#black freighter

[lesdeuxmuses]

Black Freighter - Graves And Monuments (Vendetta Records, 2010)

[picspammer]

It's too late. Always has been, always will be… too late.

[naur-shaddaa]

is it just me or does The Acolyte feel like you're watching a stage play?? why is everyone so awkward

[tomoleary]

“Dave Gibbons Watchmen Movie "Tales of the Black Freighter" Prop Comic Cover Original Art (DC/Warner Brothers, 2009). Created to produce a screen-used prop comic and posters for the movie Watchmen. Tales of the Black Freighter is an imaginary comic book, woven into the narrative of Gibbons and Alan Moore's allegorical superhero novel, Watchmen. This cover-design piece depicts the story, "Marooned," which is presented as a sub-plot in the fifth issue of Watchmen. The objective was to create a facsimile of what an EC Comics title of this nature might have resembled. Mission accomplished! In the movie, the final printed version was seen in the hands of the boy at the newsstand, and also this cover was used to produce a large "New Issue" poster on the side of the street corner newsstand. The pseudonymous signature at lower left suggests Al Feldstein, an EC mainstay.”

https://comics.ha.com/itm/original-comic-art/covers/dave-gibbons-watchmen-movie-tales-of-the-black-freighter-prop-comic-cover-original-art-dc-warner/a/7209-93101.s

[aiiaiiiyo]

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“Knife Is Useless In Extracting Pay,” Montreal Star.  June 26, 1931. Page 3. ---- CREATING a scene aboard the ship from which he was just discharged, brandishing a knife and demanding his pay in no meek accents, is conduct for which the Canada Shipping Act provides a heavy penalty, Thomas Scott, colored, of Halifax, learned this morning. He will spend the next six months in jail.

Discharged from a Canadian National freighter, Scott went back and demanded pay he said was owing him. Ordered off the ship by the master, he returned and started brandishing a knife. Then he was arrested.

Appearing before Judge Cusson this morning, he was sentenced to six months in jail - the minimum term

[echthr0s]

it used to be that I could and did take Watchmen (2009) with incredible seriousness, and there's still a part of me that's going ape over "the inherent monstrosity of violent apotheosis" and so on and so forth, but mostly what I'm thinkin through this 3+ hour blue and yellow cringe-CGI riot is some combination of "hee hee hoo why his dick look like that", "lol imagine bein the doctor that has to give a Rorschach test to the guy whose whole schtick is the Rorschach test", "Big Figure's henchman... calls him.... Mr. Figure........ *wheeeeeze* *knee slap*", and "considering that Laurie hits the flamethrower button on Archie when she comes, I think that you could call the previous scene where she hits it on accident when it's parked 'premature ejaculation'"

[bonecouch]

watched the watchmen movie against my better judgment. hate it hate it hate it hate it. stupidest movie i ever saw. absolute butchery of the source material. dr manhattan explode me now

[welcometosasakiworld]

DPXDC prompt #33

As a apology/birthday/deathday present to Danny, Maddie and Jack decide to make authentic space tech from his favorites movies... Star Wars and Star Trek.

Now the Justice League was dumbstruck chasing a, honest to god, real Millennium Falcon YT-1300 light freighter mixed with Enterprise NCC-1701?!

Did they forget to mention the transporter? Or the other brought to life fictional tech from star wars and star trek? Or the fact the this spacecraft was being driven by a blue-eyed and black-haired teenager?

[odo-apologist]

Every ENT character is the most character ever. Archer is a bitch he plays a fundamental role in the creation of the Federation he brings his dog on away missions which once causes a diplomatic incident he likes water polo he commits war crimes he saw a gazelle giving birth and implements it into his rousing speeches he had a wet dream about his first officer that included his dog's funeral he had to carry the soul of the creator of the main tenets of Vulcan philosophy in his head he gives a lecture on Tycho Brahe while getting his ass beaten during an interrogation scene. T'Pol is strict in her Vulcan beliefs she doesn't believe in time travel even as she's presented with irrefutable evidence and remains somewhat skeptical after experiencing it firsthand she is the funniest person on Enterprise she is more emotional than average Vulcans to the point that she had to have memories erased for causing her too much distress she could canonically pick up any of her crewmates and carry them bridal style she has Vulcan HIV she has it cured by the woman that later watches Spock and Kirk roll around in the sand in Amok Time she is technically canonically trans she is a recovering drug addict. Trip is a perfect gentleman he undergoes incredible emotional losses his favorite movies are Frankenstein Bride of Frankenstein and Son of Frankenstein he gets pregnant five episodes in he dies in the worst episode of the entire series (and the entire franchise) only to have that death retconned in the following tie-in novels he ran around the ship in his underwear he leaves the ship for a couple weeks only to come back after one person had been kidnapped another thrown in jail and the engines are on the verge of destruction and reacts like :/. Malcolm is gay he has 50 ex-girlfriends he has only had one friend in his life his own sister barely knows anything about him he dies alone he likes pineapple even though he's allergic to it he gets spacesick he worked as an agent for a top secret organization he's afraid of drowning he whined about getting a cold he had a spike driven through his leg and didn't complain at all he has a psychosexual obsession with a man he thinks is after his job and grows to respect once they had a homoerotic fight scene before witnessing him die. Hoshi is a linguistic prodigy she's the greatest contributor to the universal translator she has a panic attack on one of her first missions she ran a gambling ring she has a black belt in aikido and broke her superior's arm she has never been to the principal's office in her life she is afraid to use the transporter she became an empress in an alternate universe she is the only one who gets laid on Risa making her the first human to do so she reacted to the threat of getting worms injected into her brain to make her reveal secret information by spitting in her interrogator's face. Travis is the sweetest man ever he loves rock climbing he gets injured whenever he tries to use those skills he's a fan of ghost stories he grew up on a small freighter he gets neglected by the narrative his counterpart helps Hoshi become empress he works out when he's horny he dies in a alternate future where Earth is destroyed he's a movie buff who would probably love the Criterion Collection he likes to chill in a part of the ship with zero gravity which he calls "the sweet spot." Phlox grins like the Cheshire Cat he breaks doctor patient confidentiality to help figure out Malcolm's favorite food he goes crazy when the rest of the crew have to sleep through part of space because of how social his species is he has three wives who in turn have three husbands he responds to the news of one of his wives propositioning a crew member by being like "cool! have fun :]" he once nearly vivisects Travis because he's being affected by radiation and gets obsessed with knowing why the guy has a simple headache he has a menagerie in the middle of his sickbay. And they're all my best friends.

