#and cool i need a shigure otp tag cool awesome wow

[soartfullydone]

"Puppy love is hard to ignore" for you and Shigure. "Are you still there?" you and Thrawn. "Just take my hand" you and Silver.

WEH

*

The blue smoke dissipated in the air almost as quickly as it appeared. A breeze wafted into the Sohma house through the open shoji door where, just inside, Melody sat at the kotatsu, though it wasn’t yet cold enough for blankets to be added to the table.

That was fine. The big, black dog she was now hugging was warm enough.

“Oops,” she simpered, her smile widening into a smirk at the end of the word.

The dog gave a very human sigh. His tale did not wag. His snout didn’t move, but he spoke anyway.

“I knew it’d be a bad idea, not having your memories suppressed.”

“What? You’re not having a good time?”

“This is the fifth time you’ve hugged me today alone, and it’s not even past noon.”

“I can’t help it,” Melody replied, snuggling into his fur. “I love puppies!”

Shigure craned his head to get a better look at her, but it was no use. She was latched on and not going anywhere. “I’m hardly a puppy,” he said, managing to make it threatening and playful all at once.

“All dogs are puppers, some are just bigger,” she argued. “You’re a cute breed I like, too. Maybe if you turned into a chihuahua, I wouldn’t feel the urge to hug you as much.”

“And here I thought it was my manly physique that did it for you,” he said dryly. 

“Eh.” She shrugged. “Maybe it would, if you wore anything but your pajamas all—”

“Kimono. It’s a kimono.” Shigure stressed the clothing, as if he hadn’t explained this to her a hundred times, and a hundred times she’d ignored him.

“Okay, yeah, but it’s all you wear. It’s practically a glorified bathrobe at this point.”

“You have no appreciation for culture,” he intoned mock-mournfully before asking in a slightly more serious tone, “Does this hug have an expiration date, by the way?”

“Listen. I’m making up for lost time.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m not complaining. I’m well aware that a pretty girl is hugging me.”

Melody was glad that her face was turned away from Shigure’s so hers could go stupidly red in semi-privacy. 

“It’s just that,” Shigure was saying, “dear Mitchan will be cross with you if you keep me from finishing my manuscript.”

“I doubt it.” Was Melody scratching Shigure’s head now or giving him a noogie? Yes. “I’m not the one with a looming deadline. Which one is it, anyway?”

“Oh, you know,” he said innocently. “My other thing.”

“Your filthy, filthy smut, you mean.”

“It’s cute when you pretend you’re not just as depraved.”

“That’s not it.” She poked him in the side but smoothed the fur afterward. “It’s not your take on sex that terrifies me about reading it. It’s your take on female characters.”

“What?” His tone was sharp with offense. “You don’t think I can write women?”

“Oh,” Melody drawled with a slow smile, “absolutely not.”

“I’m so hurt,” he responded, “and I will relish proving you wrong.”

“Don’t worry, Shigure. Sometimes, a paycheck and a fooled audience is enough.” She laughed as he nipped her arm.  

“Yes, well, if I don’t get the next volume out soon, that Hana girl might kill me before Mitchan does.”

As if speaking of her had summoned her, Shigure’s editor came pealing around the house, only to freeze at seeing Melody. Mitchan was professionally dressed in a suit jacket, pencil skirt, and heels, but she somehow looked all the more shabby for it, probably because the strain was so stark on her face. Melody felt a wave of pity for her.

“Where—is—he?” Mitchan wailed, close to crying once a sweep of the room revealed that Shigure was nowhere to be found.

“I think he went to the store,” Melody told her. One of Shigure’s ears twitched.

“Oh, kill me. Just kill me.” Mitchan buried her face in her hands. Then, she transformed, grimly determined as she searched her jacket. She pulled out a business card and extended it to Melody. “If he comes back, please call me.”

Melody lifted an arm only long enough to accept the card before returning to drape over Shigure. “Sure.”

Mitchan turned to leave but did a double-take. “Since when did Shigure get a dog?”

“Oh, he’s mine,” Melody replied. “The Sohmas just let Tohru dog-sit for me sometimes.”

Mitchan probably accepted that answer. By the way she was muttering to herself and running frantic hands through her hair, she might not have heard it at all. 

Neither of them spoke until they heard the echo of her car door slamming and the engine start. Then, Shigure’s cold nose pressed against her shoulder. “I’m yours, hm?” His voice, so close to her ear, was low and silky.

“Well, I couldn’t tell her the truth, could I?” Melody said a little more defensively than she’d meant to.     

Shigure was silent for a beat. “Definitely should’ve suppressed your memories. You’re nothing like Tohru.”

“Not true. She likes dogs, too.”

 “Aside from that, the two of you are like night and day.”

