#Buddy! is vary injured.

[scorching-earth]

the only thing that gave me interest. pt.2

Buddy’s eyes fluttered open. She one hundred percent expected to be on the cold hard floor of the room her mother put her in. yet the moment she woke up the ceiling was wood. “So it wasn't a dream…” Buddy said, she started to sit up slowly. Looking over at the walkie talkie Buddy grabbed it. ‘This will let me talk to Yuu.’ Buddy put the device to the side of her face. Pressing the button Buddy inhaled. 

Yuu’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Ace. “say that again.” Yuu asked with a very pissed expression. “I said you're a sucker, magicless, and a janitor! Your life must suck and now you're taking care of the dead weight student. who mined you isn't in any dorm since they never had the mirror look at them. Like what do you even bother at this point.” Ace said nonchalantly. Grim the cat who had made a ruckus not only in the Ramshackle Dorm but also at the entrance ceremony was now staining beside Yuu. “I’ll give you one more chance to take back what you said bastard. You can insult me all you want but you're not allowed to insult my patient.” Yuu said, taking a few steps towards Ace, Yuu towered over Ace. Yuu’s hands were in his pockets. “What do you mean, oh you mean the person who was in that crappy coffin. You know, I heard a rumor that the coffins you arrive in represent your personality. That must mean they have a shitty personality, just like the fur ball over there.” Ace said with a smug look on his face. Yuu had enough, he gave that asshole enough chances. Winding up a punch, Yuu was ready to rip this Ace a new one. That was until the walkie talkie alerted him to Buddy trying to talk with him. Yuu immediately changed his stance looking away from Ace Yuu took the walkie talkie from his pocket. 

“Meah how dare you insult me like that, that coffin wouldn't even touch my magnificence.” Grim said mad, Yuu ignored the insult all for the sake of Buddy. Putting the device to his ear he pressed the receiver button. “Yuu?” Buddy’s voice was a lot more static, and she sounded tired. Yuu was relieved though. “Buddy hay! Are you ok?” Yuu asked, worried. “You're real… I’m still here in this dream… it’s so good to hear you.” Buddy said with a sob. “Hey, it’s ok I’m helping you ok? Has Crowley come by?” Yuu asked. “Yah just before I started talking to you. He came in with paperwork. I've deduced that the money here has the same monetary value as yen. While I don’t use yen very much, I can still make plans for the school. Budgeting may be an issue since I don't know what half of these classes are” Buddy said in a slightly strained voice. “Oh that's good, is there anything else you need? Are you in good health?” Yuu asked. “Yah, I think I’ll be just fine… well uh talk to you soon?” Buddy said it was reassuring to hear from her. “Yah I have something to deal with as well… bye.” Yuu bid adieu. Yuu turned off the walkie talkie. Yuu turned to meet Ace’s face only for Ace to look horrified. “Bastard. You’ll pay for what you said.” Yuu said, grabbing Ace by his collar. “Yuu!” Crowley raced towards the teen and pulled Yuu off Ace. “What is wrong with you Yuu?!” Crowley asked in a very frustrated tone. “That bastard insulted Buddy!” Yuu yelled. “Who- who are you talking about?” Ace asked. “That “dead weight” is Buddy.” Yuu said, kicking towards Ace. “Yuu calm down, you're letting anger get the better of you.” Crowley said. Ace was relieved that Crowley was holding Yuu, because Ace would never forget the Expression Yuu gave him. Pure unfiltered rage, talking to this Buddy person made Yuu even more mad at Ace.

Crowley was told by a student about what happened. Yuu nearly punched Ace that was until Buddy called him. The problem was Grim then took over and tried to burn Ace. Ace had used his wind magic to redirect the fire. Unfortunately Ace burned the statue of the Queen of hearts. Crowley had just about enough. “All three of you will clean a hundred widows. Yuu you threatened one of the students, Grim you attacked one of the students, Ace you destroyed school property. These grave offenses will be absolved once you three clean the windows.” Crowley said letting go of Yuu, who had by now calmed down. “... you're not off the hook.” Yuu said, giving Ace a side eye. That side eye gave Ace chills. 

Buddy sighed as Crowley left. Buddy looked out the window. She fell out of her bed, Scrambling to the window Buddy’s eyes widened. “The sky is clear. Just like dad said.” Buddy spoke out loud. “Shouldn't you be resting?” someone asked Buddy. Buddy turned to meet the other person’s gaze. “Ah! Um, who are you?” Buddy asked. “Ah, where are my manners? I’m Cater Diamond.” Cater said. “Un Buddy. I’m Buddy.” Buddy said, rubbing the behind her head. “You should probably lay back down. you can look out the window all you want when you get better dear.” Cater said with a wink. “Oh uh… yah. I still have a bit more work to do.” Buddy said, pulling the covers on her legs. “Soooo… Whatcha doing?” Cater asked. “Ah! You haven't left?” Buddy asked. “Should I have?” Cater asked. “Probably, besides all I’m doing is accounting.” Buddy replyed "really the first day is for first years to understand the school. So to a third year like me can just do as I please." Cater explained. "Ah I see, unfortunately I don't know if I can go to this school. I don't remember having any level of magic before so I'll probably stay as the school's accountant for a bit." Buddy explained. A nod of silence passed before it was broken. "Ah so um you think your like that Yuu guy?" Cater asked. "Most likely, but I don't even want to go back. The sky is clear and the grass is green. It's even more beautiful then my father told me." Buddy said. "So uh do you have any other skills?" Cater asked, whatever Buddy was saying it probably had some sort of meaning behind it. Some sort of depressing meaning. "Oh I'm pretty good at tarot reading. If you want I can do a reading for you." Buddy said taking two deacks of cards out of there bag.

Buddy shuffled the cards together. "Now I need you to shuffle the cards. These cost me a fortune so please be careful with them." Buddy said handing over the cards. "Oh uh… why do I have to shuffle them though didn't you just shuffle them?" Cater asked. "I'm doing a reading for you. Call it personal touch you can even shuffle the cards you want to see. It's all your choice." Buddy said with a soft smile. "Ah ok I understand now." Cater said. He decided to do a flashy shuffle one that let him show off this skills. "Impressive. Ok now I need you to set the deck down and set one card above three others. Make sure there face down don't want to ruin any surprise." Buddy said instructing Cater on where to put the cards. "Like this? Cater asked. "Exactly like that. Ok I'll flip the one above the three cards here. This card represents you." Buddy said flipping the top card to reveal the four of pentacles. "Well this is an interesting card to pull." Buddy looked up to see Cater's expression. "Hm do you know anything about tarot cards?" Asked Buddy. Cater just looked away. "Playing cards are based off these cards you know." Buddy said placing a finger on the four of pentacles. "This card is the four of diamonds." Buddy said catching Cater's surprise. "If I'm reading this right you highly connected to the playing card the four of diamonds. This card represents financial security. Your family works in money." Buddy said as Cater's expression became that of bewilderment. "How did you know all that?" Cater asked. "The card told me." Buddy said like it was a fact. "I'm getting kind of nervous. So what exactly are the other cards meant to be?" Cater asked. Buddy flipped the first of the four cards. "The fool represents the beginning of something this is your past. Since school has just started up again your probably a bit stressed. I totally understand if you need to take time off, and relax since your now a third year people will probably look to your guidance. that's probably going to be a new feeling for you to deal with." Buddy said with pinpoint accuracy. "Ok you have to be doing something. There is no way you would know that." Cater said nervous.

"All I'm doing is reading the card. It tells me everything I need to know." Buddy said. Flipping over the next card. Buddy's expression dropped seeing it. The tower. "... This is your present what's going on now. Your going through a lot of turmoil and your views are being challenged. Something is destroying your life so to speak, or is it someone." Buddy asked. Cater's expression wasn't a happy one. "Someone is making a mess of what you believe in. There destroying what you worked so hard to build." Buddy finished, Buddy's hand hovered over the last card. "Hay before you flip the last card over tell me what spell your using." Cater asked. His expression was dead serious. Looking at Cater Buddy smiled. "I'll tell you after these events transpire, ok?" Buddy said flipping over the last card. The Knight of cups. "There's no need to worry. Someone will help you, so to speak a white knight will come and save you. Whoever is destroying your life will be stoped by maybe a close friend." Buddy said with a smile. "... Your telling me that I'm going need to be saved #lame." Cater said with a sigh. Buddy looked shocked at the use of hashtags. "Well if you don't like it change it. These aren't set in stone and you can always take charge if you don't want to be saved." Buddy said leaning back in the nurse bed. "I really do what to know what spell you used." Cater asked. 

"It's just outsider perspective. All I did was read the cards and tell you what they told me." Buddy said taking the cards form the reading and put them away. "I'll figure out what spell you used. When I find it I'll do a reading for you." Cater said. "Sure thing. I'll be waiting till then." Buddy said as Cater left the room. "he'll probably forget about this. Everyone dose." Buddy said taking a cigarette form the pack in her bag. She put one in her mouth, and lit it. "... All I did was look at the card and then look how you reacted. That Diamond on your face didn't help either. It's like you never even thought that I wasn't using magic." Buddy said with a sigh. Throwing the rest of the pack back in the bag. Exhaling Buddy looked out the window once more. "It really is beautiful." Buddy mudders. As minutes passed and Buddy fished work quickly. Having used the cigarette up Buddy panicked for a second on where to snuff it out. using the underside of the side table then dropping it behind the bed she felt a lot better after the smoke. Yet now she was left with nothing to do. Leaning back Buddy looked at the walkie talkie. Pressing the button on the device she waited, Nothing no pick up. Buddy wanted to cry Yuu had been so nice to her why wouldn't he pick up now? 

After several failed attempts at trying to call Yuu. Buddy was about to reach for another cigarette, but was interrupted by Crowley. "I've come to pick up the paperwork you filled out." Crowley said. "Uh um right here." Buddy headed over the small stack of papers over to Crowley. Crowley looked at the papers for a moment before looking back at Buddy. "These are very detailed. I'm shocked how much you were able to get done in such a short time." Crowley said. "I'm smart that's all." Buddy said bluntly. "Well you rest up now. We can't have your wounds getting worse." Crowley said. "Yuu wouldn't pick up my calls. Do you know why?" Buddy asked. Crowley's face became grim. "No he should have had it on at all times since he's just doing some janitorial work. I'll go check it out." Crowley said. "Please do I'm going to get some sleep now ok?" Buddy said, pulling the covers over her body. 

Crowley quickly walked out of the infirmary. Even though Yuu probably fished cleaning the windows but checking the cafeteria would be a good place to start. In Front of the doors to the cafeteria Crowley heard something "If the head mage finds out." Crowley quickly opened the doors to the cafeteria. "If I found out what?" Crowley said. The three students look like they have just been caught red handed. But Crowley was more concerned about the now broken Chandler. "What did you three do!" Crowley yelled. "Uh I'm so sorry headmage I'll pay for the damage." One deuce spade said. "With what money it took a billion madol to make it and it will take just as much to fix it!" Crowley said. "All four of you will be expelled!" The headmaster yelled. "Uh but I'm not a-" Yuu was cut off. "Quite Yuu did I not say that those walkie talkies were given so that Buddy could contact you whenever they needed something! Yet for some reason every time they tried to contact you, but you never picked up." Crowley said his hands on his hips. Yuu looked down in shame. “I… have no excuses. I turned it off so it wouldn't bother me.” Yuu said, biting his lip. “I’m sorely disappointed in you.” Crowley said his eyebrows furrowed. “Well. I’ll have to expel… you two your Ace Trapola. You with the dark hair. State your name.”Crowley demanded. The boy with dark hair looked down. “Deuce spade.” Deuce said. Crowley thought for a moment. “I will expel you both Yuu. while your services to the school have helped one of our students. I will have you leave the premises. you are no longer in employment.” Crowley said in a serious voice. Yuu fell to his knees. “God dammit... Crowley, plese, I’m begging you. Tell me how I can stay.” Yuu said his head to the floor. Ace, Deuce, and Grim looked shocked as Yuu was prostrated at Crowley’s feet. “Ah! What- what are you doing Yuu!” Crowley said, taking a step back. “Please I’ll do anything to keep taking care of Buddy until they make a full recovery. I’ll leave after their batter. Dammit man I’ll do anything.” Yuu said as tears streamed down his face. “Dude… uh yah headmage we want to stay.” Deuce said, looking a little nervous. Crowley looked at Yuu distressed. “Stand up Yuu. I’ll give you one chance to rectify this wrong. Get me a magestone. That was the most expensive part of the chandler. And with the budget Mx Buddy gave me there is enough for the reapers if we exclude the mage crystal.” Crowley said looking as Yuu got up. “Where can we find one?” Yuu asked. “Erp… man Yuu bounced back quickly.” Ace said. “Well I’ll give you till next morning. You can find a magestone at the dwarf mine, use the dark mirror to get there. I will not wait a minute sooner.” Crowley said walking out of the cafeteria.