[vampiricgf]

WATER SONG [PT. 1]

merman leon x gov't researcher reader

word count : 7k+

warnings : female reader, reader has a sort of type A personality and some mild anger issues, talk of medical experiments, he's referred to as a subject and specimen quite a lot, descriptions of predatory behavior (animal kind, not the sexual kind), slow pace, sfw, lots of yearning for touch

okay part one isn't terribly exciting im sorry ajdgakab I just wanted to establish a connection between the reader and him in the setting n such before developing any deeper connection. also like 1% research went into this so im sorry if you're knowledgeable about oceanic research this'll probably piss you off lmao. also all credit for this au idea goes to @/bunnivievve tysm for letting me write a lil interpretation of your idea! this was inspired by this post of theirs as well ‹𝟹

JUNE

Subject Zero. 

Male, combined characteristics of humanoids and aquatic species. Captured by a trawling vessel, out in deep waters usually traversed by cargo freighters but occasionally by commercial fishing vessels. A freak happenstance. When the net had been dredged up in a fantastic spray of salt water, the hoard of tuna quickly spilling into the sorting containers, the men on deck had spotted something much larger than white fin tuna thrashing in the net. 

Upon careful inspection they feared they’d pulled up a man, some poor unfortunate victim of a seafaring disaster. A capsized or otherwise destroyed vessel, a near drowning victim that had fallen overboard perhaps. 

Until they spotted the flashing of sharp teeth, and the thick, muscled tail slamming against the wet metal under their feet. 

Thankfully their transmission to the Coast Guard was intercepted, a naval craft catching the broadcast and setting course as fast as possible for the trawler. 

And now Subject Zero finds respite in your “office”. If an office can be counted as more of an observation space, nevertheless. A part of you feels bad, the less scientifically trained and inclined part that is, for keeping such a clearly intelligent creature within a tank inside a black site. The initial placement had been… difficult. It was clear the subject missed the open ocean, and you did feel sorry that it had been so unceremoniously plucked from its home and deposited in such an alien space on land. But there was nothing to be done about it. 

He was far too valuable as a research opportunity. The cold, clinical part of your mind understood that. He was a marvel of nature, flesh and blood proof that man could be intermixed with seafaring species, it was one of the single greatest events in modern marine biology. And an immense privilege for you, the scientist chosen chiefly to study the subject. 

A dream. The government all but telling you to do whatever you deemed necessary, no concern over the expense. Gone were worries of securing grant funding for more piddling projects or the endless anxiety of thinking you would be stuck as one name in an endless list of names relegated to ordinary oceanic study. Not that your peers' works weren’t valuable, but you always held the selfish desire for notoriety. Had dreamed endlessly throughout your undergraduate program of the day your name would be the one filling up library indexes and publications with impressive, weighty studies. Discoveries so undeniable you would join the ranks of the most noteworthy in the field. 

And seemingly, your wish had been granted. Subject zero would be the gravel that paved your road to success. It’s just a pity it has to be such an intelligent creature. 

You sit back, uncuring from your hunched position at the desk, rolling your shoulders and wincing as you hear your joints popping. Documentation was a never ending pain in the ass but it had to be done, if you wanted to keep the convenience of not having to answer to nor justify your expenses to an overhead department. Ordinarily that work would be relegated to a lower priority researcher, but you preferred being able to sign off on it all yourself, comforted by the fact that there were no unforeseen surprises lurking in the documents or spreadsheets or data tables. Nothing anyone would be about to point out as a discrepancy, leaving you humiliated and floundering. 

As you close your eyes you can feel it, the hair on the back of your neck slightly on edge. The feeling of being observed. 

He seemed to prefer watching you when your back was turned or if you were otherwise unaware. If you were facing the ten foot thick glass of the massive elcousure he would recede into the farthest corners of it, shying away into watery obscurity. In a way it was cute, an obvious curiosity for the beings around him but he seemed stricken by shyness, didn’t know if you were trustworthy. Which was understandable. You were the one keeping him there, at least to his limited viewpoint. The one that denied him reentry into his former home. 

That irritatiningly scentimental part of your mind whispered to you again. 

What if he thinks you’re cruel?

So what? We don’t even know to what extend he does think. 

You say that but you do care, at least a little. Thats why you sneak him extra food. 

You sigh to yourself, pushing up from the familiar desk, palms flat on its slick glass surface before rising to your full height. Out of the corner of your eye you catch the white coat you don most of the day, every day, slung carelessly over the back of another chair at a separate station. Your badge attached via a shiny, silvery little clip. Walking over you purposefully keep your eyes directed away from the elcousure, your movements slow. This is a good opportunity to see how long he’ll watch you as long as he believes you aren’t paying attention. 

The badge is solid, though lightweight as you pick it up, bringing it closer to your face. It’s hard to believe you look so excited in the small picture in the upper lefthand corner. Your name in bold typeface as last name, first name all neatly lined up next to the photo. In it’s reflection you can see him, one hand perched against the glass, that thick midnight blue tail swishing up and down in a soft, rhythmic motion as he stays still. Ever watchful. 

Its hard to see in the little reflective glimpse but subject zero does have more… handsome features. You smile to yourself, recalling one of the other researchers giggling while telling you it wasn’t weird to note that because it was true. What man on land, with two legs, had eyes that shade of blue or a jawline that impressive? None that aren’t using photoshop or filters. 

Maybe if the discovery of the subject was publicized there would be throngs of people banging on doors trying to find out where he’s being kept. It did make you huff out a laugh, the idea that a half fish man who couldn’t speak was more appealing than the majority of men on earth. 

Maybe we should open an instagram page for him. 

You shake your head to yourself, still smiling, as you set the badge down. 

The office slash observation room remained quiet save for the occasional sound of sloshing water. It was late, well past time fo anyone other than the usual armed military guard to be roaming the facility. Well past time for you to go home. 

At that moment you turn, just enough to peek over your shoulder and as soon as your eyes fix on the spot he occupied all you catch is a low flash of dark blue, retreating into the shadowy depths encased in glass. 

~

OCTOBER

Three months of observation. 

Hardly enough to form any evidence based conclusions, but enough time to get started on the right path. You had approximately nintey days of solid data on his diet, his presenting condition each day, endless notes on his observable physiology. He preferred deep water fish, clearly an omnivore as he also didn’t mind the addition of oceanic plant species mixed with the fish when it was introduced into the tank. In fact he seemed to greatly enjoy the sudden introduction of variety, although still preferred to eat his meals in a semblance of solitude. 

His distrust was only natural, you had to remind yourself. Until such time as he’s fully used to his new environment you’re unlikely to observe any great variation in his behavior. 

At least he wasn’t showing signs of aggression. That had been a legitimate concern, and still was, of course. All proper safety precautions were followed to the letter when it came to subject zero, and absolutely no one was to physically get in the tank, not until further tests could be done on his temperament and how he reacted to certain stimuli both pleasant and unplseant. 

You grimace seeing a newly sent email notification, the little computerized ding signalling that your attention was required. 

When isn’t it?

