#especially mandible's

[hookaroo]

Laden of the Torn (14 of 25)

AO3 link Catch up on tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Tagging @priscilla9993 @cocohook38 @killian-whump <3

***

LONG CHAPTER WARNING haha sorry :)

***

Killian was trying his best to ignore his increasingly boisterous surroundings and catch just a few more moments of sleep. By the time Mandible and his cronies had finished with him the night before, they were the only ones still awake, and it had to have been well past midnight, if not approaching dawn. Couple that with the waves of pain that accompanied each movement, and Killian felt as if he’d barely slept at all, yet clearly, the rest of the cave’s inhabitants were well-refreshed and determined to make a noisy start to their day. He sighed and brought his arm closer to his eyes, trying to at least block out some of the light. He hadn’t felt this bad since… well, he was having difficulty recalling, actually. Probably the morning after his heart had first been cursed. That had been a miserable night, no question. The rain and the cold helping to spread the ache in his chest to every corner of his being, and Alice’s sobs still echoing in his very soul…

“Food! Food!” came a squeak from behind Killian, followed by an insistent prodding against his tender shoulder blade. He groaned. He would much rather sleep than bother with breakfast. With consciousness returning to focus, all of the abuse he’d suffered the day before was gradually sharpening into raw, throbbing pain everywhere at once. Favor had better not be expecting him to begin his travels in the next few days. He doubted he could make it much past the cave entrance at this point.

“Up, Torn stranger! Eat!”

A negligible weight landed on Killian’s hip, and he almost could have ignored it, if it weren’t for the smoldering laceration on his forearm not far away. Instinct drew the arm away from the monkey crawling on him, but that awakened some of the burning injuries on his back, and he had to admit defeat. If this creature had half the persistence that Alice did, it would not go away until he’d risen and eaten whatever he’d been given.

Killian dragged open weary eyelids and blinked until some of the cave came into focus. It was a blur of motion as the First Clan fed themselves and prepared for the day. The weight came off of Killian’s side, and the white fluff-ball from the day before landed next to a platter of what looked like assorted fruit. The little creature could not have carried that whole thing by itself, could it?

“Eat!” repeated Fluffy. Killian glanced upwards to where Blackbeard was tethered, and to his surprise, he found the other pirate up and eating already, uncharacteristically quiet. He really was taking his promise to heart.

With a wince and a deep breath, Killian pushed himself up, feeling the familiar burn of stiff, scabbed wounds chafing against leaf or hide bandages. He’d been provided a blanket at some point during the night, and he gingerly rearranged it over his shoulders to keep out the morning chill. White Fluff nudged the fruit platter and then raced away, apparently assured that Killian would eat now that he was sitting up and awake.

“Look who’s much the worse for wear,” remarked Blackbeard under his breath. He slurped pulp from his fingers and reached for another bit of green-tinted melon. Killian did not have much of an appetite, and the noisy eating habits of his fellow captive didn’t help in the slightest, but he knew he needed to rebuild his strength to have any hope of rescuing Puzzle. Moving slowly, he selected some kind of berry and tried to rouse himself. Just as quietly, Killian addressed Blackbeard without bothering to look at him.

“You may have staved off your imminent execution last night, mate, but we both know we’re entirely at the mercy of these monkeys. Let’s try and keep it civil, and if I can give them what they want, perhaps they’ll consider releasing us in the end.”

Blackbeard scraped the remnants of his breakfast up with one finger, seemingly unconcerned. “And what is it that they want, Hook? Besides our seasoned flesh roasted on a spit?”

Killian managed another careful mouthful before citrus juice made its way into a gouge in the back of his hand. Immediately, the whole area was ablaze. He cursed and tried to use the edge of the blanket to dab it clean. He couldn’t think of any harm in telling Blackbeard as much as he knew... “I’m to rescue a lost child, taken prisoner by a rival clan.”

Blackbeard scoffed. “You?”

“Aye, me. For some unfathomable reason, they don’t seem to trust you.”

Having licked his fingers clean and wiped his beard with his sleeve, Blackbeard leaned back against the cave wall, still smirking. “Their loss.”

Killian intended to leave it at that, knowing that Blackbeard wouldn’t truly have any objection to riding the coattails of his hard labor. For all his talk, the man was fundamentally lazy, and would take any opportunity to relax and be fed while everyone else around him did all the work. And that was better for the First Clan, as well. Should the roles have been reversed, and Blackbeard made it to the Less camp, he was just as likely to pull a double-cross as make any actual rescue attempt.

“What do you get out of it?” Blackbeard’s tone was casual, but Killian knew there was real suspicion behind the question. 

“My freedom, I hope.”

“You could take that anyway, if they release you to travel into enemy territory.”

“They have your map, mate, and I’m in no fit state to attempt to navigate myself out of here without it.”

With a cruel chuckle, Blackbeard assented. “I will give you that one. But if that is all the reward you are demanding, then you are even more of a fool than I had thought.”

Killian ignored the insult. Blackbeard’s opinion of him was worth less than nothing, and though there wouldn’t be any specific harm in his rival knowing of his hopes for a cure, it somehow felt dangerous to let him in on the secret. As if it would be tainted somehow; as if it would only come true if Blackbeard kept his ignorance. So Killian stayed quiet and focused his effort on finishing his fruit. It was quite sweet, and at any other time he would have savored it, but with the way he was feeling at the moment, pleasure was beyond his capability.

He had not quite finished when he spotted Mandible approaching. Though the healer monkey had obviously been up just as late as Killian himself, he appeared much more alert. Killian credited that to his full blood volume and lack of pain with every slight movement.

Mandible stopped a couple of paces away and eyed Killian critically, then cast the same sharp gaze on the lounging Blackbeard. Killian’s counterpart gave no sign of recognition, but whether that was an act or simply due to the change in lighting compared to the night before, Killian couldn’t guess.

“Good morning, Laden,” said Mandible politely. “I hope you are not experiencing too much pain today.”

“I’ve had worse,” came the automatic reply. Killian set a half-eaten fruit slice down on the platter and shook juice off his fingers before it could trickle somewhere more painful. “Thank you for the fruit.”

“Have you eaten enough?”

Killian nodded. Mandible beckoned two helpers to come closer, and they dragged a lidded clay pot by the handles until it stood halfway between the two pirates. 

“Then come with me. Tell your friend he may relieve himself into the basin, and cover it afterwards.”

With a tiny smile at Mandible’s need to specify the part about the lid--he himself wouldn’t put it past Blackbeard to be careless about sanitation--Killian glanced over his shoulder at the other pirate and caught his eye. Nodding at the vessel, he gave a terse,

“Chamber pot. Make sure to use the lid.”

Blackbeard rolled his eyes and nodded. “Ladies first.”

Mandible somehow understood the expression of ridicule, and he hopped forward to grab Killian’s sleeve. “No. I will examine you now. Follow me.”

Killian felt a sudden, unreasonable spike of anxiety; he hadn’t realized Mandible meant to do that today, and what if he didn’t find anything that could lead to a cure? Feigning calm, he stumbled to his feet, biting back a groan at the surge in pain. “Seems I’m needed elsewhere. Knock yourself out.”