[rocksibblingsau]

So a very good friend of mine @dialga64bitz has created the Reverse Rock Sibblings AU.

(Art by Dialga)

The premise is the fateful day, instead of Barb finding Branch, Branch finds Barb. They encountered some sort of beast and Branch finds Barb injured and brings her back to the village, believing her to be a grey troll.

Barb kinda immediately latches on to Branch as a sibling, which makes her not want to leave. Also preventing her from going home is that she believes her dad may have died in the attack, and going home would cement the reality. In Pop Village she can pretend he's fine, but if she goes home and he's not there... then she knows.

King Peppy isn't happy with Barb being there, which is fine by here because she doesn't like him either. Because of her, Cooper realizes he's not a Pop Troll very early on, and resolves to go find his family when he gets older.

(Art by Dialga)

Barb lives with Branch in his bunker, and after some time she kind of begins to like to snack pack.

Cooper: She befriends him first, and he asks her about different tribes.

Smidge: Her and Barb are work out buddies!

Biggie: Not a big fan of him exactly but she likes Mr. Dinkles.

Satin & Chenille: They tried to make her rock clothes to varying success. They see it as an ultimate fashion challenge.

DJ Suki: They chillax together.

Guy Diamond: Honestly she can't stand this guy but she can respect his confidence. When Tiny is born though she immediately names herself Aunt Barb and dotes on him.

Poppy: They have a very up and down relationship. She appreciates that Poppy genuinely tries, but Poppy's tendency to not listen or do things the Pop Troll way caused them to butt heads often.

(Art by Dialga)

The night of the 20th anniversary Barb leaves the bunker to go check on the party, only to arrive just in time for Chef to appear. Due to Barb, the Pop Trolls were all able to escape being caught. Only a single Troll was caught by Chef...

(Art by Dialga)

Barb is captured by Chef and taken to the castle. She avoids getting eaten by Gristle due to being a bit too hard to swallow (she's not making it easy) and Chef listened to her for long enough to know exactly what to threaten Barb with.

Sell out the Pop Trolls and she'd spare her and her brother. If she didn't, she'd do something far worse to Branch and make Barb watch.

Barb reluctantly chose to save Branch.

[sinisterexaggerator]

Got it Bad

Poe Dameron x Fem! Reader

Summary: You are a medic aboard the Anodyne, a Resistance frigate frequented by one Poe Dameron. He often comes to see you when he is injured; you assume this time to be no different, as he is reckless in the line of duty and could do with your healing touch. But you have underestimated him; he has to show you something. Will you entertain his request?

Warnings: Explicit / NSFW 18+ for: Heavy petting, cunnilingus, PiV sex, kissing, blood and injury, premature ejaculation, dirty talk, medical scenarios, and mention of death in wartime. Contains: fluff, a liiittle bit of angst, smut, humor, and “love” confessions.  

Notes: This is my first time writing for Poe Dameron! Dedicated to @allsystemsblue, because she was the one who told me to! Poe is all over the place in this, but always about consent!

Word Count: 8.1K

Divider and banner by me.

“How many times has it been, then?”

Doe brown eyes blinked once, twice, spidery lashes that may as well have been made of gossamer, or silk, gracing tawny skin with a kiss. Poe Dameron stared blankly at you as you dressed his wound, this being one of the numerous occasions that you were tasked to do so.

You were one of the many medics aboard this particular Resistance vessel that patrolled the Outer Rim. Stationed not too far from D’Qar and the principal base of General Organa herself, this reckless, daredevil pilot had a tendency to bless you with his presence after what you would call less than routine missions.

Not desiring to arrive to his superior a bloodied mess more than necessary, Poe frequently docked his T-70 star fighter in your frigate’s docking bay for safekeeping, allowing his droid companion free rein of the halls.  Moments earlier, BB-8 had been offered a recharging station, Dameron left in your expert care as his ball droid rolled off and out of sight, following closely behind a member of the maintenance crew. The conversation between the two had been amusing to witness.

“Don’t worry, buddy! I’ll be right here waiting for you. Maybe. Possibly.”

BB had issued a series of complaints and reprimands in Droidspeak, causing the pilot to wince as if being scolded by his mother, or the general herself.

“All right, fine! I’ll come and find you then. No sweat.”

Satisfied, the orange and white orb had swirled on its axis, wheeling fluidly across a duralloy floor, leaving its master alone to suffer the consequences of his actions. Though Dameron did not seem to care, remaining somewhat unbothered by the gash across his forehead from where a piece of shrapnel had sent Black One into a spin. Before he could regain control, Poe’s head had crashed into the yolk of his X-wing, leaving a two-inch rent in his flesh.

No, he had not been wearing his helmet.

Despite his foolhardy nature, you thought it curious. With such a varied assortment of medical personnel living and working on the Anodyne - a modified Nebulon-C escort employed by the Resistance for the express purpose of being a mobile hospital - it was a wonder of yours why Poe always chose to search you out.

Not considering yourself to be anything in the way of special, at least the skills you possessed were adequate to put him on the mend. But, somehow, this visit seemed different, even if sticky crimson coated his handsome features.

You had come to notice that Poe was spending less time talking and more time staring, a thing you were not accustomed to as his gaze was unrelenting, the commander scrutinizing every facet of your appearance. He had seemed to limit himself to the surface area of your face, wandering, probing, exploring the curve of your nose, the outline of your lips, and finally the warmth in your eyes.

“Y-you didn’t answer me,” you commented, applying bacta to the injured man with a dabble of your fingers, your voice having lost its normal confidence as Dameron uttered a single, muted question.

“Huh?” he asked, as if only now realizing he was indeed a person, and that he could be perceived by others. He sat up marginally in his chair, those unyielding, heavy-lidded eyes almost vacantly looking through you, or so you thought.

You were beginning to wonder if this had anything to do with the fact that he might be mildly concussed. You were also becoming self-conscious, trying to keep the conversation on track despite Poe being so close to you with his blood staining your hands. “How many times has it been that you have come to see me these last few months? Don’t you know how to stay out of trouble?”

“No,” he answered without thought, leaning forward once more in the chair serving him for his examination. That sole syllable had been expressed in a dilatory fashion, soft and airy, only inches from your mouth.

You let out a breathy exhalation, surprised by this turn of events, yet nothing had happened.  The cocky pilot dared to bite down on a rather pouty bottom lip; he watched you intently, gauging your reaction as he dallied there, finally adding more in the way of a response. “That’s why I’m here. Again.”

“Yes, right, obviously,” you managed, trying to restore some semblance of equanimity over yourself after having been caught off guard.

“Obviously,” he echoed, the word a whisper in the all too quiet room. However, this would not last as more wounded boarded the ship at intervals, soon the medical bay filled with a bustle of activity.

Unwanted activity.

Poe glanced around, assessing the situation. You had just finished bandaging him up when his hand reached out for yours, gently clasping your wrist.

“Doc, I’ve gotta show you something. I’ve got it-- bad.”

“It?” you inquired incredulously, your own glance taking an appraisal of the room. His voice had lowered again, as if this topic of conversation was not meant to be overheard. His expression appeared serious, deep-set brows knitting together in a visual show of his concern. You mimicked him, a rather human way to show empathy in this case, though not entirely sure what for.

“It,” he confirmed, gently pulling you forward toward himself, as if you weren’t already close enough. Your breathing picked up as you posed a follow-up question, a simple one, and straight to the point.

“What?”

He did that thing again, the staring, as if you were a sheet of transparisteel and he was looking beyond it to the other side. You scanned his face, those ruggedly attractive bits of him that you had tended to time and time again.

“Um—” he paused, as if not knowing what to say, like his words had failed him, which was not out of the realm of possibility as you could confirm this uncommon pilot flew by the seat of his pants. You canted your head, expecting some sort of answer, your gaze trailing to Dameron’s fingers latched gingerly around your forearm.

You took note of their thickness, their length, his nails surprisingly trim and immaculate for being a fighter pilot, though you doubted he spent that much time on solid earth when he craved the sky; realspace; to soar among the stars. Catching yourself quickly, it had not gone unnoticed, Poe matching your tilt of the head with one of his own as he peered up at you with those unwavering, expressive eyes.

“Rash … Inya Prime … Think it might be serious,” he informed you, causing you to retract and sit up straight. You tugged yourself loose from his grasp and frowned, turning to wipe your hands off the best you could on an otherwise clean towel, wishing he would have told you this before you had gone and touched him.

“Well, let’s see it then,” you offered, swiveling back around to face him. The pilot pursed his lips before biting down again, his foot beginning to tap against the floor; the motion was almost sultry, like this whole charade was planned.

For some reason, you doubted that assumption.

“It’s … I can’t show you here,” he confessed, lowering his head as he turned it to the left and right, giving the medical bay another sweep with his eyes; it was as if he was suddenly your conspirator, Poe carrying and guarding an important secret.

“Where then?” You compelled an eyebrow to stay level, it wanting to raise of its own volition. It was your turn to stare, Poe taking up each of your hands again, regardless of the fact you had just tried to halfheartedly clean them. He placed them gently atop his knees; he held you there, and you dare not move. Then, the man bore directly into you with his hardened gaze, nudging his head toward the exit door.

“Exam room, down the hall. It’s, um – it’s private.”

You gave him a reproving look. “Why were you on Inya Prime in the first place?” you asked, your fingers twitching beneath his. You were caught between wanting to relax and to allow this to happen, or to jerk yourself away for fear of someone getting the wrong idea.

“Reconnaissance,” he replied without missing a beat.  You supposed that seemed logical enough, though Inya Prime was a small, boring, terrestrial planet of little to no interest to most.

That explained the civilian clothing, whereas most of the time Poe arrived to you in his bright orange flight suit, standing out like a ray of sunshine among the dark, depressing backdrop of space.

“And how did you get this rash?” you inquired curiously, wondering why it was he could not show you here instead, or just how bad it might be.

“You don’t wanna know,” he stated with a sense of finality, eyes searching yours, as if he was trying to penetrate your thoughts with a Jedi mind trick. You held his gaze a moment longer than expected before quickly standing to your feet; you felt the need to break physical contact, Dameron’s hands warm, rough, and—

“Fine, let’s hurry. There are others who need tending to.” It was the truth, yet you could feel your heartbeat betraying you by thumping loudly in your chest; you were sure that Poe could hear it.

“Right, let’s,” he said, standing. He walked a pace ahead of you then turned back around. He lingered, making sure you were going to follow him before he started out the door.

The man seemed nervous, slicking back a ringlet of dark hair that refused to stay in place. He ambulated somewhat awkwardly around the corner, then waited for you to unlock the examination room with a clearing of his throat. It then occurred to him he was standing in your way; he opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it, moving to one side as you gave him an inquisitive side-eye, using your badge to unlock the facilities.

He nodded, just a small movement of his head, eyes darting forward as if thinking hard on something before he entered the small space. It was fitted with a table for patients to lie on - equipped with a step stool and stirrups - a cabinet filled with various medical supplies, a curtain for dressing and undressing, a scale for taking a patient’s weight, and blood pressure detection equipment, among other things. It had all those items necessary and then some, though depending on your diagnosis, you imagined you might need to prescribe him an antifungal ointment of some kind.

“All right, we’re here,” you offered with a gesture. “Now, show me this rash.”

Poe gave a jittery laugh, answering you with a nervy “heh” as he ran his forefinger along the clean sheets of the table laid out before him as if he was checking it for dust.

“Yeah, about that,” he finally spoke up, walking full circle around the bed-like object before he arrived behind you.

“You see, doc—” he began; you craned your neck, looking over your shoulder at him, wanting to know why you now felt trapped, barred to the only way out as he had sandwiched himself between you and the door. “It’s right here,” he said, placing his open palm against his chest and giving it a tap.

This time you were the one to clear your throat, tossing back your hair as you straightened up to appear more professional, or perhaps dignified, forcing yourself to not think about how you were about to come into contact with, or at least see, Poe Dameron’s bare breast.

All things considered, he was an attractive man. You had thought that the moment you laid eyes on him; the time he had come to you battered and beaten with a black eye and a sprained ankle – he had taken a tumble down the side of a rather steep hill on some backwater, jungle-planet and only made it back to his X-wing thanks to members of Black Squadron. His foot was so badly swollen by the time he reached you, it was a miracle he could walk  - or hobble – at all.