You put the sleek desktop into split screen mode, keeping the charts on the subject to the left while your email opened to occupy the right side. Amid the usual low importance emails from general staff there was a new one, at the very top. The name made your stomach twist in preparation of the message. Dr. Gregg had, for lack of a better phrase, a raging hard on for the opportunity to remove the subject from the tank and getting it into a smaller one in order to sedate and extract genetic material. It didn’t matter that he’d already been sedated and had samples drawn when he was initially transported here, no. The good doctor wanted more than that, but you couldn’t accommodate the request in good conscience. 

Or rather, you were worried about the effect it would have on him. It could set back the last nintey days of progress, or worse, inspire severe mistrust and heightened aggression towards all researchers. There was no way, even with sedation, that cutting into him wouldn’t cause pain. And a source of pain that a creature like subject zero had no way of understanding would only lead to problems. 

The two of you had been butting heads over the issue for the last week, culminating in an argument yesterday where you all but told him to get fucked. You were the lead on this, you made the decisions and he wasn’t going to usurp your authority. Your credit. 

But as your eyes scan the email you can feel yourself getting physically hot, your blood pressure threatening to rise. 

You may be the lead, the head researcher on this project, but do not believe for one moment that I will not go above your head. You are not CIA, doctor. You don’t call the final shots here, and it would do you well to remember that. Whatever your personal feelings on subject zero, you cannot stand in the way of necessary elements that better out understanding of the creature. 

With shaking fingers you close the window, not bothering to respond and not trusting yourself to either. Every fiber of your being wanted nothing more than to march down that hallway and wring his wiry old turkey neck. Who does he think he is? He’s just some physiologist, some ancient fuck. Who is he to threaten you? If his contributions were so invaluable wouldn’t he have been made lead?

You squeeze your eyes shut, hands clenching in your lap as you breathed deeply in through your mouth and out through your nose. The meditation app you’d been using had provided you with some useful tools, being that your temper had plagued you since you were small. Always the first to fly off the handle at even the idea you could be questioned, your competence or credibility casted in doubt. 

Inferiority complex, a nasty voice giggled in your head. 

It’s not that it wasn’t true, and it was a bit of an achilles heel for you. But what took priority now was holding Gregg back, keeping him away from the subject and minimizing the risk that he could fuck it all up before you even had a chance to really begin. So, once you felt that initial flashpoint of rage quelling you reopened the email application, setting your shoulders back as you began typing. 

Under no circumstances are you permitted to sedate nor perform any surgical procedures on subject zero. You have not been given any formal authorizations, so it would do you well to remember not to threaten your head researcher in the contents of easily retrievable emails. You are free to broach the topic with any superior officer on sight, and I am more than happy to entertain a line of questioning from said superior officers on why I do not believe it to be prudent at this juncture to allow for another extraction of material. Research is not a race, Doctor. 

You can’t help but smile smugly to yourself, imagining his fury at opening your reply. If he thinks just because you’re young that you’re easily pushed around he is sorely mistaken. Nothing and no one is allowed to jeopardize the most important work you may ever do. 

With that you abandon the desk, it’s dull and mind numbing work, in favor of standing in front of the tank yet again. It was nice, having a portion of it extending into this area as an offshoot of the main tank where all the feeding and the bulk of physical testing was done. He seemed to enjoy it too, which despite yourself you did place some importance on. 

It was important to ensure he was as comfortable as possible. He was still a living being, despite his status as a research subject, and you took no pleasure in the idea of him suffering in any way. It was definitely a slight drawback, you could begrudgingly admit, that you tended to get… overly attached to the species in your care. You’d done the same in both undergrad and postdoc, although it was more important than ever before to keep a tight hold on those tendencies now. 

How would you feel, if you knew that man was so hell bent on slicing you open? 

Probably afraid. 

What are you feeling now?

It would be so much easier if he were capable of speech. The bridges that had to be built between what was known and unknown had to come from the very foundations, things that required occasionally unpleasant experiences in order to build their understanding of him. But if he could just explain some of it, that would be easier. A half formed bridge is faster to finish than one from scratch. 

Uselessly you peered into the clear, clean water. Between swaying stalks of plants there was nothing to see except the seemingly endless expanse of water. Several mind boggling tonnes of it, all kept nicely contained in ten foot thick military grade glass. Bulletproof. Shatter proof. Even if subject zero were to ram it with intent, crack it even, it would still hold. 

You couldn’t help but wonder, as you remained staring through that glass, if he was lonely. Seeing so many strange, upright walkers but being unable to even touch them, even consider the act of doing it. 

As you frown at your own reflection, you feel it again. 

Duel observation.

~

It was bizarre, to him. These two legs, tall men. He knew they existed, they’d always known a different sort of being lived on the land, domineered it and then took to making attempts at dominating the sea as well. It had all become so noisy, so very nearly unbearable thanks to their hulking monstrosities of shining metal and the things they constantly kept dumping into the water.

Every day there were new threats to avoid. Long gone were the days of simply worrying about other predators lurking in the open waters or within the sediment and foliage. 

He hadn’t seen the net, as they called it, until it was too late. Had been too caught in the euphoria of finding such a gigantic school of gorgeous, meaty tuna, that his mind switched off to everything but pure instinct as he’d circled them quickly, calculatedly. His jaw had felt the ache of hunger so viscerally it was like the bones themselves were vibrating with it. 

And then they’d all begun moving. Swept up, trapped in an upward drag that he’d been powerless to fight against while overwhelmed by the wriggling, frantic fish flashing across his vision, no way to know what was forwards or backwards, up or down. 

Then the shock of air. His lungs had seized up painfully with it, the feeling of being constricted by nothing at all yet everything all at once had been horrific, beyond frightening. 

After that it was too messy, too jumbled in his mind. Harsh sounds, their sounds, were prevalent in his memory but just beyond his grasp. Far too loud without the water to act as a buffer between, softening the blows of each reverberation against his eardrums. 

But her sounds were different. Or, it was that she didn’t make many to begin with. The look of them all was mostly similar from behind the thick material they kept him in, in this unknown space. At least they offered readily available food, although not nearly what he was used to hunting for himself and his webbed fingers itched at the thought of clawing through water in pursuit of some darting piece of prey. It would feel so, so good to sink his teeth into flesh, to feel it rip and catch in chunks between his teeth, the iron rich scent of blood swirling around. The roar of adrenaline in his ears. 

It was difficult to keep his focus on much here, save for her. The best parts were when the others disappeared but she would still be in that corner, down the long corridor of water and he would be able to see her, sitting and doing wholly alien things with her hands at something large and flat, but vaguely shiny. Hers didn’t have webbing, none of them did from what he could tell. How did they ever swim competently? 

She was softer than the rest and he enjoyed watching her do her strange tasks, sometimes she would pace around holding a sheet of paper in her hands, chewing on her bottom lip. Her teeth didn’t seem all that sharp, since she never seemed worried about cutting her flesh on them. What did they eat, with useless teeth? 