“How so?” Melody challenged in a “choose your words carefully” tone. Shigure utterly ignored it.

“Well, unlike you, Tohru is incredibly sweet—”

“I’m sweet!” Melody declared vehemently, snapping her head around to glare at him.  

Shigure practically doubled over laughing, his tail finally wagging behind him. “And for another thing,” he attempted, recovering, “Tohru doesn’t have a single devious bone in her body.”

“It’s an art, not a science, so I don’t hold it against her,” Melody said, ending the hug at last. “Especially since it means you and I get along so well.” 

*

Force-sensitive Chiss children. Almost always female. Naturally. 

Here was the secret to the Chiss and their seemingly-superior navigational enterprises. The answer was so deliciously ironic, the Sith part of her wanted to kick herself for not realizing it sooner. The rest of her marveled at the possibilities.

Just how advanced with the Force were these children? Thrawn had said the only ability they possessed was precognition, but she had enough experience with the Force to know that it was never that simple. Besides, he didn’t understand the Force—none of the Chiss seemed to—so what did they know, really? Perhaps their Force users were capable of more than they thought. 

How did their training differ, anyway, from what she’d received at the Jedi Temple so long ago, when she was just a Padawan and willing to give up her life for corrupt ideals? Were they even trained at all?

But the question truly burning a hole in her mind was this: what made these children lose their Force connection? What little she knew of their culture provided no answer, but she likely wouldn’t have a concrete idea unless she was immersed in it. 

If she could just talk to one of these kids, though… If she could just teach them and learn from them in turn…

if she could just take one apart and figure out how they tick—

“Are you still there?” Thrawn’s cultured voice cut through the dark thought that sounded so much like Plagueis in her head, she was shaken by it. Had it been him, reaching her through the Force—or was that the part of her he’d left behind in his wake?

“I’m here,” she responded over the comm. “So when do I get to meet them?”

“You don’t.”

She must have misheard. “What? Thrawn—you don’t dangle power like that in front of a Sith and then yank it back.”

“And when I’m confident that I’m not talking to Lady Inferna, I’ll reopen the issue,” he replied coolly.

Melody emitted a frustrated sigh, glaring at the starlines flying past her ship’s viewport. “Fine. But don’t you want to know why none of them remains a Force user into adulthood?”

“Of course. However, we have more pressing problems to address first, one in particular you could help solve.”

“Oh, I see.” She laughed without mirth. “So you think I’ll be your personal star chart into the Unknown Regions whenever you ask, hm?”

“I think,” Thrawn said smoothly, “you’ll want to challenge yourself.”

“And what? I’m just supposed to close my eyes and ask the Force for precognition powerful enough to compete with hyperspace travel and hope we don’t all die crashing into a star on the way?” She leaned back in her chair, stomping her foot on top of the console. “It doesn’t work that way, Thrawn.” 

Melody stewed in the silence, but she was confident that she had him. He couldn’t refute her claims, so the only way he was going to get what he wanted out of her was to give into her own demands.

She was going to meet those—

“Lord Vader could do it.”

Slowly, every move deliberate, Melody placed her foot back on the floor, leaned forward, and brought the comm as close to her mouth as she could.

Softly, she said, “You little bastard.”

He had her.

*

Growing up, Melody had always hated dresses. Not because she had anything against the article of clothing itself but because wearing one had never been on her own terms. When you were part of a family whose members were on fast-tracks toward political power and military advancement, you beat to the drum of maintaining public image and you didn’t complain about it. 

The scene currently happening on the deck of the R.L.S. Legacy was so far removed from the life she’d left behind, she had trouble believing it was real. Especially because it was familiar. 

Melody didn’t know how it had started. She’d come up from the galley to find that a couple kegs had been brought out and the beer was flowing. Someone—perhaps George Merry—had even brought out a fiddle, and most of the crew were engaged in various styles of dancing. Legs kicking out, arms flailing, but no swishing skirts to be found, even among the female crew members. 

Everything was loud and chaotic and messy, and she knew members of the gentry who would faint at seeing their beloved, traditional dances… refashioned like this.

Had there been a mutiny or something?

But no—Captain Amelia was watching the crew’s shenanigans from the quarterdeck, an amused smile softening her feline features. Mr. Arrow was next to her, frowning acutely in displeasure.

That frown was replaced with a hint of mild shock as the ship’s doctor approached, and Melody watched with fascination as Elizabeth talked him into dancing. But then the doctor, she’d noticed, was the type who was determined to include everyone and make sure they had a good time, or else.

“Don’t believe you’ll have much luck swabbin’ the deck through this lot, lad,” John Silver said, somehow appearing next to her without her noticing. “Doubt they’d appreciate you bein’ underfoot.”