Blackbeard glared at the lack of ropes around Killian’s wrists and ankles, though they would be completely unnecessary considering the ball and chain still hampering his every movement. Killian drew a breath, steeled himself for more pain, and slowly limped after Mandible’s retreating form.

***

The cave went back even farther than Killian had imagined. As he hobbled along, he tried to distract himself with an attempt to estimate the number of monkeys that made up the clan, but they never stayed still for very long, and it was nearly impossible to keep track of even the ones visible at any given moment. It was a fascinating sight, though, with signs of surprising intelligence everywhere he looked. Storage and cooking areas. Tiny hammocks, fire pits, plush cushions for seating. What might have been a schooling corner for young ones. Even a small pen containing miniature goats, which was so absurd that Killian was tempted to stop and stare as one species of animal tended another. 

Mandible finally brought him to a well-lit alcove in the very back, where the sloping rock ceiling met a smoothed-out wall, complete with several nooks carved into the stone and topped with animal--goat?--skin mattresses. Considering this monkey’s role, it wasn’t a big stretch of the imagination to conclude that these were sick beds, tucked in the quietest and most protected part of the cave, with all of the tools of the trade nearby for quick access. Indeed, an impressive array of shelves were practically overflowing with jars, vials, pouches, and plant matter, so variable that Killian couldn’t begin to guess at any of their purposes. The area was lit with oil lanterns; presumably to prevent a build-up of smoke in the less-ventilated area of the cave.

A woven sheet stretched between two weighted poles acted as a bit of a privacy screen, though in its current configuration it was open on two ends and anyone could poke their heads around for a peek. Two or three assistants were busy beside a couple of pots steaming over a fire and a stone-topped counter that held herbs for chopping and grinding. Killian appeared to be the only patient at that time.

Mandible waved Killian past the busy healers and into the space behind the screen. There, the bed alcove was neatly made up with an inviting sheet and pillow, and a woolen blanket lay folded at the foot. A rough estimation judged it to be fitting for an average-sized human, which was somewhat surprising, but perhaps these monkeys got more “Torn” visitors than seemed likely.

Pointing at a familiar clay vessel, Mandible repeated the name Killian had used for Blackbeard, uncertain, as if it were a new phrase. “Chamber pot?”

“Aye. At least, that’s what we call it in the realm I hail from.”

Nodding, Mandible regained his usual confidence. “Please use it and then remove your garments. You may cover yourself with the blanket for warmth.”

“All of them?” Killian asked, feeling slightly foolish. 

“Please.” Mandible did not even await a reply before ducking around the corner, leaving Killian alone but more exposed than was preferable. Sighing, he limped to the bed and lowered himself stiffly to a seated position. The complication of the ankle shackle, plus the usual hindrance of a hookless wrist, meant that the task of undressing might take twice as long as Mandible expected, and though Killian hadn’t ever been exactly prudish, a setting such as this lent itself only to awkwardness.

It was becoming an all-too common occurrence, stripping and allowing strangers to prod at and bleed him. And, of course, he would go through it all a hundred times if it meant he could be with Alice again… but so far, nothing had come of any of it, except for humiliation, sickness at the hands of a jaded apothecary, near-abuse by several healers, far too many spells by various witch-doctors--to the point that Killian had begun to wonder what kind of effects he might suffer in the future as a result of mix-and-match magic--and that wasn’t even mentioning the wizard encounter. That one was better left forgotten.

Still, Killian reflected as he pulled off his boots one by one, maybe this time would be different. The monkey would certainly be the strangest examiner of the bunch! And Mandible’s proven skill at healing had to bode well, didn’t it?

Killian managed to unlace his trousers easily enough, but bending down for the chamber pot was a different story altogether, and he was fairly certain, when all was said and done, that his back was bleeding again in several places. Well, came the wry thought, at least he was in the right area of the cave for that to happen.

He awkwardly relieved himself into the pot, covered it, and set it aside, guessing that it would be taken away for study. He still did not understand what value it had, but most of the practitioners he’d visited had also demanded such a sample. 

That accomplished, Killian stepped out of one trouser leg and then set to work on the difficult process of sliding the other leg over the shackle, chain, and spherical weight attached to his ankle. The bottom cuff of the garment was much too narrow, and though it had been stretched by days of motion by the chain, Killian ended up tearing some of the threads in the seam in order to fully fit the ball through. He growled a soft curse at the impediment. Then he removed his socks, folded these and his trousers, and set them neatly near the pillow. He had just spread the blanket over his bare legs when one of Mandible’s assistants darted into the alcove to retrieve the chamber pot. Just as he’d suspected. Killian waited until he had left to begin unbuttoning his shirt. 

It wasn’t that he was particularly ashamed of his body. True, he wasn’t in tip-top shape anymore. He had aged since Neverland, and although a decade of scaling Alice’s tower so frequently had kept him spry, that had obviously ended with the curse, and he was maybe slightly softer around the middle these days. But that hardly mattered; he wasn’t here to impress anyone. It just felt odd to be unclothed in front of too many strange monkeys, even when they themselves didn’t wear any clothes! It was the vulnerability of the matter, perhaps. And if many hundreds of years of dubious bodily autonomy didn’t grant him the right to be particularly covetous of it now, he didn’t know what would.

His stained, torn shirt joined the rest of the pile. He could hear the team of healers chatting in low tones on the other side of the screen, though he could not make out any words. He tried to picture what it must have been like, growing up here, in safety, with a large crowd of friends and siblings and not much to worry about beyond simple daily tasks. And the Less, of course. Which, he reflected, may pose more of a problem than upon first impression. Why else would they need such a well-stocked medicine supply and more than one healer?

Mandible must have been listening for the cessation of the rustling of movement to indicate when Killian was ready. After one moment more, he peeked around the corner, and Killian gave him an affirmatory nod. Mandible, in turn, glanced behind himself and made a gesture, then approached, lugging his animal-skin pouch in his wake. One of the assistants followed with a brightly glowing stone in hand; Killian had never seen the like, and he surmised it must be magical. 

“Do you think you can lie comfortably on your back?”

Killian appreciated the question; the healer knew the constellation of fishhook injuries would be bothering him. But having lived through far worse, Killian thought he could tolerate it and nodded. “I might fall asleep, though, so you’ve been warned.”

As Killian struggled the heavy ball up onto the bed, gingerly pulled his legs up, and prepared to lie back, Mandible replied,

“There will be time for that later.”

Wincing, Killian drew some slow breaths to combat the increased pain as his back contacted the bed’s surface. He arranged the blanket loosely across his torso, figuring the healers would soon need access to his chest. Tucking his left arm beneath the wool, he draped his right over his abdomen, feeling the prickly tug of the Warrior Ant jaws holding the wound closed. He tried to relax as the initial fire in his back began to fade.

Both healers leapt up onto the bed next to Killian, and the one bearing the stone light scooted over to his other side. Mandible set his pouch near Killian’s head, saying,

“This is Aura. She will be providing light and assistance as needed.”