Just like at the present moment, with her back turned it was easier to look at her fully. Usually he wouldn’t approach openly like this, unsure of the intentions of everyone here, but this space seemed to be reserved for her only which put him at ease. That and none of those harsh spotlights were present, if anything she seemed to prefer it half dark which was fine by him, preferable to that loud bright area behind him back through the water corridor. But she seemed tense, the set of her shoulders curled forward, almost in on herself. Something in front of her was clearly upsetting and in some odd way he felt offense on her behalf. She was kind, gave him extra food before she would disappear through the night, always seemed to be keeping a close watch over him and how the others were with him. 

He may not be able to speak, but he’s pretty sure she was the reason he wasn’t suffering in this place. And that was good enough, at present, to make him feel a sense of kinship with her. Closeness. 

As she carried on with whatever it was that kept her so occupied his mind wandered to what it would feel like to touch her. They seem to enjoy touch, most of them being very casual with the way they interacted. How did she like being touched? Or would she dislike being touched by him outright? Would she find his webbed, clawed fingers disgusting, would she flinch away?

He frowned behind the glass. Hopefully not, but there really was no way to know. They seem intent on keeping a wide distance from him, which wasn’t unwelcome. The only one he was at all curious about was her anyway, not that he would purposely antagonize anyone who ventured inside his new domain, though he certainly wouldn’t circle them like one of the friendly, if a little dumb, nurse sharks do occasionally out in open water. 

He was so caught up in that worry he nearly failed to catch her movement, but his reflexes are faster than hers. Before she could approach the glass fully he’d already retreated a safe distance away. Watching as she stared into the expanse of water, her face unreadable but the set of her eyebrows told him she felt some kind of stress, strain. 

His fingers twitched at his sides, thinking about reaching out to touch her again.

~

You smile to yourself, a soft hidden kind, at the now familiar feeling. It was like there was a strange sense of understanding between you two, although you could just be ascribing things to him he doesn’t possess. Thats always something to keep in mind, as a researcher but more often than not lately you’re coming to resent that line of thought. It was clear subject zero was intelligent. Maybe not to the degree of a human being, but he was close enough evolutionarily speaking, that he was like a cousin in the chain. An offshoot of the formerly solidly established line of human life. Theres no reason, as yet identified, that he wouldn’t be able to communicate if given the chance to learn how. 

You aren’t thinking of him as a subject anymore. That’s dangerous. 

You know it is, know that voice is right. But it doesn’t account for everything. The odd push and pull, hide and seek game you two play here in this office every single evening. Its to the point now that you feel tense, uncomfortable if you don’t sense him behind you, watching you work or pace around nonsensically. You’ve spent over an hour before reading and rereading the same observational notes and data sets because you kept grinning to yourself like a fool feeling those eyes burning holes in your back. 

He’d even made appearances in your dreams a handful of times over the last month, flashes of deep, endless blue that clung to the soft corners of your mind as you went about your morning routines, ruminating over his appearance as steam from your coffee curled around your hands, ghostly fingers clawing at the air. Tension crept up your beck, spreading out over the tops of your shoulders and trapezius muscles prompting you to stretch against the back of your office chair, rolling your joints and hearing their familiar cracking in response to hours of sustained poor posture. Lazily you grasp your phone from the desk, thumbing open the music app and scrolling a bit through your shuffle playlist before settling on something bubbly, but easily tuned into the background. 

You wonder if he enjoys music, what his preferences would be if he could swipe through your library of songs. It makes you smile to yourself thinking about it, maybe that would make for a good test of his thinking abilities, how he responds to different genres, different artists. Standing, you bend slightly to make a quick note on a half discarded sticky tab: musical testing?

And suddenly a somewhat mad thought grips you, what if you tried right now? Whats the worst that could happen, he lurks in the background while you sway around the dim office like a fool? At least the only people who could see would be the guards, not that they’d say anything either beyond thinking to themselves that every researcher here must be insane. That makes your smile grow wider, giggling to yourself a bit as you take slight steps in time with the beat, giving a little spin on your toes to face the take. 

It only somewhat shocks you to find yourself face to face with him, that he hasn’t retreated to the safety of the shadowy corners. His eyes, a remarkably similar color to the water surrounding him, track your movements with abject curiosity as you follow an imaginary path, one foot placed delicately in front of the other to carry your body with the faint sound of the music. All the while his eyes never stray from you, even when he has to move to keep you in his sights, even when you come right up to the glass and offer a little spin in front of him, giggling to yourself a little more freely now. 

And to your amazement, at your laughter, he smiles. He smiles and it makes your chest feel light, like a ten pound weight you hadn’t even been aware of was finally lifted off. Some might find his fanged appearance frightening, to you it was boyishly cute. A toothy little grin, the tips of his elongated enscisors catching against his bottom lip, and his thick, muscular tail began to move. As if, had he possessed legs like yours, they would be moving in tandem with you. 

It felt like a genuine breakthrough, making you hug your arms around yourself as you stopped moving, still laughing and feeling just a tad bit lightheaded. He genuinely smiled at you. 

He was moving with you. 

That was a major breakthrough, even if just a personal one. Increased rapport meant things would be easier going forward, for both of you. 

With a contented sigh you pressed one hand to the smooth, icy surface of the glass, your fingers stretching over the sleek glass and he does something that makes your breath freeze in your lungs. Gingerly, the way people stretch out their hands to scared animals, inch by inch his own rases to be a perfect mirror of your own. One larger, webbed, hand pressed to the glass right behind your own. It felt silly but you were too afraid to even exhale with any effort, for fear even the barest noise would ruin the moment and he would flee right back into the far corners, beyond your reach. 

But he doesn’t, doesn’t stop holding your gaze for a single second and you marvel at the way his blonde hair sways in the water, like the finest strands of silk-

“So, thats why you keep refusing to allow any progress of this “research”?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the voice from behind you, a signature grating tone you could pick out anywhere. As your head snaps to the side, body following the movement only a second after, you see him standing in the door way with his arms crossed nearly reeking of smugness. 

Fuck. 

~

One week. 

You have one week to figure out what to do. 

After shattering your late night revelation with subject zero, who has been increasingly attached to you ever since, the resident pain in your ass physiologist had made sure to fire off emails riddled with concerns and accusations addressed to the operatives truly in charge of the site. Questions of your ability to continue in any capacity with the project, the nature of your relationship to the subject, insinuating you had some kind of perverse intention, even going so far as to insult your credibility. Not only cc-ing yourself but “mistakenly” sending those emails to every person working on site.

It had effectively turned you into a pariah with regards to your peers. Whispers of conversation that would be cut off as soon as you set foot into a room. Strange looks from your coworkers, ranging from disgust to perverse curiosity. It felt like you were continuously on fire, every minute of every day. There would be a meeting in one weeks time, and until then you were relegated to nothing but the paperwork in your office, per the tense instructions given to you.

But your panic had less to do with your professional reputation, surprisingly, and more to do with feeling very nearly physically sick when you recalled how fixated he was with the idea of getting to cut into subject zero. If you were removed completely from this project there would be no one else to act as a roadblock, to keep that from happening. 