“Ah… Yeah.” She shouldered the mop, bucket swinging against the handle like a cradle. “Guess I’ll just see what I can get into below deck.”

“You most certainly will not!” Silver declared. “It’s a party, lad.” 

She couldn’t quite keep the surprise off her face. “I thought you were supposed to keep us working until we couldn’t think.”

“Clearly, I’m doing a poor job of it, seeing the thoughts you’re still havin’,” Silver noted. “But I’d be considered poorer still if I let you and Jimbo carry on, miserable, while the rest of us get up to mischief. T’aint no way to inspire loyalty in a crew, you can be sure of that.”

Jim crossed her line of vision then. He wasn’t dancing, but he was smirking knowingly at a furiously-gesticulating Doctor Doppler, many of his violent hand gestures directed in Captain Amelia’s general direction.

Oh, no, Silver was right. She absolutely couldn’t sit this one out downstairs. 

“Sounds fair to me, sir,” she said brightly—then had a mild panic because that tone always made her voice go higher, and she always, always forgot that. Hoping he hadn’t noticed, she slung the mop and broom in an out-of-the-way spot by the railing, intending to find it again later.

“Good of you to see reason, my boy.” Silver’s mechanical eye whirled as he took her in. “‘Sides, I have you pegged as a fine dancer, so fine I’ll practically be robbin’ poor George Merry blind tonight.”

“You took a bet on whether I could dance?” Her face turned hot.

“Well, sure, it panned out with the cards, didn’t it?” Silver said with a secret smile that told her all she needed to know about whether she’d gotten completely away with cheating or not. “On a voyage this long, you have to find innocent ways to amuse yourself or you’ll be looking for some not-so-innocent ways, make no mistake.”

“Sorry to tell you, then, that I can’t dance,” she lied, but she could not dance among this crew while she was still trying to hold her cover. She had no idea how to lead a dance like a man, for one thing, and their steps were always different because there were always fewer. Women, as usual, did all the work and flourishes. Plus, alcohol-induced states or not, if anyone got too close to her—

Silver clasped his mechanical hand to his heart. “Are you tryin’ to put this old man into an early grave, lad? Wreakin’ havoc on my constitution, you are.”

“It’s just dancing!” Melody felt like she had to be glowing in the dark, she was blushing so hard. “It’s not like it’s a useful skill.”

“But of course it is, lad! Good practice for footwork, for one thing. For another, how do you ever expect to woo a nice lass if you can’t even dance with her?”

“I told you, I’m becoming a hermit,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Not under my watch, no sir!” With mounting dread, Melody watched as Silver extended his good hand to her. “Take my hand, Mel. I’ll learn you some basic steps by t’under, or else I have no business callin’ myself your commanding officer.”

Melody was begging the stars to send someone to come save her. The Captain, Jim, hell, she’d even take Cutter or Scroop at this point. But none of those sorry bastards came around, and she couldn’t think of any other way out of this.

So she looked everywhere except at Silver because she did not want to know how much her hand was dwarfed by his, and even though there was still space between their bodies, it didn’t matter. Not when she could feel every inch of that mechanical hand against her waist and lower back. Somehow, this was even worse than his usual affectionate touches, probably because she’d learned to expect those.

This… made her light-headed just thinking about, so feeling it… She needed to get this over with, now.

“First, move your left foot—”

“Got it,” she said, already following Silver as he started the basic steps for a waltz. Her right foot was in position before Silver could say anything.

“Well, now!” Silver commended, his eyes twinkling. “A fast learner even in this, eh?”

“Mhmm,” Melody replied. “You can stop worrying about the nice lasses now. I got it.”

“I should say not! How is any lass going to feel comfortable, dancing with a lad who’s rigid as a board and won’t so much as look at her? Why, if I were in her shoes now, I’d be off, cryin’ into my skirts.” 

Melody was absolutely going to remember this, and she was absolutely going to pay Silver back for this ten-fold someday.

But right now, this was just like any role she’d played back home. That’s all she had to do, and this could end.

So she loosened the stiffness in her shoulders, practically melting against Silver’s touch. Her movements became smoother, polished. When she raised her head to meet his eyes, it was with a cool, appraising stare but a smile that said she liked what she saw—a deadly combination she’d seen used by the officers at her father’s functions. It had worked for her to see it then, and it would work for her to use now. 

“Well?” she asked with a tilt of her head. “How’s this, sir?”

“I think,” Silver said, his voice low, “you’re going to break hearts, lad.” A cheery smile crossed his face and he called louder, “And I think George Merry owes me twenty gold pieces!”

The fiddle screeched to a stop, replaced with George Merry’s loud cursing and the crew’s laughter.