Killian flashed her a tight smile. “Hello, Aura.”

She nodded back, a serious expression on her silky flaxen face. Killian couldn’t help wishing she appeared a bit more relaxed; her somber attitude wasn’t helping his own anxiety at the moment. He drew another calming breath and turned his attention back to Mandible.

“Let me first check your arm,” said the healer as he began to gently unwrap the bandages around Killian’s forearm. Killian closed his eyes and imagined he was in his bunk on the Jolly Roger, with Mister Smee tending to a wound he’d received being an idiot pirate, his mind occupied with thoughts of Pan and the Dark One rather than his separation from his daughter. In some ways, that old angst was preferable to his current suffering, although, obviously, he in no way wished to go back to the days before he’d been given the most precious gift of his life…

With Aura providing well-aimed lighting, Mandible was quick to assure himself that the ant heads remained in place and no infection was obvious yet. He carefully applied some herbal ointment to the wound and wrapped it with fresh leaves and skins. He would save the fishhook injuries until later, but some of the other, deeper cuts should be washed and re-dressed soon. However, Mandible wanted to give himself as much time as possible to collect the required information about the curse on Killian’s heart, so that he could research and perhaps concoct a cure while the Torn ally was gone on his mission. So he set aside his bandages for the time being and moved his focus to Killian’s overall state of being.

Killian opened his eyes when he felt a small paw rest gently on his forehead, perhaps assessing for fever? Could the monkey really be so practiced that he knew what a normal human temperature felt like by touch alone?

“The healing is progressing as expected,” reported Mandible. “If you keep your wounds clean and dry, I would not anticipate complication. Now, if you are agreeable, I would like to collect two samples of blood, one from a peripheral site in the usual fashion, and one from the area just above your poisoned heart.”

Unsurprised, Killian nodded. “I thought you might. You have my consent for whatever you think is necessary to pursue a possible cure.”

“Very good. Aura, please retrieve the collection set; enlist Vision and Measure if you need assistance.”

Killian heard the assistant leap to the cave floor and bound away on the mission she’d been assigned. He closed his eyes and willed himself to relax. The unpleasantness would be over soon, and if it yielded any result, it would be more than worth it. 

While they waited, Mandible pulled the blanket off Killian’s feet and lower legs, hissed at the chafing from the ankle shackle, and said,

“I was unaware of the extent of this injury. I already have Molten working on a method for removing your burden, and once I have completed my tests, I will dress any other wounds requiring attention.”

“Thank you,” Killian replied. The very act of having another being observe the irritated skin was driving the pain level higher, and he looked forward to the prospect of being freed. If only the weight on his soul could be so easily removed…

“This?” came a soft squeak from ground level, and Mandible repositioned the blanket over Killian’s feet. 

“Yes, thank you, Aura. I will need some light now.”

A slight give in the padding beneath Killian told him Aura had joined her boss up on the bedside. A moment later, Mandible vaulted over Killian’s hip to face him.

The healer’s bloodletting equipment appeared to be fairly standard, although his blades were made of razor stone and not the typical tarnished metal. The healer settled himself at Killian's left side and curled his fluffy tail below his elbow as a tourniquet: another departure from the norm. He positioned a collection vessel beneath Killian's wrist, then swiftly cleaned and punctured the skin over the larger vein that would have drained the thumbward side of his hand. The stone was so sharp that it took a heartbeat or two for the pain to register as blood began dripping down into the vessel below. Keeping a watchful eye on the process, Mandible requested,

“Please tell me, in as much detail as you can, the story of how your heart came to be poisoned, and its exact effects on your physiology.”

Haltingly, Killian began to recount the tragic tale, barely managing to keep his emotions in check as he relived the hubris that had caused such grief, those first agonizing nights apart from his daughter, the helplessness and desperation that he still felt when he thought of his Alice, trapped and alone, with no human comfort to be had. 

By this time, the blood in the bowl had reached the depth of at least half an average human finger. Mandible loosened his grip with his tail, placing a pawful of plant fibers over the sluggish crimson stream. Then he wrapped a hide bandage over the dressing. Without being bidden, Killian pressed his palm over the small cut, applying pressure while Mandible secured the first blood sample. 

“It may be different if she were older, although I imagine the pain would be the same. But she’s still just a child, and it’s been months… I can’t do this much longer…”

Mandible heard the anguish in his voice and looked up. “I understand, Laden. We will try everything we can think of, you have my word.”

Tearfully, Killian met his gaze and nodded wordless thanks. Taking a position closer to Killian’s shoulder, Mandible reached into his pouch and drew out a funnel-shaped device. 

“You described the curse pain as sharp, like knives in your chest, yes?”

“Aye.” The word came out constricted and bitter, sounding broken. “And the closer I get to her, the more intense it gets, and the further its range. Touching her… I’ve only managed it once, and I was thrown violently backwards. And it spreads, until every inch of me is engulfed…” His voice cracked. “I’ve told myself it’s not a weakness to avoid that pain, that it would kill me if I ignored it for too long, yet a part of me feels so selfish for keeping my distance.”

“It is out of your control, not a moral failing on your part. It sounds as though the curse physically moves you, regardless of your intentions.” Mandible clambered over to Killian’s other side to give himself better access to the poisoned heart. “Now, please continue to breathe normally and stop speaking while I listen.”

Killian obeyed as Mandible rested the wider end of the funnel against his chest, over his heart, bringing his miniature, tufted ear down to the smaller end to listen. The healer’s validation, well-intentioned as it was, could not overcome the irrational guilt Killian carried. Maybe he could not be in the tower with Alice, but he could theoretically stay at its base, guarding it, conversing with her from afar, providing her with the non-essentials that did not magically replenish themselves. He had done so for the first several weeks, in fact, while they both struggled to come to terms with their new reality. But like an insidious mold creeping along a damp baseboard, the curse had inexorably spread outward from its victim, slowly tightening the vise within Killian’s chest until he could no longer endure standing directly at the base of the tower. And he had backed off a bit, hoping that would be the extent of it, until day by day, he found himself measurably farther away, less able to hear Alice as she went about her confined life in the tower, struggling to communicate with her and ascertain her needs, or provide the hollow reassurance she was too smart to believe anyway. 

Eventually, it had gotten so bad that just being within sight of the tower caused his rib cage to constrict, his lungs providing the bare minimum of oxygen, the pain radiating to every fingertip and toenail, and so he’d just… stopped. Stopped fighting, stopped making the attempt. He’d told himself it was so he could have the freedom to search for a cure, but deep in his heart, he admitted to himself it was a fear of the pain that he’d given in to. What kind of father would do that? 

He would never forgive himself for that failure.

Mandible had spent so long listening to Killian’s chest that it seemed he must have fallen asleep using the funnel as a pillow. But just as Killian was debating whether to clear his throat or make some small movement to rouse him, the healer monkey straightened and asked,

“Could you kindly position yourself on your side so I may listen from the back?”