A thought occurred to you. “I should wash my hands before we begin,” you declared, moving toward the small sink stationed with a cleaning solution that was meant for disinfection as much as it was for washing away dirt and grim.

Poe looked taken aback momentarily, words caught in his throat as he gave another nod, this one more exaggerated. “Yeah, right, OK,” he shot back, as if for some reason this had been a surprise to him.

You began your task, one hand over the other as you lathered yourself, peeking back at him. “Why don’t you take off your shirt?” you suggested, not able to help the way saying that made you feel, like this was anything more than a clinical procedure.

You could hear the rustle of fabric as Poe began to undo the buttons on his dress shirt, getting the feeling that he was watching you, studying you, bent slightly over the basin in which you were cleansing yourself of his blood. It swirled around the drainage, leading to a reserve tank that purified and recycled what little water was aboard this frigate; you knew that every drop was precious.

Finishing quickly, you refaced him, Dameron’s broad, naked chest staring you straight in the face, though he had not bothered to remove his button up all the way; its two panels were parted and pushed off to opposing sides.

Firm pectorals were spattered with a thin sheen of dark curls, matching the scruff of a beard that had just recently begun to form on his perfectly sculpted cheeks, running its course down to a chiseled jawline. Beneath wisps of black was smooth, golden skin - as if kissed by a main sequence star that orbited some planetary paradise - the happiest of trails leading down and beyond the waistline of his trousers.

You watched, entranced, the rise and fall of his stomach with every breath he took, in and out, slow, and almost deliberately so. You swallowed to remedy the dry sensation in your mouth with what saliva you had available, wondering if your face appeared as red as you felt it must be.

“Right, OK. Rash,” you announced out loud, purposely making an effort to look up and back into his eyes.

Again, he put his hand up, over his heart. “Here,” he repeated, “Right here. You see—”

Poe stepped forward, and you stepped back, each move he made a calculated risk, but one worth taking. “— my … heart,” he said, voice lowering an octave, then promptly continuing, “it… burns, itches, when I can’t … see you,” he emphasized. “And. You. You’re the cure, you’re the—”

He walked another pace forward, looming above you as you found yourself pressing back against the wall of the exam room. “—the only one who can make it better,” he breathily muttered, so close now you could smell the scent of the shampoo he used; it was reminiscent of citrus, but not overpowering.

“W-what—?” You felt you couldn’t believe your ears, your neck lifting back and up as you analyzed his intense facial expression. “Poe, I—”

“Shhh,” he sibilated with a press of his index to your lips. Then, he changed the subject, however momentary. “I lied to you, by the way. There is no rash, I—”

“—Yes, I’ve figured that out,” you interrupted, though your words came out weak, quavering.

“Sometimes, I pretend to be sick or hurt just to come see you. That headache last week?” He gave a short, sharp laugh. “More like … heartache,” he finished, encapsulating your chin between two fingers as his lips met yours.

Your body froze; you were immobile, unable to breathe, unable to speak, and unable to comprehend exactly what was going on. Granted, you may have imagined this moment once or twice – every guy, or girl aboard this vessel you assumed had done so at one point or another. There was more than one reason Dameron was referred to so aptly as “Flyboy,” though you tried not to let that tarnish the present moment.

The only thing you could articulate was a soft moan of acceptance, melting despite yourself against the durasteel partition behind you. Ruddy fingers traveled upward, this time tangling themselves in your hair, palm cupping the back of your head as he gently drew you into a deeper kiss.

“Poe,” you gasped against him, your own hand rising to lightly push against his rock-hard pecs; it was a mistake on your part, this simple act of touching his unclothed chest the catalyst from which your loins stirred. “What—”

“—It,” he murmured, bringing the conversation back around from when he had coaxed you to this place. “—the thing I’ve got it bad for. It’s you,” he conceded, Dameron’s tongue slithering past full lips to gently prod at yours that stood partially agape, ready to accept another kiss.

You easily allowed him entry, that warm, wet muscle dancing in a figure eight, the pattern slow and rhythmic as he lapped at your suddenly hungry mouth. But you would not let lust overtake you, you were a woman of scruples, principles, and a practitioner of medicine; there was a time and place for this sort of thing and now was not it.

“Dameron,” you began again, this time managing to put just enough space between you so that you might think straight, Poe’s eyes immediately overtaking yours with a primal, excitable energy that penetrated you to the depths of your soul. He was so eager, you thought, so attentive, the man hanging, waiting, willing, to hear anything you might have to say.

“I believe you’re concussed, I think it’s best that—”

“I’m fine. Better than fine. Everything’s perfect,” he interjected, pressing his mouth against yours once more.

“—Why?” you blurted out, the question having clawed its way out of your chest. It was common knowledge that the man before you got around, not able to imagine that this meant anything more than an attempt at a quick hook-up.

“Because. I can’t. Stop. Thinking. About you. You.” He spoke your name, a tickle in your ear that sent a tingle of excitement prickling down your spine, leaving goose pimples that were undeniable to the naked eye.

“I can’t explain it. Maybe it doesn’t make any sense; you, me…” he trailed off, the butt of his thumb running over the curvilinear shape of your ear. “I watch you. Sometimes. Not to… sound creepy,” he added quickly, giving a somewhat apologetic look. “… You’re incredible. Calm in the face of danger, in the face of uncertainty. And. You’re not afraid,” he emphasized.

“Besides—” Poe bent down low, brushing his lips across yours, featherlight, causing a feeble mewl to escape before you had the time or the wherewithal to rein it in. “— what if we die. What if this is the only chance I ever get to tell you?”

He was right. What was the use of pondering the future, what could or could not be, based on the assumption that you were going to live another day, or two, or three. With the First Order threatening to undo all the hard work of the New Republic, your lot was on the run, your fierce and beloved leader the only thing keeping this small resistance group together, albeit haphazardly organized.

You feared for the general every waking moment, taking your orders come what may, keeping your head down, the only thing breaking the monotony of your day besides the constant fear of attack or death being this charming, handsome man who now held your attention, and had done so on more than one occasion.

“Kiss me again, then,” you begged, any objection you may have dared to make fleeing irrevocably to leave you open and vulnerable to the onslaught of his affection sans your better judgement.

“Mn, yeah?” he coyly asked, the fingers of his hand, dormant for your short discussion, reactivating to knead the base of your skull as he gently pulled you forward, Dameron once more inserting his crafty tongue into your waiting mouth.

His movements were thoughtful, tongue writhing and contracting in a measured orchestration that seemed rehearsed, yet special to this instant. Each loop was intricate, never so much as to be distracting, Poe’s delicious kiss spurring you to action.

You lifted your hand, allowing your fingers to clutch tufts of his hair. You moaned against him, his arms instinctively tightening around you before he pulled away, gasping for breath.

“Can I touch you?” he bashfully asked, hands smoothing over your back to descend in a downward sweep across your waist and hips. “Please, baby, please say yes. Please, please,” he whined, ardent pecks of his velvet lips only a bonus; you had not planned to turn him away regardless.

“Yes,” you sighed out lasciviously, thinking this entire situation was too good to be true. But why not embrace it for what it was? You deserved admiration, affection, love.

“Thank you,” he expressed with gratitude, as if you had given him his greatest wish, Poe adjusting himself accordingly as he gifted you with another lush, sensual kiss; it was tender and languid, feeling the movement of Dameron’s hand shift from the edge of your hip to the drawstring of your pants.

You were adorned in scrubs, a stark reminder of your station and position, yet you could not help that you were human with needs and urges to be fulfilled. Hell, you hadn’t even known you wanted this until it was happening, though life was anything but predictable - it was sporadic. And if Poe was anything, it was that.

You admired that about him. He had an almost childlike whimsy, taking all things in stride, even his injuries when he acquired them. He cared about others so often and so much he frequently forgot about this own ails. It was a good quality to have in a leader, and although he was often rebuked by his superiors, Dameron was an honorable commander and an even better pilot.

“Keep going,” you implored as you felt your desire building upon itself, pooling in the seat of your belly. Desperately, you wanted him to touch you, Poe inclining his head to one side as he broke apart from your pleading lips.

He made heady eye contact, the way he looked at you both dizzying and intoxicating, the man licking his teeth as he quipped a hushed “Yeah?” alongside the act of his fingers trailing to just below the hem of your waistband. They slipped down, down, two braver than the others as Poe’s index and middle finger disappeared beneath the front of your pants and past the soft, cotton layer of your panties.

Dameron groaned a sound, as if performing a task that was somewhat arduous, yet it was meant to evince appreciation for the soft bed of fluff that greeted him, all prim and trim. His breathing picked up, his probing appendages creeping further inside your undergarments; he whimpered against your throat, feeling welcomed by the warm slick that saturated his thick digits as he parted those soft, pillowy lips that lived between your hips, aligning the underside of his forefinger against the protuberance of your clit.

“Mn, you want this just as much as I do,” he teased, his words husky and sensuous, yet not at all meant to be disrespectful. He was the playful sort; you were glad it translated into other areas of his life, namely intimate moments like these, as it eased the tension you were feeling; the thought you were doing something you should not be doing; something wrong.

“Mhm,” you muttered, the interjection a dulcet susurration upon your partway puckered lips. It quickly devolved into an immodest moan as his thumb joined in, aiding in spreading your folds to allow him ease of access to your shrouded pearl.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you, his tone coated in sugar sweetness as Poe continued to cheer you on, “you’re so soft, and warm, and— ohhh,” he cut himself short, feeling embarrassed for not only the sizeable boner he was jabbing into your leg, but the fact that if he did not control himself he might very well cum in his pants.

“I—mmn. Admiral Ackbar naked. Admiral Ackbar naked," he intoned at low volume; you proceeded to laugh, though Poe did not, a look of stern determination on his face. Still, that did not stop him from pleasuring you as he gingerly thumbed that little nub betwixt your thighs, concentric circles close-knit and diligently applied as you trembled enticingly in his arms.

“Is this OK?” he rumbled in your ear, his voice a throaty purr that made you pitch ever so slightly forward with the goal of kissing him again.

“Y-yes,” you managed, your body mildly spasming as you sought after his tongue, Dameron ever so subtly picking up speed in the way he massaged your swollen clit. It thrummed beneath his finger; he tested uncharted territory, gradually inserting his index inside you to the top of his second knuckle. You were already so wet there was barely any friction to speak of, Poe once more moaning aloud to impart his satisfaction to whoever was there to listen – you.

“Oh, you feel- you feel, so, so good,” he rattled off, priming that digit to curl just inside and against the anterior wall of your sex; you gasped, though you had known what was coming, you just didn’t know how amazing the sensation would feel until he was already pushing you toward an orgasm.

“Don’t stop,” you entreated anxiously, the pliant underside of his thumb continuing its mission as it stimulated your glandular bundle of nerves; they twitched faintly, pulsating under his proficient hands.

“OK, yes. Yes. Tell me. Tell me what you want, baby,” he affirmed. You were quick to answer.

“Another kiss,” you adjured, Poe indulging you before the words could die on your lips. The passion he brought to your embrace, the delicate way in which he held you, the rhythmic pattern of his tongue inside your mouth – it drove you to a quick release, Dameron sucking the heavy breaths from your lungs as he attempted to engulf you, so zealous was his appetite for your quiet, though rapturous praise.

You briefly closed your eyes to regain your composure, breathing ragged, then gazed upon his face as you struggled to recover. He pulled away to stare at you, the feeling of his forefinger sliding out of your soaked cunt something not to be ignored.

You gasped again, a tiny sound. Poe admired you with a twinkle in his eye. Then, he gravitated forward, bending so close to your ear. “I can do better.”

“What?” you questioned, confused, trying to curtail your panting breaths. The twinkle in his eye was infectious, spreading to his mouth, Poe’s pretty lips outstretching into a broad, mischievous grin.

“Wait,” he stated.

You observed as he bent forward into a crouch, sneaking along the wall toward the automated entry. Staying to its right, he was careful not to trigger its motion sensor, using the nearby keypad to lock it from the inside. This time, you did quirk a brow, Poe lowering the lights manually to off, but not before making sure the shades were closed to the rectangular window that gave you a mundane view into the hall. However, you may as well be seven feet tall in order to see out of it, and there were species that tall aboard this ship.

Overall, you felt stupid for not having done this before, yet everything had occurred so quickly. What if you had been caught by a co-worker, or your boss? You had no idea how to explain being fingered by Poe Dameron in a room that could otherwise be utilized to someone else’s benefit.

Then, the man came forward, standing to his full stature as he joined you where he had left you, haggard and still somewhat discombobulated from what just happened – that’s when he picked you up, bending at the knees to wrap both arms around your waist as he carried you aloft, your entire body remaining upright and vertical.