Your eyes slide over to the observation tank, noting the worried way he’s been watching you for hours now. You wished you could haul him out of there, explain what was happening, the risk of what could happen to him. Maybe he would have some idea of how you both could get out of this. But was there any way out? Or is the only option allowing yourself to become a laughingstock, a professional embarrassment and to allow subject zero to languish in whatever horror would surely be inflicted on him? 

You can’t say if desperation is the only thing motivating you, but your mind becomes mostly blank as you leave the office. Its early enough, after you’d been practically climbing up the walls all night, so maybe the choice was fueled by sleep deprivation. Whatever the case may be, you find yourself moving as if through a dream: down the cavernous corridors, turning and twisting to follow the slate grey concrete all the way to the impossibly large main observation chamber. 

With a swipe of your ID card, forcefully and defiantly, the locks give a little beep before disengaging. Mechanically you make your way to where the suits are stored. Specially designed, one of a kind. Made of an interwoven, enmeshed material not unlike chainmail to prevent sharp teeth from being able to puncture both cloth and flesh, and featuring only the best in terms of diving design. The manufacturer had created them after winning a defense contract from the governenment and you wonder if they ever would have guessed someone would be stripping and tugging the suit on in order to come face to face with something most people would assume only existed in a fairytale. 

But here you are: yanking and adjusting the suit before prepping the oxygen tank, also designed to be compact but sacrificing the amount of time one could spend fully submerged at any depth. Either way it would work for this application, although no one had been given clearance to dive yet. 

You knew doing this would come back to bite you far worse than just those vendetta fueled emails. Diving without any clearance, using untested equipment. It was beyond insane. But the circumstances felt insane enough on their own to justify it. Subject zero was overwhelmingly likely to be just as intelligent as you were, and just as likely to feel physical and mental distress in similar ways. Trying to communicate was step one and what better way than face to face. Then you could form step two: proving beyond a reasonable doubt that he was intelligent and thus, could be advocated for medically even if he couldn’t advocate for himself. 

That was the only way to halt the now speeding train of decisions being made on his behalf and without his input. If he could even write out the most barebones statement, even that would work to prove they needed consent to continue with any of this. Tomorrow you could wake up in a whole new world, one where there is technically a second legal classification of human being, one with a tail and gills. The though made you smile despite the tense circumstances. 

What you were doing was a halfcocked, absolutely batshit attempt at a hail mary but it was worth a shot. Your reputation was already in tatters on site, how much worse could it be? If you fail in this all that happens is you’re dismissed and removed from the site, doomed to be a whispered footnote for future researchers. Did you ever hear about the lady that went crazy with one of the subjects? A cautionary tale about getting too attached to your work. 

But fuck that. If you’re not at least a little attached to your work then do you even really care at all about any of it? You would argue that the resident physiologist holds no love for the work, only a love for the idea of something else experiencing pain.

With a deep breath you sit carefully on the steel ledge that runs the length of the tanks open ceiling. Easy, you just flip backwards and hit the water, reorient yourself and try not to get eaten by one potentially pissed off subject. Yeah, a real piece of cake. With that you decide theres no more time to waste, it’s probably already flagged in the system that you accessed the main deck, they’ll be here any minute. 

Good, that means they can all see I’m not insane or inappropriate. He can comprehend things just like we can, the music wasn’t a fluke. 

In the span of a second your worldview dips, swirls, and the splash of water hits your ears at the exact same moment the shock of cold does. The water is kept at approximately the same temperature as the water he was captured in, frigid Atlantic delights. As bubbles envelop you, you manage to get yourself turned right side up, carefully circling your arms to tred water and remain mostly stationary. This would be the key moment, you have to exercise extreme caution. 

You’re another predator that has invaded the territory of a fellow predator. In the natural world, it’s a killable offense. But you keep your eyes open, sweeping the dimly lit, wide expanse of saltwater around you. No sign of him, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t here, watching you, gauging the situation. As you continue to keep your breathing even, your movements slow enough but steady enough to keep your body afloat, you catch sight of something in your peripheral. That intimately familiar midnight blue tail. He was moving behind you now, one webbed, clawed hand slicing through the water like knives as the rest of him came into your view. That sandy, dishwater blonde hair floating in fine tendrils around his face, framing piercing blue eyes that took you in critically, curiously. 

You allow him to keep circling you, doing your best to calm your nervous system that felt on high alert, panic just on the cusp of overriding your sensibilities. Allowing that would spell disaster, you would certanly be killed if you started thrashing or spinning wildly, it would scare him, you could both be injured in any kind of violent altercation. They would kill him if he killed you. 

But your worries abate as he slows to a stop in front of you, and despite your eyes staying locked together you’re conscious of the audience you have on the other side of the glass. The feeling of being watched by many people is something quite unique, it’s also unnerving. You wish you could apologize to him, you hadn’t realized before how uncomfortable literally living beneath a microscope was. 

You raise your arm, hand extended, in a painfully slow movement that makes the muscles in your forearm ache. His attention goes to the appendage now how hanging between you two, eyeing it with equal parts suspicion and what seems to be excitement. The physical equivalent of a high pitched alarm happens in your body as he moves closer to you, the air suddenly locked in your lungs as you wait. This was another critical moment. Would he grasp your hand? Rip it off? It was entirely unknown, beyond dangerous. 

But none of those things happen. The painting, god touching adam, comes to mind as he raises a clawed index finger delicately up to yours. They don’t touch but rather hover in proximity to one another before a grin works its way across his face, those sharp incisors catching against his bottom lip as his eyes flick back to your goggled face. 

You hope he can see that you’re smiling too, but you hope its not like it is with monkeys where grins are signs of aggression. But it seems that fear is unwarranted as his tail twitches erratically, the wispy bits of filigree flesh on the split end swirling through the water in a gorgeous display of deep blue and white. Like sheer fabric winding through the air. 

The ecstasy that floods your brain is a feeling like no other, a full body sensation that spreads from the tips of your fingers to your fabric covered toes. His tail moves to brush against your kicking legs, the heft of it is shocking. You can immediately imagine the sheer power of it kocking into you, it would feel like being hit by a freight train no doubt. For something that looked so elegant and otherworldly, it was still a threat. 

But you couldn’t get distracted you needed some display of his intelligence, and you needed it now. 

So you shake off the awe, do your best to refocus on his face. Carefully you draw back your hand, pointing to yourself and then at him. You repeat the gesture several times, hoping to receive a reaction that displays understanding. 

And he doesn’t keep you waiting long. 

In a flash one clawed, webbed hand encircles your wrist and halts your movement. 

It’s like time suspends, a complete and total pause as you feel a different kind of chill within the suit. It’s like you’re watching in third person, your throat seizing as your fingers intertwine hesitantly. It’s an oddly tender gesture, and then your body is tugged through the weight of the water, pushed against the solidness of his chest. Your arms came gingerly around him, and his enveloped you in turn. He was all firmness, so solidly built it shocked you. You hadn’t properly appreciated the sheer mass of him, the way his body had been crafted for underwater pursuit, hunting. But also to accommodate displays of affection, just like your own. 