Killian stiffly rolled onto his right side and settled into as comfortable a position as he could manage, while both Mandible and Aura scampered around behind him. He felt the funnel device rest against his back, and again Mandible listened for a long while. This time, though, he instructed Killian to take deeper breaths at intervals, and hold it in between, while hopefully hearing whatever clues he needed to form a picture in his mind of Killian’s particular ailment.

When enough time had elapsed, Mandible set aside his listening device, saying,

“I do not detect anything out of the ordinary, at least nothing obvious. But perhaps the poison will be evident within the blood collected today. I am familiar with many of this realm’s plants and their effects. If one of their toxins is responsible, I am hopeful we will have the ability to craft an antidote.”

The next blood collection vessel appeared to have a rim shaped directly off the side and covering nearly half of the hole in its top. The healer lit a long twig from the flame of an oil lantern, passing it to Aura once it burned steadily. Killian couldn't imagine what its purpose might be, nor enjoyed any of the possibilities that came to mind, but he had given his permission for Mandible to collect whatever samples he needed, and it was for a good cause, after all. He stayed silent and watched the duo as they worked.

Mandible produced his blade, made two quick slashes on Killian's chest just above his heart, then had Aura hold the smoldering twig inside the collection cup for a handful of seconds. Then, moving quickly, he pivoted, ready to position the vessel over the slow trickle of blood welling from the cuts. Killian closed one eye in anticipation of a scalding touch, but all he felt was the continued sting from the double cuts Mandible had inflicted. The cup rested against his chest with its lip on the bottom edge so that, when Mandible eventually determined it was time to remove it, its contents would be contained.

Catching sight of Killian's skeptical eye, the healer explained,

“The flame creates a suction that helps to draw blood to the surface. If the curse is contained within, I am hopeful that this technique will help us in our study.”

“Clever,” Killian replied, impressed despite himself. He'd never seen such a process before, and that was saying something. He prayed that the unique techniques in use within this unlikely location portended breakthroughs to come. None of the other, more traditional practitioners he had visited had detected any trace of the poison within his bloodstream… but perhaps this time would be different. 

***

Not long after Mandible had begun to dress the wound on Killian's chest, a new member of the First Clan appeared around the privacy screen. His fur was slate gray, he had a ruff of white, and the skin on his face was a striking collage of blue, red, and yellow.

“Molten,” greeted Mandible. “We are nearly ready for you.” 

Killian recognized the name as the one who would be ridding him of his shackle, if all went according to plan. Though its connotation inspired caution, he did not appear to be carrying anything hot, just a trusty old file like those Killian had used himself on occasion.

Aura carefully retreated with his blood samples, and Molten took her place on the bed. He was tall enough that he did not have to leap up like the others, which hinted at the power that would be required to cut through the metal band around Killian's ankle. Finished applying the leaf bandages, Mandible positioned himself behind his patient and turned his attention to the inflamed fishhook punctures scattered at regular intervals all down his back.

Molten folded back the blanket concealing Killian's shackled ankle. Fabric brushed the raw skin, conjuring visions of the monkey's file slipping off of its intended track and adding its own mark to the scrapes already there. Killian almost sat up then, nervously saying, 

“I've done this sort of thing before, mate; perhaps I should save you the trouble…”

Mandible rested a paw on his elbow. “Just relax now, Laden. Molten has a very steady paw.”

“I will take great care,” confirmed the larger animal as he slipped the edge of the blanket beneath the iron band to add a layer of protection between Killian's skin and his file. Killian lay back slowly. If Mandible trusted him…

As both monkeys proceeded with their respective tasks, Mandible said,

“I have promised to provide Favor with your answer to our proposed agreement by sunset. I realize that you may not feel physically capable of a rescue attempt at this time, but I also believe that you must understand his urgency. Would you like more time to consider?”

Sighing, Killian closed his eyes. Mandible was right about both statements. If they allowed him weeks of recovery time beforehand, that would be one thing, but he doubted Favor would have that amount of patience. “How far is it to the Less Clan territory?”

“Being forced to navigate the canyons as you would be, I would estimate half a day’s journey, assuming you do not take a wrong turn. We will provide you with a detailed map.”

That did not sound too bad. Theoretically, he could complete the mission within a single day. But it would do Alice no good if he were slain in the attempt. “And if I refuse? What happens then?”

Both monkeys paused for a moment. Quietly, Mandible replied,

“I could not guarantee your safety in that case. There are still those among us who believe that no Torn intruder should be allowed to leave the Stone Forest alive.”

So, certain death on one hand, possible death on the other. As he had suspected, but it was helpful to have it spelled out in no uncertain terms.

“Well, it appears I have no choice, doesn’t it?” Killian opened his eyes and turned his head to meet Mandible’s unflinching gaze. “You can tell Favor I will act as the First Clan champion. But the sooner I am required to depart, the smaller my chances of success.”

Mandible resumed his work, and Molten took that as his cue to continue as well. Killian could see the tension drain away from both monkeys’ movements. 

“Understood, Laden. I will argue for Favor’s patience on your behalf. Once you have been freed and your wounds tended, you may remain here for uninterrupted rest, and we will provide food and medicine for your continued recovery.” Here he paused once more, but only briefly, adding, “You have the sincere thanks of the entire clan for your willingness to risk your safety for our princess.”

Killian made a rueful face. “Don’t thank me yet. Success has been a complete stranger for far too long now. This would be an extremely fortuitous time to get reacquainted.”

[mrfunnyinthebank]

as someone who's new to AEW the biting and scratching really caught me off guard. i can't be sure it's never happened but i certainly have never seen anyone get bitten on the head on WWE. and yet i've seen happen at least 3 times here.

and raking their fingernails down their opponents back? that seems like the kind of thing they would have Divas do as a gag. and yet i have seen both MJF and Jon Moxley do this

[sitelenco]

"SIGMA!!"

another MegaMan OC, and this one i gotta say i had lots of un creating and designing his overall concept and story

i struggled a bit with drawing him due to the buzzsaws he has, but it was neat either way xd

btw these buzzsaws are connected to his level of violence/anger (the more aggressive he is, the faster the buzzsaws will spin)

aight imma stop babbling now kskhshds

[bats4brainsss]

Some art of my spidersona, Violet-Spider :D

[anistarrose]

I'd like to propose a dark horse candidate for the most interesting line in The Book of Bill. And it's this near-unreadable, seemingly one-off joke from the "Skin" page:

[ID: tiny text reading: "Help! This is not Bill Cipher. My name is Grebley Hemberdreck of Zimtrex 5. I'm one of thousands of beings Bill has devoured over trillions of years whose souls are now trapped inside him. You have to free me! It's horrible in here. He just keeps playing the song "Good Vibrations" by Marky Mark on an endless loop. Please, please, this is not a joke! The Zimtrexians were once a proud and mighty people, but now our spirits long for release from this..." End ID.]

Okay, so Bill devours souls who then live out a horrible existence inside him. That's just some typical and expected Bill behavior, right? Nothing to be shocked by? Maybe not, but one thing jumps out at me... and of all things, it's the way that Bill keeps playing that Beach Boys parody (correction provided by @fexalted: no, not in fact a Smiley Smile parody, but a real song!) on loop.