“Poe! What are you—”

“Shh, shh,” he endeavored to keep you silent, walking around the corner of the examination table to place you gently upon it in a somewhat forced, seated position. He immediately got to work, as he had started with your footwear, taking it upon himself to remove one shoe at a time.

“Are you a screamer, or are you a whiner?” he asked with another cheesy smile etched across his face, “because I don’t mind either, but the screaming may draw attention, and I assume that’s something you don’t want.”

“I-I don’t—”

“-know?” He shook his head as if in disbelief, though somehow not surprised. “Ooh, we’ve gotta set you straight, doc!”

You meant to argue, but with your shoes gone, Poe began to roll down your socks; it was one of the most intimate things you had experienced, watching with rapt attention as he pushed the fabric down bit by bit, replacing it with moist kisses along the top of your foot and up toward your now bare ankle.

“You don’t mind, right?” he asked offhand, Poe repeating the process on the other side; this time he enveloped your big toe, intaking it into his mouth as he teasingly sucked, mimicking a poi fish who wanted to dine on what it perhaps thought was a worm.

You involuntarily squirmed, pushing against the tops of his shoulders. “That tickles!” you declared, Poe gazing up into your eyes as a “pop” resounded upon release.

Then, with that same unapologetically severe, impassioned stare, Dameron rose to half-stand on his knees as his hands found your hips, fingers digging into the loose band at your waist. He pulled, softly but with enthusiasm, hypnotizing, chestnut-colored eyes once more drilling a hole straight down into your core as he tugged one pant leg off, then the other, followed by a move that would rid you of your underwear.

Partially naked, and on top of your own examination table no less, you instead tried to forget what repercussions might follow suit of your actions and leaned down to kiss the man again. He rose higher, forcing you to straighten your neck and back, Poe’s broad hands encasing the breadth of your face within them to hold you so, so carefully as he returned your gesture as naturally as if he was drinking water.

Come to find this was a tactic, the man releasing you after stealing your breath away a second or third time, hands sliding to lightly shove you back by the shoulders as he lay you down. At once he disappeared from your line of sight, leaving you faced with a view of the ceiling directly above your head; you idly wondered if you were both getting too far ahead of yourselves.

“Poe, I don’t think we should be—” You exhaled noisily, words caught as you choked on a breath, your overactive imagination unable to be controlled as you envisioned the intense kiss you had experienced earlier being reenacted between your legs. The man had pinned you by your hips,  kissing once, twice,  - feverishly -  the inguinal groove that connected your abdominal wall to your thigh, not wasting a moment’s time in making your briefly held fantasy come true.

“Hm? Mmmn,” Dameron hummed, his response muffled by your flesh. Your body stiffened before relaxing as he licked your already soaked slit with the flat of his tongue; it effortlessly slipped between the folds of your labia, Poe toying with your clit, running circles until the whole thing delved inside your opening.

The man pulled you forward by your thighs, closer to the edge of the table; you could feel the paper bedsheet sliding beneath you as he lapped at your cunt like it was a second mouth. He moaned into you, his breath hot on your skin, the scruff of his chin chaffing your legs, but you did not once complain.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” he whispered, the tip of that furled muscle retracting to glide upward along your delightfully slick vulva before it once more found the nub that was begging to be touched; it was already so sensitive.

Your chest heaved as a ripple of pleasure quaked through you, Poe beginning to suck the hard bit that was the recurrent object of his focus. At that moment, you felt blessed, belting out a sound that was a cross between elation and ecstasy, the final product being nothing more than a subdued pule from downy lips.

“Oh, fuck,” you crooned, your thighs progressively closing around either side of Poe’s head as you instinctively tried to brace yourself against your coming climax.

“That’s what I thought—ooh, hey,” the pilot protested, not liking one bit the sudden fettering of his movements. He dislodged himself, then pushed down with both his hands, parting your legs again to make sure he had unrestricted access to your cunt.

Then, he had an idea. “That’s not happening again,” he informed you with an impish smirk, Dameron lifting you up by the underside of your ass as he dragged you even closer, this time making use of the equipment made available to him, though this wasn’t exactly a gynecological exam. The scoundrel picked up both your feet, one after the other, making sure each one was secured in turn, having positioned you spread eagle with your shamelessly wet pussy put on full display.

“Ohh, this is beautiful. Perfect. You’re perfect.” The man had stopped to stare at the exquisite view before him, a hungry look overtaking his winsome visage; you had barely lifted your neck, perhaps meaning to address him, before you were forced to expel a mousy squeak following a show of near desperation on his part.

Poe had darted forward. Now hands-free and having situated you in stirrups, Dameron plunged his tongue back inside of you while clasping his fingers behind his back as he liked to imagine himself in binders. He tongue fucked you as your chest expanded and contracted with each euphoric breath, deep and slow, before he redirected all his energy back to your eager bud.

Then, his head joined in, bobbing back and forth as he enthusiastically ate you out like a man starved, consuming his first meal in weeks, months.

Wet sounds invaded your ears, Poe miming a hound lapping water; it only caused your clit to pulse, your right arm lowering for impatient fingers to latch onto his raven locks; you were careful not to disturb the dressings on his forehead even so, not wanting to let your hard work go to waste.

You held him steady; you pulled him closer, thighs trembling, though your legs still remained forced apart with knees jutting out to either side. It was the dirtiest, nastiest you had ever felt, yet at the same time Poe had made you feel alive. Alive, and not just waiting around to die.

You moaned lewdly as you gently bucked your hips, your body convulsing in rapture as his focus was laser sharp, the full expanse of his thick, skillful tongue caressing you softly from the cusp of your vagina to the vertex of your throbbing clit – over, and over, and over again.

The pattern he applied was slow and methodical, Poe’s cock beyond hard as he gently humped thin air. The man himself was groaning, speaking breathlessly against the soft flesh of your mound, even as he continued to dine.

“Baby, you taste so, so sweet. So, so, good. Mm, be a good girl, yeah? Nice and easy for me. Nice and easy…” The pilot’s words trailed off, that gentle lapping turning toward a precise, calculated stroke with just the tip, this being the very thing that drove to you the point of no return; you came again, one hand still buried in Poe’s hair as the other clasped at your breast.

“Mmmn, oh shit, oh fuck, Poe,” you cursed again, your entire being writhing in unbridled bliss as you rode out one of the most intense orgasms in recent history, this only encouraging the pilot to keep at it until you physically had to push his head away, albeit with caution.

Poe looked up at you with those emotive, gorgeous brown eyes, lips glossy with your excess; you panted heavily, looking down on what could only be described as a shit-eating grin. You took a few more moments to recuperate, then made a demand of him that even surprised yourself. “Fuck me, right now, please.”

That cocky smile faded, Dameron staring fixedly at your face. He searched each part of it, as if measuring the seriousness of your words, then sat up fully on his legs before standing completely to gaze down at you, chin glistening and damp, not noticing the red welts spattering the inside of your thighs from where his stubble had left its mark.

“Since you said please, and so, so nicely might I add,” he joked, undoing the holster at his waist with lightning speed as he let his Glie-44 blaster pistol fall to the floor at his feet.  You sat up on your elbows, enjoying the show, Poe unzipping and unbuckling his pants and belt with such wild, feral vigor, it was as if they were presently on fire.

“Mn, sweetheart, would you hate me if I said I’ve been dreaming of this?” Poe questioned, though you were unable to get a read on if he was being sincere or just full of hot air. You did not answer him, instead reveling in the desperate way the pilot kicked his boots off, witnessing his undressing between your parted legs.

They felt like jelly, still held up by the stirrups. You smiled salaciously, feeling oddly playful as you began to sway your knees back and forth to emulate the fluttering of butterfly wings; you amused yourself by fondling your overstimulated clit for his pleasure and your own, waiting ever so patiently for him to finish.

It only slowed him down; you almost laughed again, this man proving to be predictable as far as men go, spellbound by the fact you were touching yourself, and in front of him, no less.

Poe let out a laborious, rasping breath, as if his throat might be closing in on itself, pearly whites once more finding rose-colored lips as he chewed timidly on a plump bottom rung. At that same moment his pants fell down to his knees, leaving Dameron in his tight white underwear, his package so hard and compact it looked ready to burst free of its cotton prison.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he professed mostly to himself, yet loud enough for you to hear him. He stumbled forward, releasing himself of the pants that still clung to him with every step, wide, warm hands placing themselves upon your knees, one for one.

“Mn, baby, for me?” he asked in a diffident tone, Poe’s cheeks burning hot as he was drawn in by the sexy spectacle before him. After a moment or two of getting lost in his own thoughts, he scrambled for his aching prick; it felt like it was going to erupt any moment now. Already it had leaked droplets of precum, the tip wet and sticky as it sprang loose.

The pilot began to pump himself as he was glued to the rhythmic stroking of your fingers; you teased him by inserting one within yourself, Poe moaning almost instantly as he came up to you all the way by the edge of the bed, gently batting your hand away. He aligned his dick against your slit, eyes laser focused, then he abruptly stopped what he was doing to lift his head and stare at you.

“You sure? What if-”  he hesitated, wanting reassurance.

“I’m protected,” you whispered, at once your feet lifting so that you could wind your legs around Poe’s waist like a serpent coiling about its prey. You squeezed lightly, drawing him in, Poe helping on his end by gently nudging the head of his cock against the lubricious entrance to your vagina.

Dameron shook this time, his body tremulous against you as he sank deeper and deeper into your warm center, guiding it slowly, his girth spreading you open as you gasped, arms overtaking him in addition to your legs; you wanted his chest pressed against yours, beckoning the man to lower himself to the proper height so that you might kiss him, fingers once more gathering in his shaggy mane.

“You f-feel, ohhhh… Like, like. Like clouds,” Dameron stammered, commenting on your plush, tepid walls as he finally bottomed out. He was slow to retract his hips, then slow to press them forward again, “It’s like breaking atmo; that euphoric feeling you get when—”

Poe cut himself off, lips compressing against one another to form a concentrated line. He closed his eyes, his pace deathly drawn-out, tortuously so, each stroke of him inside you sending pinpricks of pleasure throughout your nerve-endings, both from without and within.

It was endearing. Not knowing of all the nuances comprising this pilot’s personality, this one surprised you. Poe had always seemed so high-strung, so exuberant; it was a change of pace to see him take his time on something -  you.

With a tilt of your neck, your mouth found his, your tongue slithering between his teeth to taste yourself on him. You sighed fervently, pulling him closer by the meat of your thighs, in turn interring him deeper within yourself.

“I won’t break,” you informed him softly, having pulled away to encourage Dameron to rise above his stupor and fuck you like he meant it. Poe gave a slow, deliberate nod of his head in return, as if trying to find his center and a place of calm before he would be able to continue.

“Right,” he finally said, intaking a sharp inhalation of oxygen as he rocked forward, pitching his hips so that they were flush against yours. He dipped back again, repeating these motions in a syncopated rhythm, and you finding it impossible to keep your mouth from hanging open as he hit his stride.

“Just like that,” you cooed silkily, your breath warm and wispy against his ear. This alone sent Poe to a higher plane, somewhere you were sure you could not reach him, causing Dameron to make a helpless, needy sound.

You felt a warm gush; a spurt of something that was unexpected this early in the game. Poe’s face contorted pleasantly into a look of ecstasy. You watched, fascinated, the pilot coming inside you after only a few pumps. Hell, you didn’t even mind; he had given you yours twice over. You felt a kind of privilege bestowed upon you; the knowledge that your pussy must be made of solid gold. That, or he really did like you.

“Oh fuck, ohh no, shit, I-I’m sorry,” Poe stuttered, his tone indicative of embarrassment. You tried to lighten the mood with a joke, dotting tiny kisses along the corner of his mouth in an attempt to quell his mounting anxiety.

“What was that about setting me straight?” you teased, Poe forced to laugh despite himself as he tried to catch his breath. He shook his head, brawny biceps propping him up just above you, jet-black strands dangling down to brush against your nose as he sighed a dejected sigh.

“You’re just so pretty, and I was excited, you know? I- It’s- It’s been a while,” he clumsily explained, “haven’t had the time to actually masturbate, being in the middle of a war and all—”

You cut him off with a kiss, a forceful press of your lips to his. It was your way of shutting him up, aiming to put a stopper in all of his excuses; it did not matter to you.

“Poe, it’s fine,” you affirmed, cradling the antsy man’s refined jaw in the crook of your palm, “these things happen. I’m not upset. You already got me off twice; that’s more than most men for the entirety of a relationship.”