And as you two embrace you can’t help but smile again. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to form one hell of an argument on his behalf and you would shout until your face was blue that going forward, communication would take priority. Worrying about the innerworkings of his physiology could wait until later.

[picspammer]

Your turn, Doctor. Tell me... what do you see?

[thesiltverses]

Now that we have the complete poem... I have to ask, have you had it since the beginning, or was it made along the show? Also, were you to give it a title, would it be The Silt Verses? (Not to be confused with The Silt Verses the show or The Silt Verses fictional religious text within said show)

The poem actually might not quite be technically complete; when the dust has cleared I think I do want to quietly tweak these last two episode titles so they form an explicit repeating pair to finish off the final quartet. So:

Of love, and gods’ defeat; Of love, and gods’ defeat.

I didn’t want to do that right away, because at various points this season we’ve had people assuming they were listening to the very final episode and getting worried, so I wanted there to be a big flashing neon PART ONE PART ONE sign.

I didn't have the exact poem in mind from the start (because of course we've had to adjust the number of episodes over time and season-by-season) but I knew it was a poem about a storyteller who begins to tell a story, then begins to resent their own story, rages and rails at it, longs to be freed from it, but ultimately makes the choice to keep bearing it on into the dark until death.

I don't think I would call the poem 'The Silt Verses', although I don't know what I would call it! To me it's a separate but parallel mini-story, a kind of implied framing device from some future storyteller who's staggering through a desolate land and telling the tale of what went down in the show.

Sort of like an inverted Tales of the Black Freighter from Watchmen.

[quasi-normalcy]

Okay, but hear me out. It's a Deep Space Nine episode, first or second season; a scheduled freighter warps into the Bajoran System, but it's moving erratically; Sisko sends out some runabouts to catch it and tow it in, but when they do, they find that everyone is dead, exsanguinated, except for a single feral black dog, who runs out the airlock and disappears on the Promenade. Amongst its cargo are 12 crates of Earth soil, registry unknown. Odo investigates the murders and determines, with some understandable excitement, that they could only possibly have been committed by a fellow shape-shifter. Meanwhile, a dark, sinister stranger turns up at Quark's, looking for discrete passage to Bajor; Earth has become too civilized for him to easily ply his trade and he's hoping that he might more easily find...opportunities...on a war-torn planet...

[absurdthirst]

Ok I got a weird one for ya…..

Which of the P boys would be a sperm donor?

What if their female friend wanted a child or she’s flipping through a sperm donor book and stumbles across a Prince from Dorne or a handsome DEA agent but can she resist the cute pilot?

Who Would Be A Sperm Donor:

**Female Reader

Javier Peña: Hell no. Not at all. Never. He was lucky that he had managed to never knock anyone up, he would never donate sperm for a child he would not be involved with.

Ezra: Shocked you would want his sperm. Questions if you understand that he will not be around to help you with this child. He's willing to give you his seed, but then disappears on the first freighter out of the system. What do you do with the doctors and his sperm is up to you. He's already spent the credits you gave him.

The Mandalorian: Is against it at first. Reminds you that he is a bounty hunter with a youngling he has adopted, he won't be able to help you out with a child. Eventually comes around to it. Gets you pregnant the old fashioned way and never leaves again. Well, he does - but he always comes back.

Pero Tovar: Food, a bed and a hot cunt? Pero is surprised that you are so wanting a child you are willing to have his bastard. Can be talked into it with a few cups of beer and flashing your tits at him. Surprised Pikachu face when he comes back next winter and there is a child there. Ends up staying in the village and raising the boy with you.

Agent Whiskey: NO. Absolutely not. After his wife and baby boy died, Jack got the snip. There are no babies in his future.

Frankie Morales: You have to talk Frankie into this. Yes, he would have to admit that he has also give a sperm sample when he was young and dumb. Later on, he tried to withdraw the right to use it - but it had already been used. Now he has to wonder if there is a little Morales out there that he doesn't know of and he doesn't know if he can do it again. Eventually he comes around and feels a little awkward when it comes to giving the sample and listening to what they will do to you to give you that baby you want. Quietly inquires if he could give the baby any of his benefits.

Dave York: Dave donated when he was younger. Probably still at the sperm bank, but he was young and about to deploy for the first time. He had wondered what would happen if he died, so he had gone down and donated his sperm. If you want that, he can show you which clinic, or he can give you a fresh sample but Carol can never find out.

Oberyn Martell: Done. Is there really any question? You want a child and he would love to bed you. But you will raise his child in the shades of the Water Gardens and they will become another one of his beloved Sand Snakes.

Marcus Pike: VERY conflicted. He would love to help you out, but he's also had a lot of dreams of having his own children. Children that he has a very hands on approach to raising. Honestly, he's turning you down. Not because he isn't sympathetic, but there is no way he can have a child out there that he's not in their life.

Max Phillips: Sure! Let's do this! It has to be the old fashioned way though. And does it matter that his sperm is technically dead?

Marcus Moreno: He's had sooooooo many requests for this. Do you know how many people want to have a Heroic's baby? Thinking that it would increase their chances of the child having Heroic abilities, the requests can sometimes be overwhelming. He will have to turn you down. His answer is always no.

Max Lord: Sure. If you invest in Black Gold, Inc.

Zach Wellison: Reluctantly admits that he's donated before. He got paid for each donation, so.....yeah. There was a time where he was donating blood, plasma and sperm to trying to survive. A little ashamed of it, but he did what he had to do. If you want a kid, he'll do it again, you've been a great friend to him.

Javi Gutierrez: Surprised. Honored. A little scared of the idea. You have to very thoroughly explain everything to him and he will go with you to a doctor's appointment to get even more information. A little sad that he wouldn't have any rights to the child unless you agree. Eventually decides that he will do it. Anything for the woman he secretly loves.

Dieter Bravo: Are you trying to shake him down for money? To get child support from an Oscar winner? He is squinting at you suspiciously before he asks if you want to do a line of Coke with him.

Tim Rockford: He studies the idea like he would a case. Digging into the information and talking to people who have used sperm donors and the donors themselves. Eventually decides that he will do it for you. But then he misses every damn appointment for the donation because he was working on a case.

Joel Miller: Pre-Outbreak Joel would think that you are joking. Laughing at your suggestion until he realizes that you aren't laughing with him. Asking why him. Why would you want him to give you a baby? Talks about it with Sarah and only turns you down because she would have different expectations of having a sibling than what you would want. Post-Outbreak Joel would think that you have lost your fucking mind. Good luck ever getting in his pants now that he knows you want a kid in this godforsaken timeline.