Because in The Book of Bill, there's a recurring motif of characters playing music for a very specific reason: to repel an unwanted presence inside their head. This is what Elias Inkwell, and later Ford, did with the "It's A Small World" parody — they tried to keep Bill out of their brains. Or, metaphorically... to drown out his voice.

[ID: a Journal 3 page with a cassette taped inside. It's titled: "The World Is Small Ever After for Always." Ford writes: "If it's war you want, it's war you'll get! If you want to torture me? I'll torture you back!" End ID.]

That doesn't necessarily mean that Bill finds the voices of devoured souls to be troubling, let alone downright haunting, does it? Well... not quite on its own. But there's a "color" code on the page about TV static that says a lot:

[ID: a code consisting of colorful squares, translated to letters that spell out: "he never sleeps he never dreams but somehow still he hears their screams." End ID] (screenshot courtesy of @fexiled)

The context of the page implies these "screams" come to Bill especially when he listens to TV static, and the broader context of the book implies that these are the screams of his destroyed home dimension, Euclydia. Therefore, not necessarily those of the souls he devoured, from Zimtrex 5 and possibly other dimensions.

Except... do those two things really have to be mutually exclusive?

The beings that Bill devoured were accumulated over "trillions" of years, plural, according to Grebley. In Weirdmageddon 1, Bill claims to have resided in the Nightmare Realm for precisely "one trillion" years. So the "devouring" habit probably extends back even further than his time in the Nightmare Realm...

Enter @acetyzias, pointing out a very conspicuous word — and one of the only uncensored words — from Bill's description of destroying his home dimension:

[ID: the word "mandibles". End ID.]

Oh, and how does Bill describe the "monster" that destroyed his home to Ford, when Ford asks about revenge?

[ID: Journal excerpt reading: "Sixer, it would eat you alive." End ID.]

For a long time, Bill's destruction of his home has been associated with fire, even when the story's told by Bill himself. But through the way the book characterizes Bill's guilt — and characterizes how the consequences of what he's done remain lurking deep inside him — I think The Book of Bill lays out the hints for another motif: devouring.

And, well, when it comes to how Bill destroys things... it wouldn't be without precedent.

[ID: screenshot of Bill in Weirdmageddon 3, taking a bite out of the Earth. End ID.]

[thefirstforgottenpages]

Speak up

Warnings: mommy kink, edging to overstimulation, manhandling, hair pulling, choking, praise, strap (reader receiving)… I think that’s abt it

thank you to @babybatlover for the idea!!!!

Your moans are shaky and unrestrained as you beg Rhea yet again to just let you cum. “Baby-Rhea- pleaseee!” But, your hungry little whines appeal to Rhea’s sadistic side and she just chuckles lowly, swatting your hand away and continue to kiss and lick and your exposed chest. Rhea was too good with her fingers you mused hazily as she once again hit your g-spot your back bowing off the bed in response. “You can take it sweetheart.” She smirks down at you, the simple action has you biting your lip in need. “My good girl, yeah?” The rumble of her aussie accent has your legs opening just a tiny bit more, allowing her more access to your dripping core. “So fucking easy.” Rhea chides nipping at your collar bone as a giggle slips past your parted lips. Putting on your best pout you look down at her, simpering at the sight of her pleasuring you. “I need you so bad.” You whisper delicately, batting your eyelashes in a ploy to rile her up. 

Rhea was sure you’d be the death of her. 

Especially when the accompanying noise that she drug out of you was so desperate she decided to give you what you wanted. You let out a shriek as she hoisted you closer to her. The effortless display of strength turning you on more than you’d ever admit to her. “Is that a yes- Oh…” you sighed happily as Rhea slipped her strap inside of your gushing cunt. Rhea grinned at your stupefied expression, gripping the sides of your supple hips to pull you easily back down onto her cock.

“This what you needed hmm?” Rhea purrs, moaning as your fingernails dragged down her back. No doubt leaving marks that she’d gladly parade around. “Ye-yeah- oh my goodddd!” Your satisfied mewl only eggs Rhea on as she increases the speed of her hips. “You’re so fucking hot.” Rhea bites out, each word punctuated by a passionate thrust that had you reeling. Your whole body trembles at the confident dominance that Rhea had over you. On their own accord, your legs wrapped around her waist in an attempt to have her even closer to you. “Such a pretty girl,” Rhea continues, her voice still seductively low. A sweet surprised gasp leaves you as her lips ghost along your neck. “My pretty girl.” She clarifies, as her free hand snakes down to play with your clit. 

You swear you see stars at this, your mouth hanging open in filthy pleasure. You’re vaguely aware of the pleased raspy hum Rhea lets out at your state, too wrapped up in her skilled hands that are playing your body so easily. It was like you were made for her. And in her eyes, you were. So as you rocked your hips against her, she paid little mind to the smaller sobs you let out until you said it. “Mommy-hahh-please fuck me…” You froze, your keen trailing off in self consciousness until you looked up at Rhea’s face. Her pupils were fully blown as she looked down at you with a renewed lust. 

“What did you call me?” Rhea murmurs huskily. A darkened look of possessive need covering her sharp features. Her hand trails up to your throat and squeezes addictively. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your hand resting on top of hers as you flounder for your answer. Rhea quirks her brow at your silence, slowing her hips to a lazy grind. You let out a breathy cry at the loss of stimulation, biting your lip once more as Rhea cups your mandible, tipping your chin up to look at her. 

“Speak up gorgeous,” she says sickeningly sweet as she presses several insistent kisses on any skin she can reach. “And mommy just might fuck you so good that you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.” Your mouth drops open at her filthy words. The moan that leaves you is absolutely pornographic, and it takes all the restraint that Rhea has to not fuck you until you writhed completely dumb beneath her. 

“I..fuck Rhea…” you trail off embarrassed, your face is bright red and your pathetic whimpers have her grinning down to you. “Say it.” She says quietly, licking a stripe of your neck with a sultriness that has you choking out a low plea. “Mommy,” you moan out brokenly at she starts to thrust into you again. “Oh-holy fuckkkk.” You wail as Rhea presses closer to you, caging her strong arms around you. “There we fucking go,” Rhea grins against your neck, her hand on the inside of your thigh keeping your legs spread wide for her. “So wet for me too.” Rhea hums. You nod vigorously wrapping your arms around her neck as your smile warbles unabashed. “All for you mommy.” You hiccup. Your back arches as she pulls your hips back into hers. “God that’s fucking sexy.” Rhea groans eagerly, the precise push of her hips leaving you breathless.

“Please-please ‘m gonna cum” your shy whines have Rhea whining needily into your chest. The tightened coil of arousal that is swirling in your belly is so close to snapping, and with the dirty talk that’s being cooed to you pushes you closer to the edge. “Then come on mommy’s cock baby,” Rhea drawls, dragging her lips across yours. “Make a mess for me to clean up.” You cry out achingly as you cum, chanting Rhea’s name over and over. 

