maybe they want this. It may as well happen, right?

The other is inches away from your face, his lips beaming in a smile. His teeth startling white and pointed. You focus on them as he continues his approach, contact imminent. 

A palm with two fingers and a thumb covers your forehead, slipping over your skin from behind and pulling you a step back into a firm build. Mere moments before the other’s forehead would have touched. 

Your lips purse, looking up at the hand covering your head. It’s a familiar comfort despite its perplexing placement. Confusion creases the other’s face as well. Their eyes open, narrow. He moves away, derision cast toward your keeper. 

Your head tilts against Virion’s side. They don’t look at you. Instead, they’re talking in rapid, hurried clips of sound. But their hand, it lingers. A tender, affectionate stroke against you. 

Irritation carves into the other’s face. His eyes narrowing on your keeper. And then on their hold of you. 

You reach up, feeling the back of Virion’s hand. The smoothness of their skin beneath your fingertips. One of their fingers tangles with yours like a promise. Their grip pulses before their arm drops and they step forward, gesturing at the other and blocking you behind. 

The conversation exchanges between them while you stare and listen. Sounds you don’t understand volley from each.

You slink back toward the box where Kurt waits. His shoulder leans against the wall, his eyes snapping to focus on the intense conversation. 

“What’s that all about?” he asks without looking away. 

Your mind remains empty of explanation as Virion guides the other through the door without a glance back.

“I,” you swallow around your confusion, “I don’t know.”

Next Part