Marcus Acacius: You want his seed? He is unsure of this, because he knows that he will fall in battle at any time, but he knows that you will be able to take care of a child. Plus, he will be able to spend a good amount of time in your bed, taking those memories with him when he leaves on his next campaign of the glory of Rome.

[twinsunstars]

Home With All of You

Week 2 Prompts: Injured & Comfort Zone

Summary: When Omega becomes injured during a rebel mission, she is asked to rest and visit her worried family.

Notes: FINALLY finished this, decided to mesh Week 2's prompts together to present a fic filled with angst and family time! divider by @summer-of-bad-batch

Warnings: Blood, description of an open cut (putting here if you're uncomfortable with that, it's just a small part)

Blaster fire engulfed the storage compound. Stormtroopers fired shots towards many rebellion fighters trying to get back to their ships after a mission of obtaining important supplies. Many Imperials were on patrol in the area, and a mishap involving a few rebels led to being spotted and a battle igniting. 

The rebels ran towards the landing pad where their makeshift (and stolen) Imperial ships were parked. Two ships stood out from the others as a smaller modified starship and a customized light freighter. The blaster fire continued on, rebels kneeling behind crates to protect themselves. 

“Got it!” A female rebellion fighter dressed in a signature yellow jacket with a loose red bandana tied in her blond locks ran while carrying a small crate in her arm, using her free hand to handle her blaster. 

“Omega, watch out!”

Omega ducked a few blaster shots that had headed towards her, cradling the crate and hiding behind some cargo.

“Glad you could make it, we really need to get out of here!” Hera Syndulla exclaimed, shooting a stormtrooper.

Omega chuckled, striking the eye area of a stormtrooper’s helmet. “Thanks for stating the obvious, Hera.” Hera gave her friend a smirk. The number of stormtroopers kept increasing as the rebels began running into their ships to make their escape. 

“Cover me!” Omega told other rebels around her, holding the crate and shooting stormtroopers as she ran towards the Marauder II, her own small starship named after her family’s shuttle that they lost so many years ago to honor it. The ship had been a gift from Echo after it was stolen from smugglers during a mission to retrieve citizens kept captive, and Omega loved flying it around. 

Omega kept on running towards her ship. Paying more attention to the stormtroopers trying to shoot her head off (with very poor aim), she didn’t see a sharp torn piece of metal that was placed near a few cargo crates. Omega ran past it and her right leg met contact with the sharp metal, exclaiming in pain and falling to the ground. Her gray jeggings were ripped open in a straight line as the metal dug into her flesh, cutting open her skin and peeling it apart. 

Omega looked over and saw blood flowing down and seeping into her jeggings, the cut burning. But there wasn’t any time to stop. She groaned and bit her lips to hold back whimpers as she picked the crate up and limped to her ship. The pain was excruciating, but these supplies had to be delivered to help the rebellion. 

She heard something solid roll near her, turning and seeing a small explosive stop rolling next to one of the cargo crates an inch from her. Omega’s eyes widened as the explosive beeped and was ready to go off at any second. She tried to get away as quickly as she could, but it was too late. The explosive went off and created a blast of fire and smoke, sending Omega back to the ground and hitting her head. Everything went black. 

“Omega!” Hera saw Omega get knocked to the floor, dropping her blaster and the crate. Her crew was getting ready to leave with most of the cargo on her ship. Some rebels had also noticed Omega falling to the ground and ran over to help her up. Hera had to help her best friend, so she quickly ran over to assess the situation. 

“Omega, wake up!” Omega had been knocked out after the explosive went off, and her leg was bleeding badly. She wasn’t waking up.

“Hera! We need to go!” A man dressed in green wielding a lightsaber shouted to get Hera’s attention from the ramp of her ship. She looked back at Omega, still barely breathing while laying in the arms of a rebel. 

“Zeb, get her onto the Ghost!” Hera made a quick decision, telling a member of her crew to bring her aboard. She pointed to another rebel. “You, pilot her ship back to base!” The rebel ran over to the Marauder II and got it started up so Omega’s ship wasn’t left behind. Rebel ships made their way to lift off while stormtroopers heated up their blasters, continuing to fire shots at their enemies. 

“The crate-”

“Just leave it, there’s no time!” Hera exclaimed at Zeb, running back to her ship and ducking many blaster shots. 

Omega was carried into the Ghost in Zeb’s arms and gently laid down in a room filled with colorful graffiti and doodles on its walls. The rebel ships made their way into the atmosphere with some TIE fighters on their tail, jumping to hyperspace within seconds. 

***

Omega woke up in a brightly lit room, which hurt her eyes when she managed to open them fully. She blinked a few times and tried to recognize her surroundings. A medical droid hovered near her with a tray of tools. A mechanical ventilator was attached to her mouth to help her breathe. Her left arm was wrapped in an arm sling. 

This was the medbay in the rebel base. How did she get here? Omega could hardly remember bits of where she was before this. She could remember being at that Imperial compound, hearing a blast, and then the rest was blurry in her memory. Omega tried to stretch her arms and sit up. 

“You must rest,” the medical droid interrupted, its metal claws now free and attempting to get Omega to lay back down. Omega mumbled to herself and laid back down per the droid’s instructions. 

“Oh, thank the stars.” Hera strolled in to check on Omega as part of her daily routine for the past days, relieved she was finally awake. She had seen Omega lay back down once she entered. Omega turned to look up at Hera, giving her a smile visible through her ventilator. 

“Thought we had nearly lost you there. You took quite a blast,” Hera sighed. A few rumbled noises piped up next to Hera. Chopper, her astromech, was glad to see Omega no longer asleep. Omega had remained unconscious during the entire trip back to the rebel base as Hera’s crew tried their best to tend to Omega’s deep wound until they could get her medical care. All other rebel fleets had been found by Star Destroyers and were under attack, so the Ghost wasn’t able to make a stop anywhere to get help for Omega quicker. 

Omega took off the mechanical ventilator to breathe freely. “How long have I been out?”

“Two rotations,” Hera said, Omega’s eyes widening in shock. Hera continued, “You were losing a lot of blood from your injury and that explosive had hit you hard.”

Everything was slowly coming back to her. Omega remembered running as fast as she could in the midst of blaster fire with pain stinging in her leg. There was an explosive, and it had gone off. 

“The cargo..”

“Lay back down,” Hera said. Omega got a glimpse of her right leg. The open cut on her upper leg had been stitched together with a few bandages wrapped around her knee to help heal another injury, some specks of blood visible through the fabric. 

“We got most of what we needed, and the rest had to be left behind. Including the one you were holding. And don’t worry, we brought your ship back to the base.” Hera added. 

“Thank you, Hera.”

“Don’t thank me,” Hera sat beside Omega on the medical bed. “You always do so much for the rebellion, going above and beyond to help us fight. Now you need to get some rest.”

Omega wasn’t fully listening. She thought back to what Hera said earlier. “Hera, you said I was out for two rotations?”