You barely come down from your high as Rhea flips you over dragging your cunt towards her face. Your lip trembles as she begins to lick at your clit. “Rhea?” You gasp out surprised trying to move your hips away from her mouth. She smirks up at you, and you moan at her debauched state, her lips already glistening. “Oh no sweetheart,” Rhea purrs once more, licking around your clit and into your fluttering hole. You yelp at the overstimulation, your hands threading into her long hair. 

“Mommy’s not done with you yet.”

[venusandthestars]

Cherries

The jungle is freezing, especially at night with this rain. You're lucky to be inside the hut, a warm fire on your back, your mate A'Resmoth, under you, the taste of cherries on your tongue.

He had told you he was going on a hunt, only to surprise you with one of your favorite treats: cherries. You had told him about it a few days in a passing thought. He decided right then and there his love was going to get her cherries.

Now here you two were enjoying your night. The rain sends in a cool breeze, now and again. The fire in the middle of the hut sends out a glow, two shadows on the wall.

Your nest, built from branches and leaves, is decorated with multiple furs, different creatures from different planets, all hunted and skinned by A'Resmoth. "You'll have the softest I can find." His mission to keep you happy, comfortable, and fed was his life.

If you're happy, he's happy.

Now look at you two, bellies full, naked, completely relaxed. He loves to take you like this. You, on top of him, his back against the nest, arms spread out at the top.

You've just finished a round of love making, his cum still inside of you as he hasn't pulled out. "Not yet," was all he said when tried to slip off of him. You don't mind when he gets like this. Needy, wanting all your attention. It gives him a break from being your valiant guardian. You start to caress his locs his eyes never leaving you.

"Do you like this?" A tease you are, knowing the answer already. A deep purr from his chest. You chuckle wanting to play with him a bit more. You ghost your fingers across his face to his mandibles.

"Fruit," He mumbles. You lean to the right, plucking a cherry out of the basket bringing it to your lips. The tip of your tongue comes out, licking around the drupe. A'Resmoth watches his pupils dilated at the erotic sight.

Once you're satisfied the fruit is covered with you, you place it into his waiting warm mouth. With his quick reflexes, his left hand grabs your right hand and nips the tips of your fingers. The sweet little moans you left out spurs him on. He tilts his head back dropping your hand, he closes his eyes.

"Please, my mate, use me." A deep voice begs.

How could you say no to that?

You lean back on your hands lift your hips and start to treat yourself. Up and down, you bounce. You moan out, sweet sounds to him, wanting to listen to you forever.

"My love, look at me, please look at me, watch me." A delicious voice begs.

How can he say no to that?

He brings his head down, eyes fixated on the way your pussy engulfs his dick, your first orgasms coating it, a creamy white mix. His grunts lines up with your moans, your souls in sync.

He picks up a cherry, slipping the plump part into your mouth. Once you bite it off the stem, he flicks it away and sticks a finger into your mouth.

"Suck." You do as he says. Sucking and moaning around the digit, you start to swirl your hips clockwise and counterclockwise on him. A'Resmoth grunts feeling his orgasm sneaking up on him. With one hand on your hip, and one hand braced on your back, he gives no warning when he starts to thrust into you.

Your quiet moans turn loud, his big fat dick making you feel so full, so good. You'd live on it if he'd let you.

You're so light to him, he's bouncing you on his lap trying to stall his orgasm wanting to feel you cum on him again. He sneaks the hand from your hip to your neck giving it a squeeze of course minding his strength.

Staring into his eyes you cry out "I wanna come, A'Resmoth, please."

Thats all it takes to set him off, his cum spilling into you.

"Let go my mate, I want to feel you." He grunts out.

The two of you, cumming together. Pure ecstasy.

It takes a few moments to come down from the high. You're out of breath, you smile at him while he looks at you fondly.

You pop another one in your mouth. "Thank you for the cherries my love."

A/N- Pls tell me if the ending was bad it's my first time writing for this universe. I hope you've enjoyed it!

[jimvasta]

Humans aren’t poisonous

It was another canteen argument at the spaceport. This time it was about the new species, the humans.

“I hear they are poisonous. That is why they do not come near and why they cover their skin, so they do not harm others.”

“I heard the clothes are about clan allegiances and you know who they follow from their colours.”

“I thought it was which Gods they follow.”

“No, it is poison.”

The argument had various creatures involved, they were from a crew whose Captain prided themselves on picking as many species as possible to work for them, and who was already attempting to entice a human onboard.

There were so many conflicting stories about the humans. They looked harmless, unarmoured, no claws to speak of, they were not even especially big although further rumour was that they were incredibly strong for their size. But, when the Dran attacked them no one could have predicted how easily the humans sent the dangerous imperialists fleeing back to their home world. How did they do it? No one quite knew.

“They are poisonous. How else did they kill everyone on the Helin outpost without any weapons? With only on scout ship.”

There was a snort from the hooded figure at the bar. “Humans aren't poisonous, trust me, I should know.”

“I learned that from the team who investigated the outpost. I know.”

The hood was lowered to reveal a human with short brown hair and a frighteningly toothy smile. “My knowledge is a little more first hand than yours. We aren't poisonous.” He reached in and patted the speaker's lower mandible, laughing as it recoiled from his touch. “You'll be fine.”

“If you are not poisonous, how did you do it? They were clearly poisoned by something horrific, a biological agent that the investigators swore was somehow alive.”

The human licked his lips. “I said we aren't poisonous, I wasn't lying.”

“So you're defenceless.” The insectoid being stood. It was angry at being touched by a soft fleshy creature, it felt dirty.

“Nope. I'm human, I'm never defenceless.”

“It would be so easy to defeat you in combat.” It loomed over the human. “Why is it you do not cower? How do you kill your enemies?”

“You wanna become my enemy and find out?”

“Johnson!” The sharp snap from the across the room made everyone freeze.

The human sighed, his eyes dropping. “Sir.”

“Back off, right now.” This barked order came from a Subeco warrior in the uniform of a merchant vessel.

Johnson grumbled. “Seriously?”

“I don't want another incident, stop baiting people.”

“He called me defenceless.”

“And that is not a capital offence. I have found a trader who has a pallet of what he claims is a human drink called Rum, I need you to help me check it.”

“Rum? It better be dark rum, I don't want any of that Bacardi shit.” Johnson forgot the insectoid to the lure of alcohol, striding to the door.

“Subeco.” the insectoid was not so quickly put off. It respected the Subeco, they were fine warriors, proven in eons of battle across the galaxy. “What do you know of humans? How are they so dangerous?”

The Subeco's head wobbled from side to side as they considered their answer. “They are extremely vindictive with tools and masters of improvised weapons, but mostly they kill their enemies slowly.”

“So they are poisonous.”

“No not poisonous, but they are venomous.”

The entire room's attention was fixed on the Subeco in a moment.

There was a sneer from the warrior who knew one of their best guards was a human with a short temper. It was useful to make sure people were scared of him. “Their fluids are all toxic to some extent, but their saliva is laced with micro-organisms, viruses and bacteria. Death by human is slow and excruciating.”