You had exaggerated that last part for a bit of dramatic flair, this particular white lie having no purpose other than to bolster Poe’s self-esteem and to make him feel better. He smiled at you, a genuine, honest-to-God smile, as if coming to terms with the fact he had no need to worry, and that he might just get a second chance one day, contrary to what he had at first believed.

“So, uh—” he started, lifting gently up and off of you; his cock incrementally eased its way out of you, the remnants of his seed thick and sticky as it flowed freely out and onto the exam table.

He scrunched an eye, as if still ashamed, Poe sucking on his bottom lip to alleviate the mental anguish he was suffering before he sheepishly asked you a question, “Now that we’ve gotten to third base, would you care to visit first?”

You propped yourself up on your forearms, quirking a brow as you rose to sit. He assumed correctly, thinking that you did not take his meaning, Poe following up to explain more succinctly. “Dinner, maybe? Or—”

Sirens began to blare, a red alert sounding all throughout the Anodyne. A voice rang out over the internal comm; Dameron and you were quickly put on edge.

“Attention, all personnel: report to stations. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill.”

Your face fell, as did Poe’s. He gazed at you a moment, ignoring the awful clamor in the background as people began to race throughout the halls just beyond the door. It was as if time stood still, and you were unable to break away from Dameron’s dark gaze. The man, who was so amiable and easygoing, now looked browbeaten and worn, knowing that any minute now he would have to find BB-8 and return to his X-wing when he had wanted nothing more than to relax in your company. Wishful thinking, he mused.

You were the first to move, rushing to get up. You found a towel and cleaned yourself up, collecting your clothes from off the floor; somehow, your tunic had remained intact, though you would hold out for a future time when Poe might touch those parts of you, too. It was hard not to want to imagine him with his soft lips puckered about your nipple as his stocky fingers massaged and revered your breasts.

“Attention: all pilots, return to hangar. Repeat: all capable pilots return to your ships.”

“It was just as well, huh?” he asked solemnly, referring to the abrupt end of your impromptu rendezvous.

“Go,” you commanded, Poe’s stare lingering, amber eyes piercing you with a look that was ironically impenetrable; resolute, yet somehow somber, wistful.

He broke away, finally, and with difficulty, scrambling to adjust his briefs before throwing back on his pants and buttoning his shirt. He hitched his holster around his hips, the boots made to go on last. You observed as he hopped around on one foot, once more finding him to be endearing as you turned to rush toward the refresher, steadfast in your desire to use the sonic, if only for a moment; you needed to rinse off before returning to the med bay, as was your duty.

Poe called out to you by name; you whirled to face him. The man’s fluffy eyebrows were stitched together as he could only stare at you again. Then, he seemed to finally come-to, stepping the few paces forward that separated you.

“I’ll comm you later?” he asked more than stated, the backs of his knuckles running the length of your cheek. You could only nod, leaning up to kiss him one last time.

“Come back in one piece, OK? I don’t want to have to stitch you up again; be careful,” you urged him. He smiled that charming, boyish smile that made your heart race, as radiant as ever; his mood could change so suddenly.

“No promises,” he replied, meaning it in jest, yet you knew there was some truth to it.

You parted ways with the best damn pilot in the galaxy, hope being the only thing left to you both now. Hope that he would never have to step foot back aboard this frigate, but that if he did, it would be for some better reason, and not because he had failed to heed your warning.

---

Reblogs / comments appreciated!

Masterlist

Ao3

[powdermelonkeg]

Tears of the Kingdom: The Final Analysis

Part 13: The Finale

Part 12 here

So, Sidon's tear.

I backed up a few frames to see if I could get a better look at the etchings on it while it was close up.

It looks...like an eye?

Almost like an Eye of Truth, but not quite. Given that Zelda's tear had Recall on it, I wonder if this tear gives a power unique to it, as well.

When we zoom out, we can see that Sidon, at this point in the game, is wearing a fitted version of his father's crown.

Which, of course, begs the question—what happened to Dorephan? When last we saw him, he was in good health and spirit, if mourning his daughter. Is he hurt? Did the Calamity injure him? Did Sidon prove himself mature? What is going on?

Tulin comes into view. He's only here very briefly, so it was hard to catch him properly, but-

Right here, he's now holding the Great Eagle Bow instead of his old Swallow. Which, if you didn't know—in order to make the Great Eagle Bow in Breath of the Wild, after you've broken the original, you need to take Harth a Swallow Bow, five bundles of wood, and a diamond. Little buddy possibly crafted the upgrade himself.

Now let's look at his tear.

This one is much more abstract than Sidon's, so I haven't any guesses as to what it could mean.

Once Tulin flies by, Link races to fight an enemy, a HUGE shard on his back.

Despite its size, however, he wields it as a one-handed weapon, fused to the hilt of a Rusty Broadsword:

The material doesn't look like anything I've seen before, and given its glow and the fiery Gleeok he's about to face-

I'd say it's embued with the power of ice, if not outright made from the interior of one of Naydra's horns.

Speaking of Gleeok! For those unfamiliar, Gleeok is a classic Zelda boss. And by classic, I mean actually classic.

This guy, from the original Legend of Zelda, has made so many appearances.

Oracle of Seasons had Gleeok like this.

In Phantom Hourglass, it was a two headed water serpent.

This isn't even counting the variants and spinoffs, Gleerok from Minish Cap or Gleeokenspiel from Cadence of Hyrule. This guy is recurring, just like Dodongo is.

The number of heads Gleeok has varies—even in Legend of Zelda, the boss showed up twice, first with two heads and then with four. And in its official art from back then

He has three.

This guy has three huge, unhinged jaws, fire blazing out of the crest of its heads, and its eyes are all malice slits.

Despite the fire, though, the background is a dull teal, with snow falling. The only other place in the trailer we've seen this environment is in the Thunderhead that we've explored with Tulin.

We're reaching the end now. Zelda holds the Master Sword, says that Link is "our final hope."

"Our last line of defense will be Link."

After what? What is Link a contingency for? Plans falling through? Ganondorf breaking free?

Tears of the Kingdom. The filled in, red edge of the mural we saw in the last trailer.

Ganondorf commands his forces, a towering figure above the rest.

Soldiers stand bravely against him in battle.

There are enemies new long with the old.

And among the chaos, right at Ganon's feet, one person has managed to slip past the hordes, with no weapon or shield to protect them.

Zelda, scuffed from battle, calls our name-

The Master Sword clutched tightly in her hands, hilt barely visible.

"You must find me," she says, seated on her altar

Her face toward the southern sea

From a place we've seen before.

I'd like to bring your attention to one last thing, before I end this analysis.

We've encountered five tears thus far in the trailer, each with different colors, each different significance.

We're still missing two.

[camelliagwerm]

SIX CHARACTER INSPIRATIONS — VALERIUS DRAGAVEI

Both @halkuonn and @dragonologist-phd suggested Valerius, so Valerius it is. Explanations are under the cut. Art is from @swordcoasts

BILLY FLYNN (CHICAGO, 2002)

Ladies and gentlemen, presenting the silver tongued prince of the court room - the Emcee, All I Care About Is Love

When I think corrupt lawyers, two come to mind: Saul Goodman and Billy Flynn. And because I'm in the process of watching Breaking Bad but haven't come across Saul yet, I can't add him to the list retroactively. But I can add Billy; I think about the line "Ladies and gentlemen, presenting the silver tongued prince of the court room" a lot for Valerius once I'd established that he had been a criminal lawyer before he became an antipaladin of Urgathoa, and I realised that in his lawyer days, Camellia is exactly the sort of client he would have taken on in another life - it felt...eerily reminiscent of Billy Flynn to me, especially since towards the end of his career, he had a near 100% success rate because of his vampiric charms, and not because he actually did well at the University of Lepidstadt (he would've actually failed several classes, had he not done some stuff that is between him and Urgathoa), and very rarely did he care about his clients in the same way Billy doesn't care about his.

SORIN MARKOV (MTG, SPECIFICALLY INNISTRAD: CRIMSON VOW, 2021)

"It's always morally correct to steal from WOTC" - me, circa 2021 as I left my last job.

So if you feel like you've seen that picture before, it's because it was. For the longest time, I've been using Sorin Markov ala Innistrad: Crimson Vow as a portrait for Valerius, and that's because around the same time that WOTR came out and my son came to be, Crimson Vow was in its pre-release cycle. Now, I used to work in a WPN (Wizards' Premium Network) store, so MTG pre-releases were always our busiest periods. I injured my feet shifting stock for this Godforsaken deck, and so once I settled on Valerius as my WOTR pc and was taking medical leave until the end of my contract, I decided that the least WOTC could do was provide the portrait for my handsome dhampir lad as reparations lmao. Of course, Valerius' appearance has varied and strayed, so he's a not one to one copy (and I wouldn't want him to be <3) but including Sorin felt correct. Sorry, buddy, you're Valerius to me now.

(Though, both Valerius and Sorin have dedicated a great portion of their lives to their whims and pleasure, leading them to have a detachment, confidence and seeking out new experiences for the novelty and diversions.)

SAREVOK ANCHEV (BALDUR'S GATE 1, 1998)

Your death is inevitable.

The Sarevok I'm referring to for this is exclusively in the original game — on paper, Valerius and Sarevok have enough similarities that I consider him a retroactive inspiration: they both utilise an extremely similar combat style that combines the art of intimidation, strength, cruelty and brutality on the battlefield that seeks to control and paralyse enemies, as well as deal hard-hitting blows. Deathbringers and Tyrants, at least, can have that in common. They both can be seen as a deity of death's Special Boy (Sarevok, as Bhaal's strongest progeny; Valerius, who believes himself Urgathoa's favourite antipaladin) before a fall from grace or death proves them otherwise, and both of them cause widespread panic and chaos through the iron shortages / string of Bhaalspawn murders and Valerius killing what was left of Mendev's royal line and subsequently breaking Drezen from its sovereignty.

GOMEZ ADDAMS (THE ADDAMS FAMILY, 1991 & 1993)

To mirth, to merriment… to manslaughter.

I'd say Valerius is a little bit of an evil variant of Gomez in his own way. Both are madly in love with their tall, dark-haired wives (and can be exceptionally jealous if someone else was to flirt with them), regularly smoke cigars (for Valerius it's not so much about the hit itself, since tobacco doesn't really do anything for him, but more the act of it and the level of sociability that comes with smoking - e.g. with Greybor), skilled at swordsmanship, and would harm anyone that would endanger their children.

VLAD DRACULA III (BRAM STOKER'S DRACULA, 1992)

I love you too much to condemn you.

As inaccurate as this movie is at times, I actually love Gary Oldman's Dracula and a bit of him did rub off on Vali. A Church Militant type, fighting for a God(dess), born from an ancient, prestigious line; who falls either because or in part of the love for their partner - Vlad because he was told Elisabeta's soul was damned , Valerius because he refused to damn Camellia's to ascend - and a perceived Fallen Hero from the eyes of the Church and the Fifth Crusade respectively.

Both also have, ahem, exceptional prowess (judging by dialogue), are considered well-dressed, attractive (at least in Vlad's younger form), and they even both share the tears of blood.

EDWARD HYDE (JEKYLL & HYDE, 1990)

I have an adversary steeped in sin — Henry Jekyll, Streak of Madness

What better inspiration of Valerius' most base desires is there than the personification of a man's? Edward Hyde serves as a way for Henry Jekyll to indulge in his desires, pursue what he would not otherwise engage in - soliciting sex, committing murder, and generally not depriving himself of anything. It reminds me a lot of Valerius' own hedonistic tendencies, and how he tends to corrupt or encourage others' base desires around him — life is short, and one day we shall all meet our inevitable ends in the form of death, so seize life has to offer and do not deprive yourself. Indulge.

[obsidiancreates]

Out Of The Shadows and Into The Neon (Part 8)

"Uncle Casey?"

"Yes, Donnie?" Casey holds the bo staff by the little turtle, then shakes his head and rummages through the pile of similar yet varied in size staffs.

"Do you have a battle cry?"

"Battle cry?"

"Mikey says all good ninjas have battle cries, but I said not all of them, because you don't."

Casey tears up so quickly that Donnie shoots to his feet and wraps him in a tight hug. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you upset!"

"You didn't," Casey assured, choked up as he hugs his sorta-nephew back. "I'm just honored that you hold me to such a standard."

"Duh!" Donnie pulls back, frowning at his uncle now. "You're just as awesome as our dads! And you're not even a mutant, you're way more easy to injure but you fight anyway, that's extra awesome and brave!"

Casey blinks, and more tears spill out. How does he even begin to explain to the ten year old how much this means to him? To be admired the same way he used to admire his own Senseies? To be thought of as a warrior just as incredible as the leaders of rebellions, saviors of the world, preservers of a future worth living in?