Hera nodded. Omega furrowed her brows, trying to remember something important. It hit her. Omega had told her brothers that she would call again at night after the mission was over before she had left for that mission. It has been two days now. They were likely worried sick. Omega pushed herself to sit up, wincing. 

“I need to call my brothers. Who knows what they’re thinking because I haven’t called them yet.” Omega moved her legs slowly, preparing herself to stand. Hera put a hand on her shoulder. 

“Echo informed your brothers about what happened. He and Emerie had visited while you were unconscious and they’ll come again later. Maybe you should take a break and visit them.”

Omega turned to her. “And leave while the rebellion still needs all the strength any of us can offer? The Empire already found and attacked one of our far bases and blew it up. I-”

Hera stopped her before she could continue. “The rebellion isn’t going anywhere, Omega. We’ll always be here to fight against the Empire, but what matters right now is you getting better so you can fly a ship. Your brothers miss you, so you should go rest and spend time with them until you are fully healed.”

“But-”

“Ah-ah, general’s orders, Commander,” Hera raised an eyebrow. Chopper made some noises, knowing Omega wouldn’t be able to get out of this one once Hera went under “general” mode. 

Omega sighed. “Yes, general.” She pushed herself to stand up with one hand and grabbed her jacket. Her wound still ached, but it didn’t affect her abilities to walk too much.

Once Echo and Emerie had arrived to visit Omega, she boarded the Marauder II to head back to Pabu using her ship. Echo piloted the starship while Emerie stayed with Omega in the back. Gonky honked, talking to Omega. 

“Don’t worry, I’m doing better, Gonky,” Omega replied. 

Emerie knelt down, examining Omega’s leg after she woke up from a nap. Her medical training kicked in when she saw Omega’s wounds. Omega winced when Emerie moved her leg up a bit. 

“Forgive me,” Emerie apologized, setting Omega’s leg down. “It’s a good thing General Syndulla advised you to rest. Your brothers were worried when we gave them the news. Echo let them know you’re on the way while the pain meds had made you unconscious.”

Omega held Lula in her lap. She bet they were. Omega could just imagine Hunter’s reaction once she reached Pabu and he saw her injuries. Crosshair would likely immediately tell her to rest in her room. Wrecker would make her all her favorite comfort foods while she got better. Tech would consistently make sure she was taking her meds on time. 

“Coming out of hyperspace,” Echo’s voice said over the comm. The starship slightly jolted as it exited hyperspace. Echo flew down into Pabu’s atmosphere and headed for the landing zone.

Omega stood up as the ship landed. Echo opened up the side ramp, light coming into the ship. Omega followed Emerie down, immediately catching sight of her brothers coming towards them. They hadn’t aged much since the last time she saw them in person, which had been one cycle ago. 

Hunter jogged forward as Omega leaned herself into his arms. Hunter used one arm to hug her away from her injured arm, tightening his grasp. His sister was home after so long. He didn’t want to let her go right now. 

“Ow,” Omega winced. 

Hunter broke the hug. “Sorry, kid.”

“You’ve been through a lot!” Wrecker said, coming in for a gentle hug next. 

“I guess it was a serious mission that led to an encounter with various troopers?” Tech came forward, adjusting his glasses and examining Omega’s injuries. Omega shrugged. “Another day in the rebellion.”

“What happened?” Hunter asked, concern glowing in his eyes. 

Crosshair removed a toothpick from his mouth. “Let’s get her into her room first so she can rest.” Omega smiled. She knew he would say that. 

“She got hit by an explosive and got her upper leg cut,” Emerie said with a straight face, watching her brothers’ eyes widen. “She’ll heal quickly in time with rest.”

Echo saw the way his brothers became worried for her. The over-protectiveness was about to begin and Omega couldn’t escape that. Hunter looked like he was about to have a heart attack. 

“You heard Emerie, you need to rest,” Hunter said, pushing her forward to walk to their home in the village. “Are you hungry? What hurts the most?”

Omega was overwhelmed by the amount of questions she was getting from her brothers. They cared deeply about her health and were happy to have her back home. Omega relaxed and let her brothers take care of her. 

Echo couldn’t help but chuckle. He had panicked when he heard about Omega becoming injured, but she was a strong girl. Seeing her awake after two days was a good sight to see. 

Days passed as Omega stayed with her brothers on Pabu. Tech made sure she was taking her meds on time, and Emerie found time to stay to help her injuries heal and check on them from time to time. Echo had stayed for a while to catch up and had returned back to base for another intel mission. 

“Your favorite fish soup, coming up!” Wrecker knocked on Omega’s door with a food tray. Omega laid in her bed, reading a few files on her datapad. Her back was supported by a bunch of pillows that Crosshair had put together so Omega could be as comfortable as possible while healing. She smiled as Wrecker delivered the tray and placed it on a breakfast tray. Batcher came in, pouncing onto Omega’s bed to give her some loving licks, making her laugh. Batcher settled down to take a nap. 

“Thank you, Wrecker.” Omega picked up her spoon and filled her mouth with the warm and spicy liquid, chewing on soft pieces of fish. She savored the taste of Wrecker’s cooking; finally something other than bland soup and rations. 

“How you feeling today?” Wrecker asked. He sat in a chair next to her bed. 

Omega swallowed her next bite. “Pretty good. My leg doesn’t really hurt much anymore.”

“Speaking of which,” Tech strolled into the room. “Time to take your meds again.” He set down a few meds on top of her drawer for her to take after eating. 

Omega gave her brother a smile. “Thank you, Tech.” She was happy he was here with her. 

It had been so long since Omega had been on Pabu and spent time with anyone here. Lyana was happy to see her again, and spending time with her brothers was the best vacation Omega could ask for.

During dinners and outings, Omega told her brothers, Phee, Lyana, and Shep all about what she had done and seen while in the rebellion. She told them about the new friends she had made and a lot about Hera’s crew. Omega was definitely going to bring them to Pabu one day so they could meet her brothers. 

“I hit a stormtrooper right in the eye,” Omega told Crosshair when she spent time outside on the beach with him. 

“Heh, you did?” Crosshair chewed on a toothpick. “At least you’ve got better aim than them.” He was very proud of her inside for blasting those nat-born bucket-heads. 

Omega told her brothers all about the many missions she had been on and all the planets she visited. She did leave out the parts whenever she would get injured or things would go wrong so Hunter didn’t start feeling uneasy and worried, but sometimes it would slip out whenever she was too excited telling a story. All of her brothers were happy to have her back while she healed and prepared themselves to let her go again once she had to go back into the fight. 

Her comfort zone was with her brothers. Her family. Staying on Pabu was temporary for now, but Omega was going to cherish every moment until she was fully healed. It was difficult to find peace in a time of war, but whenever Omega was with her family, everything felt okay.

Nini's Writing Masterlist

taglist: @summer-of-bad-batch @orion-tyche @bossboudicca @magicandmundane @kurlyfrii @locitapurplepink @ahsokashawarma1138