“I'll be sure to never let one bite me.” the insectoid was not impressed.

“Bite?” the Sebeco laughed, copying the noise used by humans that was so off putting. “If Johnson wanted you dead he would have stayed at the bar and spat into one of your eyes. My survival tip for dealing with humans is be more useful alive than dead or stay out of range.”

“What is their range?”

The Subeco looked at Johnson before turning back to the insectoid. “If you have to ask that question, you're too close. Enjoy your drinks, gentle-beings.”

[wrizard]

wrizard's super basic guide to y-chromosome-based identification!!

for those interested, on this fitzcovery day:

a dear friend asked me to explain why i felt completely insane about the phrase "genetic distance of one" and, as usual, i got overexcited and wrote an entire thing about it complete with goofy images! it's on twt HERE, but i figured it would also be nice to pop it up here also. SO. with the caveat that it has been many years since my last bio class and this is VERY OVERSIMPLIFIED. here's

Human DNA is grouped into chromosomes. We generally have TWO of each chromosome: 22 pairs (numbered 1-22), plus one pair of sex chromosome (typically either two X-chromosomes (XX), or one X-chromosome and one Y-chromosome (XY)). That's 23 pairs, or 46 chromosomes, in total.

When producing sex cells, matching chromosome pairs will RECOMBINE (swap bits of information) - eg. one Chromosome 4 will remix itself with the other Chromosome 4, making TWO UNIQUE C4s. When the cell splits into two sex cells, each sex cell will carry ONE unique C4.

That's sexual reproduction! Every new offspring is genetically unique - new combinations of traits pop up quickly, and if they improve reproductive fitness, can be passed on to future offspring. This allows for rapid adaptation and changes in a species over time.

But what about Y-chromosomes, which don’t have pairs? They can't recombine in the way paired chromosomes can - which means Y-chromosomes pretty much only change via mutation (errors in copying DNA). Mutation is VERY slow, especially compared to recombination.

This means that when an XY parent passes down their Y-chromosome to a child, chances are high that chromosome will have few, if any, changes – as opposed to X-chromosomes, which recombine in both XX parents and children, shuffling genetic information all over the place.

Due to this slow rate of change, Y-chromosomes can be more easily tracked through the generations than other human chromosomes. A Y-chromosome might be passed down nearly unchanged for hundreds of years from genetic father to genetic son.

GENETIC DISTANCE refers to the measurement of difference between two sets of DNA. The lower the genetic distance, the more closely related the two samples are likely to be. A genetic distance of 1 means the samples are close to identical.

Because we know how slowly Y-chromosomes change over time, we know that if the Y-chromosomes of two people have a low genetic distance, this implies that those people are paternally related – even if the two people live/lived hundreds of years apart.

In the case of Captain James Fitzjames, genetic data was extracted from a set of unidentified remains (a molar from a disarticulated mandible). 17 genetic markers from the molar’s Y-chromosome were compared to the Y-chromosome of a confirmed paternal relative of the Captain.

Those 17 markers were the same in both samples, giving the two Y-chromosomes a genetic distance of one – meaning, with the genetic information available, the living relative and the unidentified decedent are more than 2000 TIMES more likely to be paternally related than not.

EDIT: DOIP I MISREAD THE CHART 16 of 17 match, not all 17!!

Along with all the information we have from the historical record, the context of the remains, and this new comparative genetic analysis, we can safely conclude that this particular set of remains belong to Captain Fitzjames.

160 years isn't long in the grand scheme. Every identified set of remains is another reminder that these were people, not just a distant curiosity. It's humbling to remember not just that we have identified Cpt. Fitzjames, but that still, today, we have a genetic distance of one.

Photos and Y-chromosome comparison chart taken from Stephen, Fratpietro, and Park's paper "Identification of a senior officer from Sir John Franklin’s Northwest Passage expedition" from the Journal of Archaeological Science: https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S2352409X24003766?via%3Dihub

hope my nonsense is helpful and/or informative and/or at least made you smile!! if you like this sort of thing :) cheers doves

[ateliersss]

Blooming Family Part 2 - He Is Here

Pairing: Yautja x Fem!Reader Summary: After Akail freed himself and then you from your captors, you both had only one thing on your mind — to return home where his father and your mate was waiting for you. Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: English isn't my first language Word Count: 4.768 Part 1: here Masterlist

⇨ I started making it, tried my best, had a break down, then I listened to Lana Del Rey and my brain started working again. This is the result. I hope I didn't fail your expectations and you like it anyway.

⇨ Also, did you ever actually listen to their clicking/purring noises? Because I DID!

⇨ Want to join the tag list?

Fresh air, the rustling of leaves on the surrounding trees, the moonlight, even the hooting of an owl — you never thought you would appreciate these things the way you did right now.

Especially now as your son was holding you tightly in his arms, running away, leaving the facility site behind. You had already put quite a distance between here and there and yet you could still hear the blaring alarm of their security system.

To distract yourself, you focused on the safe embrace of Akail's strong arms, watched the surroundings passing by, and listened to the sounds he made. He tried to calm you down, but since you couldn't understand any of his words, this attempt failed.

The one thing you didn't want to focus on was the blood.

The alarm went off while you were still stuck in this awful white room with that strange woman, announcing that your son had broken free. Immediately, you were yanked out of the room and into the corridor, not caring that moving was difficult for you. The woman had tried to persuade the two men to be more careful, but they just ignored her and didn't stop dragging you roughly with them.

The grip they had on you was painful, the flickering lights and the alarm agitated you even more, and the fact that you didn't know what they were going to do to you, now that an angry alien was on the loose, frightened you.

You thought about the consequences of what you were about to do. Since you couldn't imagine anything worse than what you had already experienced, you just did it. You screamed. You screamed for your son in hopes he would hear you.

One of the men holding you pulled your thrashing body towards him to have a better hold on you, to silence you. You didn't stop fighting and even bit his fingers to prevent him from restraining your voice.

You both stopped struggling with each other when suddenly a bloodcurdling roar erupted from behind you.

The small group turned around and encountered the looming figure of Akail. He had found you, like the clever boy he was.

Admittedly, it had been quite a sight. His body trembled with fury, his back arched and his mandibles flared. The armor and equipment that had been taken from him were now back in his possession and on his body. Even from this distance, you could see the blood as if he had bathed in it.

Blood that was now also on the hideous white suit you were wearing.

Out of fear, and maybe it really just had been a reflex, the man holding you pushed you away.

Luckily — more or less, depending if you were either the big, enraged alien or the tiny, terrified human — you landed on your knees and the hand outstretched trying to catch you, the other hand wrapped around your swollen belly as an instinctive protective mechanism. The impact hurt, but at least your pup remained unharmed.

It had been the wrong thing to do, really. Watching someone hurt you and, thus, possibly his unborn brother drove him feral. All it took was one tearful look from you and he charged for your captors.

You scrambled to the wall and out of his attack zone. Closing your eyes, you only listened as one by one died in one painful way or another.