"... Stop it." Donnie puts his oversized hand on Casey's face. "Stop crying! That doesn't even make sense, you're happy! Why do people cry when they're happy?!"

"Sorry, Donnie," Casey says with a wet laugh. He moves the hand off of his face and wipes his own eyes. "I just... that means a lot to me."

"You didn't know how awesome you are? After everything you've done?"

"I knew. It's different hearing it. Everyone appreciates hearing it from others sometimes, even when they know it themselves."

"Oh." Donnie's frown deepens. "Even when they say it a lot? Like... all the time, constantly?"

"Even when they say it a lot. Sometimes people say it out loud just to try and make others agree, because they don't believe it but don't know how to ask." Like Sensei Leona- like Leon. Boy, was that a family therapy session to remember, when that came to light.

Donnie nods, expression extremely serious. "I'll tell everyone every time I think they're awesome, then. "

"That's a great goal." Casey rummages through the staffs some more, and holds another one next to Donnie. "There! This one seems about right for your size."

"Whoo!" Donnie grabs it and instantly go into spinning it around himself.

"Whoa, buddy! That's to power up for a strong attack, too much spinning in combat will render your attacks pretty ineffective!"

"But spinning it is the best part! I know how to use my own weapon, and my style is lots of spinning." Donnie spins it again, and then points the end at Casey. He frowns. "Hmm... I feel like it needs something extra..."

"Your dad said No Techbos until you can build your own, remember?"

"Yeah. ... I'll think of something."

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

"Auntie Cass?" Raph dangles his feet as his aunt digs through a bin of different size and weight sais. "Why do we need to use Brownie Clan weapons?"

"Your fathers didn't plan on taking you out on a real patrol this soon. AHA! Hold these ones!"

She shoves them into Raph's hands. He holds them for a second, and then-

Tries to spin them.

"Bleh! Nope!" He hands them back.

"Sai aren't traditionally a 'spinny' weapon. ... I ADMIRE YOUR ADDITION TO THE ART OF COMBAT!" Cass pats him on the head with a wide grin. "We'll find the perfect pair for you to practice that trick with!"

Raph kicks his legs more as she goes back to digging. "So what's patrol like?"

"I've only gone on patrol with your fathers a few times over the years, and Foot Clan patrol was much different. BUT! Both require focus, intensity, and PLENTY OF SNACK BREAKS!"

"What was working for The Foot like?"

"Not very different from a regular assistant job! Except for the world domination, ancient evils, and fighting turtles."

"Did they ever use robots?"

"Robots?"

"I had a dream where they used robots, but really crappy robots. Donnie could beat them with his stick."

"His bo. And no, we never used robots... why didn't we use robots? We could've hired that strange small child before he went on the lam..."

"Strange small child? ... Donnie?"

Cass lets out a loud, sharp laugh. "An excellent burn! But no, I believe his name was Blaster... Stossbid. Something like that."

Raph laughs. "Bastard Stinkboy."

"Where did you learn language like that?"

"Pop-Pop. He swears in Japanese now because Dad scolded him." Raph smirks. "But we taught ourselves Japanese, so we know them all anyway."

"You- how?"

"Donnie." Raph grins. "He knows everything. And if he doesn't know it, he knows how to find it for us. But then he makes it lame by talking about all kinds of stuff none of us get."

"It's not lame to be knowledgeable. How about these?"

"... Nope. And that's not lame, but the way he talks about it is lame."

"Does your brother call it 'lame' when you talk about art to him?"

"No."

"Does Donnie understand or have an interest in art the way you do?"

"No."

"So you've betrayed him, and treated him as less than equal!" Cass puts her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes at Raph. "He's your clan and kin, and yet you DISMISS HIS SKILLS AND INSULT HIS ATTEMPTS TO SHARE THEM!"

Raph blinks, eyes wide. "But I didn't mean to betray him! I'd do anything for my brothers! I-I'd fight the world's biggest cockroach, and I hate cockroaches!"

"I believe you!" Cass hands him another pair of sai. "But do your brothers know this?"

"They should!" Raph stands up on the bench he'd been sitting on. "Why do I gotta tell them for them to know?! I show them!"

"How?"

"I-! I... um..." Raph plonks back down onto his tiny turtle tush. "Um... well, well I show them a lot in dreams!"

"Dreams?"

"Yeah! And so I'm gonna do the same tonight." Raph spins the sais, and this time his eyes light up. He jumps down from the bench and spins them again, striking a pose. "If any of them get into any trouble, I'm jumping in to protect them!"

"Admirable bravery! But also, very foolish." Cass kneels down. "A team that protects each other is just a team that knows how to function in combat. You're also a family! So tell your brothers you love them and when they do cool things! Casey Jr tells me how incredible I am often, and it makes me feel the MOST DELIGHTFUL SWELL OF WARMTH AND LOVE EVERY SINGLE TIME!"

Raph blinks at her, and wipes a little spit off of his face. "And Leo says I yell a lot."

"We yell because a normal volume can't contain the sheer intensity of our emotions! Come, young nephew, and together we shall SHOW OFF YOUR INCREDIBLE TRICK TO YOUR BROTHERS AND COMPLIMENT ANY THEY HAVE TO SHARE BACK WITH YOU!"

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

"And then-" Mikey says, running around as April tried to find some non-spiked nunchucks for him, "-and then Leatherhead goes RAHHHHHHHH!" He holds his hands up to his mouth and opens them. "And then snaps his teeth around the zombie dog and drags him way down, and the zombie dog lives down there forever and never bothers anyone again!"

"And you came up with that all by yourself? I'd totally read that comic, little man!"

"I saw it in a dream," Mikey says proudly, "And I knew Leatherhead would be the awesomest comic hero ever!" He raches into the back of his shell and pulls out a piece of paper. He starts to run towards April, and then freezes.

"What're you- WHOA!"

April scrambles out of the way as Mikey suddenly launches into a frontflip, and then right into a backflip! But instead of falling over or even stumbling, he lands perfectly on his pancake feet and holds the drawing up to her.

"Um, Mikey? When'd you learn that?" He's not usually that sure-footed in training-

Mieky blushes and looks away. "Dad said I shouldn't try it without mats, but mats are too lumpy. ... Don't tell Dad."

"You've been practicing flips alone?! Oh, no way I'm not telling your dad, if you snap your neck-"

"I won't!" Mikey puts his hands together and widens his eyes, somehow getting them to water instantly. "Please! Pleaseeee! I wanna surprise him tonight by showing off! It's really easy for me, like- like how DNA and stuff is easy for Donnie!"

"You're asking me to lie to my best friends, little man! I-I can't just let you guys-"

"Please!"

"No way!" April goes back to rummaging. "Why are you four always tryin' stuff in secret, anyway? You can just tell your dad the mats mess you up! He'll understand."

"But he's so worried!" Mikey sits down and then flops over to lay dramatically on the floor. "All he does it make sure we're not gonna get hurt!"

"Uh, Mikey, newsflash. He's your dad. That's what a good parent does!"

"But he does it too much!" Mikey does a backflip to get back up. "He caught Donnie doing a handstand on my shoulders while we were skateboarding the other day and totally flipped! But we do that like, every time, and we don't go on the ramps or anything!"

"You WHAT?!"

"Donnie like to walk around on his hands, and I like moving around while he's talking to me! So we mixed 'em!"

"Mikey, that's way more dangerous than just backflips!"

"But we're really good at it!" Mikey frowns and tenses, his head lowering into his shell from the sheer rage in his muscles. "Why does everyone treat me like a baby?! Do you know how tough nunchucks are to use as a good weapon? REALLY TOUGH!"

"Whoa, whoa, hey." April puts her hands up. "Where's that coming from?"

Mikey crosses his arms. "Raph and I were wrestling the other day, and our dads made us stop because he's 'bigger than me'. He's only bigger by a little bit! And I'm just as strong as him, maybe stronger! My dad's the strongest and he's the smallest too, why am I any different?!" He grabs a pair of nunchucks out of the bin himself. "Look!"

"Wait-!"

But he spins his weapons perfectly, does a flip, and lands without bonking himself even once. He kicks and follows it with what would be a truly devastating hit to the rib area in a real fight, and then finishes his little demonstration with a solid punch to what would, presumably, be the jaw.

April's own jaw is dropped. "You- that was-" She shakes her head. "And we thought you weren't paying attention in training, dang kid!"

"Training is way different." Mikey pouts as he hooks the little nunchucks to his little belt. "Everyone else takes it so seriously, but it's not real!"

"... Hun..." April crouches and puts a hand on Mikey's shoulder. "They take it seriously because it is serious. And you goofing off makes them take it even more seriously, because they think you aren't paying attention."

"So?"

"Uh, so, they think you're gonna get your butt whooped out there and that they'll have to protect you! Obviously they won't, but they don't know that! ... Tell you what, when you're out with your dads tonight, show them they can mix fun with serious. Your Uncle Leon makes puns during fights all the time, goad him into it! I've seen Leo have pun-offs with his dad, it'll work like a charm."

"... Really?"

"That's an April O'Neil promise."

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

"Pop-Pop?"

"Hmm? Yes, Little Blue?"

"Can my swords have red on the handles instead of black?"

"I don't see why not." Splinter shudders as he opens the cabinet. "All of these little girls running around with deadly weapons... this is why we live in a sewer, away from Girl Scouts."

"I thought we live in the sewer because humans don't like mutants?"

"At first. But no-one really cares anymore." Splinter pulls out a pair of katanas, and then shakes his head and tosses them aside. "Ooooh, this one has something engraved in it... eugh!" Splinter's tail stick straight out as he reads it.

Leo walks closer and reads it aloud-

"NO!" Splinter puts his hand over Leo's mouth. "How do you know what that says?!"

"Donnie found Japanese lessons for us online."

"Never repeat those words around your fathers! Purple donates to the Algebra channel just to keep it running for when he's mad at me."

"Donnie can fix that for you."

"Little Purple? Since when?"

"He built a new TV out of trash his dad didn't want anymore." Leo grins. "We stayed up all night watching your old movies the other day. You're the coolest grandpa ever."

Splinter's eyes water, and he pulls Leo into a hug. "I know this is so I won't tell on you," he sniffles, "But I don't care!"

"What? No it's not. You're just awesome. I wanna be just like you and Dad. You're both great ninjas, great teachers, and great heros!"

Splinter's hug grip falters a bit. "I... do not know if I deserve such praise."

"Why?"

"... I was not a great teacher for much of your father's life. ... I was not even a decent father."

Leo leans out of the hug. "What? But our dads love you so much!"

"Yes, because my boys are very forgiving. ... But I am ashamed to say that I... I failed them. I did not prepare them in time for many things, and I often failed them in smaller ways. Which is why I try so hard with you boys." Splints pats Leo's head. "So I do not make the same mistakes twice."

Leo shakes his head. "No. You're so wise, and-and Dad always talks about how cool you are in a fight."

"This is a heavy subject, Little Blue." Splints looks up at the armoire of swords (knowing Leon would make a pun about it somehow).

"... How do I avoid those mistakes?"

"What?"

"If you made any mistakes, I'll avoid them." Leo kneels down, sitting on his knees and putting his hands in his lap. Splints doesn't even know where he learned to sit like that, if he knows how much it reminds Splints of his early childhood before he and his grandfather moved to America.

"Oh, you won't have to worry about my kind of mistakes for a long time." Splints pats his head again and wipes his own eyes with the other hand. "You're a good person, Little Blue. But you're rushing to grow up too fast! Let yourself have a little fun! Your father has fun all of the time!"

"At home."

"Not just at home." Splints pulls out another pair of swords, one having a longer handle than the other in this pair. "Have I ever told you about the time your father outsmarted Big Mama?"

"Dad told me he tricked her and you two had the most epic father-son battle ever."

"Hah! We did! But, he also was plenty silly for it. He had them make us matching costumes, and did not even tell me his plan the whole time! I thought he was going to get us killed!"

"Why wouldn't he tell you his plan?"

"Because he is a smarta- um, forget you heard that."

"Raph says the F word."

"Yeesh. He is like a teapot. All his anger in too small a space."

"Ha!"

"Do not tell him I said that."

"I won't. ... Mikey would laugh at it too. And Donnie."

"Which is why you will not tell them either! I've seen you boys, you trade insults like normal kids trade playing cards!"

"Hey, Donnie and Raph do it way more than Mikey and I do!"

"Still. You are all smart-mouths, just like your fathers."

"You just told me to be less serious."

"By that I mean to do fun things! Make terrible puns in battle! insult your enemies and not your brothers! Embarrass your enemies in front of their partners!"

"... How will I be a good leader if I'm busy doing that?"

"Who said anything about being a leader?" Splints hands Leo the swords. "Your father did not become the leader until years after your Uncle Red was. And even then, he needed time to grow into it! You are only ten, do not worry about that kind of thing yet."

Leo tests out the swords, running through a basic attack. "But what if we need a leader?"

"That will work itself out. You're not going into battle without your fathers anytime soon! Let yourselves find your rhythm before you try to force things." Forcing things results in sons kidnapped, teapots given as ransom payment, demons unleashed-

Leo nods. "Okay, Pop-Pop. I'll loosen up." He sheathes his swords behind his back in one shockingly fluid motion. "... You really think we'll see a fight tonight?"

"Oh, no, not tonight. I'm sure it will be villain-free!"

[ge]

🎭— the title webtoon used for tang bo in the eng tl is so painful to me it hurts like fr. i didnt even know you could translate titles so weirdly but ... its alright

anyway, i recently got into some new media (lie, its an old ship i used to like), and i cant help but notice i have a recurring pattern of person a "silly/sunshine man who is either actually insanely dangerous/one of the most powerful men in the show/media" and person b "the nonchalant/grumpy guy who has to deal with the affections of person a (he likes it its ok)". ESPECIALLY if they're old man yaoi / middle aged man yaoi..... maybe i do indeed have a type

except this time at least person a isnt DEAD!!!!! although he did almost die... thrice.... and is severely injured... but we take the W

anyway live laugh love tangchung dangcheong <3

how did they even come up with shadow hand thats like not even close to the literal translation.. dark = shadow i guess but where did hand come from ..there are only so many ways u could translate jon (존) and hand is not one of them.... and wasnt the title they used for him in the asura tl shadow lord... just stupid im crying

i must say my tastes vary but at the moment im connecting some dots between the media im interested in currently and realizing 'old traumatized men that are so in love w each other with such a passionate desire that it borders on self destructive co dependency and obsession, were war buddies that went through massively tragic circumstances that ended up in one or both of their deaths' might be my thing....scratches ass.. isnt always and doesnt necessarily have to be old men but i fujo out more often than not i cant help it its a terminal disease

[tera-starstorm]

personal miitopia canon tidbits post for funsies

great sage jamie was primarily raised alongside his cousin val by guardian spirit jasira. when they were both around seven they were caught in a tragic accident travelling powdered peaks with family that resulted in said family well. Not making it! and val's leg was injured to the point it had to be removed. lucky for them jas (before she was sealed within the pendant by her fellow deities for breaking rules about communicating with mortals) found them and took them in. jas's partner, who is the inn spirit finn (@ilovesmosh55's oc), also helped raise them.

the entirety of neksdor is a huge clusterfuck misunderstanding which is really funny because like. Ok so basically the genie, michio, is 1.) friends with the desert celebrity, 2.) related to great sage jamie, and 3.) a huge prankster. not a bad guy just goes overboard on the silly sometimes. he was talking to jamie prior to everything and jamie was like "u gotta tone down the pranks turning a pyramid into cheese in the hot ass desert sun was a bad idea" and michio's like "cmooon that was a one-time lapse of judgement. if i do smth stupid again you can put me in lamp time out for a few days so i can think about what i did or whatever" and Well. needless to say he did something stupid so he lost that bet. blah blah shit happens lamp goes missing and gets picked up by the desert prince. michio does not like his vibe and fucks off. his first bright idea is to prank his buddy desert celebrity arlo (also @ilovesmosh55's) who is not the sharpest tool in the shed. michio replaces his gold with chocolate coins and hides the real stuff under his bed and arlo genuinely thinks it's missing and enlists the help of arcade and co. to find it. michio has to explain everything lest arc sucks him back into the lamp and he's like "alright yeah maybe i need to dial it back um". essentially he's not evil he's just really dedicated to the bit

the tomodachi collection island, tomodachi life island, and new lumos are all the same place, just having developed over time. arc actually lived in the original apartment building there. new lumos is also where the dark lord started her attack since it was a densely-populated area disconnected from the mainland and the culture there is relatively different from it, as well. there aren't nearly as many magic users and reliance on technology is much heavier, and it is also the main source of broadcasting news across the land. cutting off that news source was good for the attack so the mainland didn't expect it, and the dense population and ocean-enclosed land that made it hard to escape fast made it a great place to begin stealing faces amd creating monsters.

the inns often appear in the form of doors on random upright surfaces and can show up pretty much anywhere granted there is a large enough surface for it to appear on (think like... the dark lord's castle or something like that. rather than a whole inn appearing it's just one door on a wall). the doors stand out so it's clear where they lead. they can appear as full buildings but not All the time depending on location

snurps are actually an invasive species that originated in peculia. they can be kept as pets but there are regulations or outright bans that vary by area. also new lumos snurps are like a weird combination of crows and city rats

[ao3feed-dilucnkaeya]

Bartender's Bane

Read on AO3

by Krows

Three or four hours, he told himself, You can last three or four hours.

This was nothing compared to the snowy nights he'd spent injured and alone, hungry and afraid to fall asleep in whatever makeshift shelter he could find or throw together in the suffocatingly silent Snezhnayan winter. His wanted poster had been hanging in nearly every city he'd visited, pictures varying greatly in accuracy, and in many cases that had been enough to deter him from staying at any of the inns. Nothing in this world would compare to the agony of those endless nights that bled into equally miserable days.

The front door banged open, bell nearly knocked from its perch, and in came Kaeya, Rosaria, and Venti, all three of whom made a beeline for the counter.

Suddenly, Diluc longed to be bleeding out by himself in the snow again.

Words: 2730, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Characters: Diluc (Genshin Impact), Kaeya (Genshin Impact), Venti (Genshin Impact), Rosaria (Genshin Impact), Jean (Genshin Impact)

Relationships: Diluc & Kaeya (Genshin Impact), Kaeya & Rosaria & Venti (Genshin Impact), Diluc & Jean (Genshin Impact)

Additional Tags: Depressed Diluc (Genshin Impact), Swearing, drinking buddies, Diluc is really going through it but everyone else is ready to PARTAY, canon-specific blasphemy, Drinking, Venti Doesn't Rhyme (Genshin Impact), Diluc's day job, Sad Flashbacks, No proofreading we die like Crepus, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Rosaria get to be funny. as a treat, Diluc is Bad at Feelings (Genshin Impact), Diluc and Kaeya are brothers this isn't a ship

[bookandcover]

This month’s read for my family’s Anti-Racism Book Club, Lot, is a compelling, well-crafted portrait of place, family, and the immigrant experience. Somewhere between novel and short story collection, these chapters shift point of view, blending the larger narrative of protagonist Nicolás with other stories from his neighborhood. While the perspectives vary, similar themes unite the work, particularly discussion of queer identity and the intersectional experience of young, gay, men of color. The author’s narrative tone and style is confident, visceral, and stark at every turn, while still exhibiting transcendent moments of love, beauty, and hope against a dark canvas of poverty, infidelity, drug addiction, and violence. The writing uses untranslated Spanish—a literary move I appreciate, as it makes insiders and outsiders of the readers themselves. You know when you are or are not the ideal audience. You know if this book is both for you and deeply not for you as a reader. 

The interwoven narratives and the shifting of points of view was, at times, confusing. It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize that Nicolás’s narrative was spaced out every other story, and we were often cued in to his narrative through the mention of his family members: Jan, Javi, and his Black mother and Jamaican father. One section of Nicolás’s story is told from Jan’s point of view, capturing another angle on the same family. I read the entirety of Chris’s story (with older sister Nikki, and cousin Gloria) thinking that this was the same narrative point of view, and later on I had to look back and sort this out. While this was confusing, it had an interesting effect of blending characters and experiences. Nicolás’s narrative was also out of order and circled throughout his memories. The threading together of all these experiences meant that the book as a whole felt less like a portrait of a family or a plot arc for a single protagonist—all though I felt the presence of these elements—than a portrait of the concept of “shared ground” (ground is shared, literary, in this Houston neighborhood, but also figuratively in the common threads in the experiences of these characters.) 

Nicolás’s plot arc does end with hope (a lot more hope than is contained in some of the other narratives). His name is not revealed until the final story, which focuses on his blossoming love with Miguel, and the possibility that he might be able to trust again, to open his heart to another person after lifelong experiences of broken trust with his family members. At the same time, this is not some kind of heroic “make it out” story, which is also a tension that appears in other characters narratives: TeDarus and his buddy Mix drop out of community college; Avery takes young teen Raúl under his wing, but then stops showing up for their drug distribution route; Poke moves in with Emil, but is unable to save his friend Rod from the streets. Don’t make the mistake, this book seems to be saying, of assuming we’re telling the heroic story, the one where someone is an exception and not the rule, the one were miracles happen, the one where people overcome and escape their very natures. The terrible power of circumstances, of utter lack of resources, of no perceived alternatives is clear: “there’s the world you live in, and then there are constellations around it, and you’ll never know you’re missing them if you don’t even know to look up.” Yet, these stories—the familiar, the everyday, the common, the shared—are just as worthy of being told as the miraculous exceptions. This is an important project of the book as a whole. 

Despite the fatalistic nature of life in this neighborhood—where it might feel like everyone, eventually, is pulled into drugs, just scrapping by financially, normalizing violence and abuse—there is real and tangible life and hope in these stories. One of my favorite stories was Bayou, in which two young men discover an injured, earth-bound chupacabra. Sprung from the pages of Latin American folklore, the chupacabra, in such a realistic book, is surely a suggestion of these kids’ imaginations, an unusually large dog playing tricks on their minds. But then, at the end of story, the chupacabra is very real; its brethren run to collect it, and the two young men stand in shocked awe of their presence. They weren’t able to share their discovery with either the local news or an ex-girlfriend (those who they want most to impress), but these witnessed the fantastical. I loved this twist, which put me in mind of the transcendence of the mongoose in The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. The gritty realism of the hurt chupacabra that the boys collect made me think of Gabriel García Márquez’s brilliant short story A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings. 

Change is also a threatening and driving force in this book. As much as the theme of “being stuck” pervades these pages, so does the forward march of time and the process of change that is out of the narrators’ control. The gentrification of this neighborhood seeps into the book as Nicolás ages. In a cringey moment, a whiteboy (always written like this) date tells him he’s “living in history.” The impact of hurricanes—Harvey, Rita—is cataloged, showing how the damage to this impoverished area spells the end of a way of life—of a once vibrant cultural community—that was hanging on by only a thread to stability. Nicolás struggles with being the one who remains, at his family home and in the neighborhood, as the demographics change: “and when I was gone, that’d be it—that would be the end of our story.” There is a fatalistic sense of the passage of time, as powerful as the fatalistic sense that Nicolás and Miguel both experience that they will never leave, that they can’t even choose this option, even when they—logistically—could. 

In addition to Bayou, my favorite of the stories was Waugh, the story about Poke, Rod, and their ring of young male prostitutes. While this story, on the surface, was one of the most grim, one that revealed the dark underbelly of the neighborhood and a level of desperation to which Nicolás never fell, it was also poignant and devastating. Poke’s middle-aged lover Emil is a figure with a lot of hope; he doesn’t pressure Poke to be something he’s not and he consistently treats the boy like a human being. Their story ends with real hope for their bond—although also with the possibility that things will fall apart and Poke will be right back where he started. The strongest cause for hope is Emil’s backstory, which reveals the stakes for him in showing care to Poke. Emil’s story about his family fleeing their country (that doesn’t exist anymore), and watching his dad and uncle shot on the side of the road, while his mother took the wheel and took her children to safety will continue to weigh on me. You feel, in the narration of this story, that Emil understands abuse and violence and loss in a different way than the “johns” Poke works for. Yet, Poke is unable to find Rod—his friend, his fellow prostitute who has fallen sick—at the end of story. While perhaps Poke “made it out,” Rod doesn’t, and perhaps Rod’s choice to not join Poke at Emil’s house will be part of Poke’s successful escape. We’re left to wonder this, while Rod certainly believed that he could not impinge on Emil’s kindness and Poke’s delicate position with him. 

Another moment of deep tragedy is Avery seeing his son strung out on drugs at the end of Avery and Raúl’s story, South Congress. Avery, an older drug dealer, takes the young undocumented teen Raúl under his wing. Avery seems to have real hop, in spite of his circumstances. He asks Raúl about his plans for the future. A lot of Avery’s hope rests on his estranged son, who has been raised by the boy’s mother. Avery expresses conviction that his son could “get out,” proud he was a college kid, with a different kind of future. Then, they see him: on the street, completely drugged out of his mind. Furious, Avery beats him, and then he disappears from his and Raúl’s drug circuit. A later mention of a Raúl working at the restaurant where Nicolás and Miguel work made me hope that Raúl’s fortunes slightly improved, but this—like so much in these stories—is no guarantee. 

These stories embody and express complex nuances, insisting on both change and stasis, agency and entrapment, hope and failure. One such nuanced relationship is that between protagonist Nicolás and his older brother Javi. When Javi dies halfway through the book, I found this to be so sad. It’s made clear that Nicolás doesn’t want to sell the restaurant because he doesn’t want anything to change, because if nothing changes maybe his brother will somehow, miraculously, return. At the same time, despite Nicolás’s love for and dependency on his brother, Javi is incredibly abusive and deeply unaccepting of Nicolás. But Nicolás still loves him. I felt Javi’s death through Nicolás, felt the tragedy of the loss despite rationally understanding the terribleness of Javi’s as a brother. This showed how much narrative proximity to Nicolás’s character is developed throughout the book, even as the broader portrait of the neighborhood is painted. 

Appropriately, Nicolás reflects in the final story on the essential nature of the self, and how we each are what we have to live with: “You bring yourself wherever you go. You are the one thing you can never run out on.” As a character who has tried desperately to avoid looking at certain aspects of his life, his decisions, and his emotions, this self-realization is poignant and is what left me with the most hope at the end of the book. No one is exempt from facing themselves, just like no one is exempt from certain risks, whether these be drug addiction, familial death and loss, or mental illness. While there is a disproportionate number of hardships facing those low socio-economic and non-white racial backgrounds, there is also the fundamental nature and experience of being human, which includes tragedy. As I read this book, I thought: some people get lost so far in themselves that they can’t figure out the way back out. And this could happen to anyone. At the end of the book, we see Nicolás symbolically and literally at the edge of the sea and land, trying to do exactly this—find his way back out of himself, so that he can open himself up to love again. 

[petslike20]

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[thoriffix]

The first time Zane injures himself badly enough to need proper repairs, Jay is utterly terrified.

Because sure, he knows robotics. He's invented a few robots in his time, to varying degrees of success, and he knows well enough how everything works. But this isn't some pancake-making robot he threw together out of scrap, that he can throw away if he messes up and start over with some other junk. This is Zane.

If he messes up here, it's Zane who'll pay the price. One of his best friends is at stake. He can't afford to screw up. And that knowledge is making it way too easy to picture screwing up.

He stares down at the inside of Zane's rib cage area, a twisted mass of wires, some broken, and swallows. Zane's insides spark ominously at him.

…it's a lot of pressure.

"Jay?"

Jay looks up to see Zane, craning his neck up from his horizontal position on the table, frowning worriedly at him. "You have been staring at my wiring for quite a while," he continues. "Are you alright?"

"Hey, I'm not the one on the operating table here, buddy!" Damn. Why did he say it like that? That puts even more pressure on it. He's not medically trained! He's not trained for this at all! "Are you alright?"

"Yes," says Zane, although he shifts slightly and a slight wince crosses his face. "I am alright."

"Cool. Cool, cool." Jay taps his fingers against his thighs. It's overwhelming. He's not even formally trained in robotics, nowhere near! Sure, he has the blueprints from Zane's dad about how he works, but that doesn't mean he's able to fix everything. "Say, uh, Zane?"

"Yes?"

"Do you, uh- would you rather have somebody else do this?"

Zane cocks his head slightly, looking confused. "Why?"

"Um. Because I'm, y'know- I'm not exactly trained in this stuff. I just kinda know what I taught myself in the junkyard, with scrap metal n' stuff. And I don't wanna mess anything up, or- or hurt you, or anything. Are you sure you want me to do this?"

He keeps tapping his fingers against his legs, face creased up as he stares at Zane's face, trying to read it. Zane just blinks at him, and then smiles. "Of course, Jay. I trust you."

Well, that's very sweet, but Jay doesn't fully trust himself. Not with this. "Okay, but, buddy - I really don't want to mess you up. What if I break something in you, and then you're hurt or damaged or- or y'know, I make it worse, or-"

He cuts himself off, because Zane's face is starting to look like a deer caught in the headlights, and him continuing to freak out would probably make it worse. He bites his lip instead, worrying it until he can taste the sharp tang of blood, and then Zane reaches to place a hand over his.

"I trust you," repeats Zane. "I would not have asked if I didn't trust your abilities."

That's… true. It had been Zane who came to him, holding his side and walking awkwardly, when they'd got home. Jay wonders, not for the first time, how Zane processes pain. He clearly does, particularly given the way his face had been pinched uncomfortably, and the little pained noises he's making when he moves too much. He's sure Dr Julien was a good man, but giving his son the ability to feel pain when he could've spared him from that? Jay has to question why.

He nods, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, and then takes a deep breath. Okay. He can do this. He knows how to do this. Zane's in pain, and he can fix it. Trust yourself, Jay. 

He reaches over for the wire cutters, squares his shoulders, and gives Zane a smile. Zane smiles back, entirely trusting, and Jay gets to work.

[comicaurora]

I've been hooked on this comic for a month, but smth's been bothering me abt Life healing magic. We've seen that Alinua intuitively heals broken bones and ruptured organs and such, while Erin is very particular about directing the healing with runic circles. We've also seen Alinua casually heal without consent before. I guess my question is, do disabled people get to exist in the world of Aurora? Can the magic accidentally ""remove"" mental illness, and is there a concept of medical consent?

The short answer is there's plenty of stuff that Life magic can't heal, at least not directly. Congenital physical conditions can be treated in the long term with extremely specialized enchantments, but they can't be casually healed if they're what the body considers "normal" or "correct." Like, a stab wound is gonna have the body going "whoa buddy! those cells aren't supposed to be doing that!" and that gives the healing magic something to latch onto, but if the body's got a condition that makes it go like like "what are these INTRUDERS" to its own nerve endings, casual healing magic might potentially worsen that, in the same way a histamine reaction isn't actually good for the person having it despite it being an attempt to protect the body. So people with inborn conditions can manage symptoms but they can't be one-touch cured forever. In a very real sense, their body doesn't know how to be "fully 100% healthy", so life magic can't really guide it in that direction - whereas a body will know what it was like to not have been stabbed.

Acquired disabilities like loss of limbs or senses can vary, but for the most part, regrowing a limb is too big and too complicated for healing magic to pull off safely. Fixing something that's been damaged but not destroyed is sometimes possible, but regrowing something that's completely gone is pretty much impossible - so an injured eye might be healed, but a missing eye is gone for good.

Also, life magic's ability to heal anything other than very fresh injuries is very limited due to the soul barrier, even for someone like Alinua.

We've also seen no evidence that physical healing has any effect on mental health.

[luimagines]

I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable, so please delete this if it makes you uncomfortable/think it'll make anyone uncomfortable. Deepest apologies if it does.

How would the reader deal with their periods if they get them? How do you think the chain would react? Personally, I think more than half of them would be very confused and the others would try desperately to keep them from upsetting the reader/making them uncomfortable.

Again, really really sorry if I make anyone uncomfortable 😣

Trigger warning?? Blood??

I don't know. You're fine buddy. I'm not personally uncomfortable with it. It's just a fact of life. But if you (the reader) are, then just skip this one..... I'll put it under the cut for your convivence! Problem solved. :D

Now they vary between reactions obviously.

I try to keep Reader as gender neutral as possible but I must admit this does bring up some specific scenarios in my head.

I'm sure Reader would have dealt with it before if they've traveled before. If they're just yoinked from home then it would be a different thing entirely. I would like to assume they would have asked for supplies secretly when they entered the next town over. Which would be the smart thing to do.

If they didn't do that, then the next best bet is to find some gauze or say goodbye to their pants. The chain mostly likely have some gauze though, in their medical supplies, so Reader is covered and the damage can be lessened to their clothing.

Wolfie notices immediately, naturally. The pup can smell it.

Twilight suddenly appears to be more understanding and offers them to ride on Epona. No questions asked. They can't stop progress over cramps and bleeding, he knows this but he can try and make it more comfortable for Reader at least and help them not feel like they're holding the group back.

He ignores the idea of stains on the saddle. They have soap and water and he can give Reader some more cotton or gauze if they need it to help out.

Twilight gives hints to the others in the group. If they catch on, great! They can help. If they don't, well. It saves Reader some face and they don't have to explain much.

Warrior catches on quickly and offers some pain meds in private. He has a lot. Warrior would carry them out of habit from being on the battle field for so long and again- more of the main warriors from his troops were females. He knows.

Sky and Wild take the initiative to make sure that Reader stays as comfortable as possible. Wild provides the comfort food and the hot water bottles and Sky works with making their bed roll and horse ride comfy. Sail cloth included.

Wind doesn't really know what's going on and Hyrule doesn't know what's happening either. They get told that Reader is a bit hurt and is going to feel sick for a few days but they'll be better in no time. Hyrule offers the healing spell- which... doesn't help as much as he wants it to but a little bit goes a long way. Wind tries to keep their spirits up and tells them stories of his life and home and the other stupid things the group did before Reader showed up wanted to keep quiet but he's not above taking out all the dirt he has on them.

Legend and Time figure it out quite quickly and also do their best to make Reader comfortable. They're vulnerable in this state and the group can't afford to slow down on their behalf unfortunately. they must be covered until they recooperate.

This only solidifies Wind and Hyrule's idea that Reader is quite injured and need just a little more support.

Four doesn't realize what's happening period. (ha!) Like, he knows what it is and he's been around it. But everyone does a good job of just... smoothing things over that he just... doesn't notice. ^.^*

He thinks that it's business as usual and Reader caught a weird bug and it's just how things will be for the next few days. When Reader is back to normal he'll be happy to have them feeling better and be none the wiser. (if he figured it out earlier- which he will when it inevitably happens again- then he'll be kinder and snag them some chocolate and a soft blanket next time their in town).

[theramseyloft]

Bunjiwunji made a popular post about how feral pigeons are feral, not wild, and thus can make good pets under the proper care. When asked how to obtain a feral pigeon, though, they suggested that you might know a thing or two. So: how does one go about cashing in on the Free Bird Buddy secret?

There are so many ferals that need care that honestly it's best to make friends with your local flock and watch for a bird that needs help.

If you can find where they like to forage, make a habit of bringing a varied blend of seeds with you.

They learn to identify individual humans by facial features and voice, so your locals will get to know you.

Watch for birds on the outskirts of the flock when you feed.

That's where lost performance or exhibition breeds or injured flockmates will end up.

Watch for birds that don't follow when something spooks the flock.

Birds with noticeably bare beaks

Like this one

Are recently weaned babies.

Feral babies tend to be more developed when they come down.

More like this bird.

These are the most vulnerable.

Also the most curious.

Make friends with these when they are healthy. They remember.

And they will be less likely to try to evade if they get hurt or sick if they know you.

You can acclimate the flock to a cat carrier by feeding especially high value seeds like safflower in there and only actually closing it to catch a bird that needs help.

Patience is key.

These birds are extremely anxious and flighty because their lives depend on it.

It's important that they trust you.

[imaginecorporation]

Rolangelica brainrot real,,, do you have any headcanons about them? 👉👈

ROLANGELICA BRAINROT REAL

BLACK AND WHITE

Power couple? Power couple. They're both colors, so they're terrifying enough in their own rights. But together? Count your blessings and say your prayers, because that's about all you could do.

It should be no surprise that Angelica is the more dominant and commanding of the two. After all, Roland didn't even intend to ask her out, but she took that initiative as if it was just another task of the day.

That being said, Roland is no pushover. If he thinks Angelica can't handle something on her own, or that she's pushing herself too hard, he will put his foot down. No amount of intimidation or puppy dog eyes can get his to change his stance.

If it's just that he thinks Angelica can't do the task alone, Roland will gladly come along to help. He doesn't like holding her back from her job, but he definitely doesn't want to see her get hurt.

Meanwhile, Angelica has absolute full confidence that Roland can handle any job he's given. It's... met with mixed results. Roland can indeed handle himself! It's just that sometimes, he gets in way over his head, even during the most menial of jobs.

And yes, Angelica absolutely patches up even the slightest wounds he gets, and dotes on him endlessly for even the slightest mishap. Papercut? Bedrest and wife kisses, sorry buddy--

Roland won't admit it to most, but he cherishes the attention. He doesn't get injured intentionally, but he might play it up for a few more kisses and minutes of cuddling. Angelica knows this. She's astute, she can tell what kind of injuries hurt how much. Does that mean she'll cut back on the affection? Absolutely not.

Overall these two just worry about each other and care about each other so damn much. They display it in wildly varying ways from each other, but they both recognize how much they mean to one another.