You were used to the most obscure, disgusting, and repulsive corpses as you and your mate occasionally went on hunting trips at home. However, the whole situation — from you being captured, the imprisonment, you not knowing what had happened to your son and how he was doing, to the present moment — had pushed you to your limit.

When the helpless pleas and painful screams finally died down, you felt two big hands picking you up. You buried your face into his muscular chest, preventing you from catching even a second's glimpse of the bloody masses around you.

It was over, you tried to compose yourself.

Akail was still running, not faltering once. His mind was set on one thing and one thing only — getting you to the safety of your Scout Ship.

Soon, you reached a familiar river and a clearing. Your tensed shoulders relaxed when you saw its massive outline. The humans may have said that they had found the ship, but it was still there where you had left it. Apparently, they had not made any move yet to transport it to their base.

You sighed happily. It meant one step closer to home.

Although you were now in safe surroundings, Akail did not put you down and carried you until you reached the belly of the ship where he kept his weapons and gear such as his masks and armor. You smiled up at him when he seated you on top of the huge workbench occupying the middle of the room where he normally repaired or worked on his equipment. The glass surface cooled your adrenaline-heated skin.

Akail exited the room while you settled into a more comfortable position, legs dangling slightly as you looked down at your baby bump and stroked it. You closed your eyes and listened to your inner voice. There was no pain, no other feeling close to discomfort that should worry you. In fact, you felt your sweetling kick against your hand.

You heard the well-known clicks of Akail, announcing you weren't alone anymore. He was back, holding familiar gadgets in his hands. One of them was two earpieces that translated every spoken word of a Yautja in real time. They were created especially for you and practically disappeared when you wore them, making your ears appear perfectly normal as if they weren't even there. The other gadget was a tight-fitting necklace made out of black metal with silver accents that translated your words into the Yautja language.

Their technology did wonders. The way both things worked was way beyond your comprehension.

The moment the earpieces were in your ears and the necklace was around your neck, Akail asked, "Mother, how you feeling?"

Thanks to the workbench, you were more or less at eye level so you could put a hand on his cheek, your thumb stroking the scale-like skin, as he nuzzled into it. "I'm fine, my little warrior." You reassured him.

You felt his clawed hand gently press against your stomach.

You chuckled. "Yes, your little mei'hswei is fine, too." As if to confirm your words, your pup started to kick against his brother's hand. "See?"

Akail shook his head, the clicking sounds growing urgent.

You sighed. "I promise, as soon as we arrive home I will go to Cahrein. He will survey me to confirm that everything is fine."

That seemed to soothe him as he nodded. "Good."

You smiled up at him and cupped his cheeks to pull him closer so you could reach his forehead to place a gentle kiss there. He immediately started making a purring noise. You had to suppress a laugh at that reaction. Instead, the smile on your lips widened.

No matter how many trophies he owned, demonstrating he was a killing machine, no matter that he was the son of a clan leader, no matter that he was Blooded, showing his level of maturity — he was still your little boy who sometimes longed for the comfortable and safe embrace of his mother's arms.

At this moment, Akail felt like he was set back into the time when he was just a pup. It actually happened every time his mother showered him with affection.

When he was a Youngling, barely reaching your hip, some of the Un-Blooded — all still immature and not yet careful with their words like teenagers in their puberty on Earth — had harassed him about his non-Yautja part even though he was the pure image of his father, no indicator that he was partly human.

Already in his young years, he had developed a need to protect you. As soon as even one of them mentioned either your name or the word ooman, he landed the first punch which had degenerated into a fight which he mostly lost with his smaller size and his little combat experience compared to theirs. He lied to you about how he got the injuries when you tended to them. He didn't want to worry you, didn't want to tell you how those stupid, thoughtless Un-Blooded had disrespected you.

As he grew older and bigger, his father training him hard, the harassment stopped and turned into more friendly, harmless teasing coming from his friends and those with whom he had trained for the initiation hunt. They didn't dare to treat you any other way than the mate of the Clan Leader deserved to be treated — with respect, obedience, acceptance, and appreciation. You were who you were, but with the things you've done in your years since arriving on Yautja Prime, you'd proven yourself.

From his friends, he had learned that Yautja mothers stopped pampering their pups the second they touched a weapon to train to be hunters.

"Too much coddling and spoiling love made you soft."

That's what every Youngling grew up with, but here he was. He was one of the strongest, one of the most determined, and one of the most promising Yautja in his clan, maybe even on his planet. Expectations were high considering who his father was and he would one day be following in his huge (figurative) footsteps, which he hoped to eventually fill.

And all that with a human who never stopped showing him her motherly love since the day he was born.

He was proud you were his mother, thankful, never ashamed. He would never dare to feel any different about you, not when you had stood against all odds to carry him in your belly and fought against death to give birth to him. That made you stronger than any other Yautja mother and he would never think about trading you to be pureblooded.

While his father forged him into a great and powerful fighter, showed him to be strong-willed, hard-working, and brave — the typical journey for Yautja to become hunters and respectable members of a clan — you had taught him mercy, thoughtfulness, and compassion. You tried to teach him at least a few things that were of great value on Earth, things that demonstrated that his mixed genetic heritage made him much more diverse than others.

"I'm going to contact your father to tell him we will be home soon." You suddenly said.

Akail stepped aside to make room for you to get off the working bench. He offered you a hand when you started to struggle with the height of it and gently helped you get your feet on the solid metal ground of the ship. While you waddled to your quarters, he turned to the door leading to the cockpit to start the engines and finally get off this damn planet.

The ship was built in such a way that you didn't even feel it take off a few seconds later while you pressed the right buttons to reach your mate. With one hand on your stomach, you turned around and encountered the holographic image of Mi'ytiar being projected into the center of the room by a device built into the ceiling.

You let out a shaky but happy breath. "My love." You greeted him with a relieved smile as he reached out to place his large hand on the side of your face, the palm on your cheek and his clawed fingers in your hair.

Usually, you would lean into his touch, but since that hand was only a projection, you kept your head still to at least give him the illusion that you were standing in front of him.

You wished you were standing in front of him. You longed for him. You missed him so, so much.

You watched his beautiful eyes dart over your face and then to the strange cloth you were wearing, looking for any signs that indicated the blood on it was yours.

"Yawne, what happened?" He demanded, his voice hard but concerned.

You bit your lower lip, already anticipating his reaction.

Mi'ytiar was calm and composed when it came to sticky situations, but his temper quickly overwhelmed him when it came to you. Last time he had challenged an Elder of all people who simply had handled you with more strength than necessary, completely forgetting that humans were far frailer than his kind. It had been merely an accident, but it had turned into a disaster.

So the first thing you wanted to do was to reassure him as you said, "I'm fine."

His mandibles flared, a hiss escaping his lips. "What happened?"

You sighed. "Humans. They captured Akail." You wrapped your arms around yourself. "They used the control on his arm to find the ship." You paused for a moment and sighed. "I left it for some fresh air. They found me outside and brought me to the same facility they took our son to."

Predicting his answer, you forestalled him before he could even open his mouth. "No! Don't say it." You hissed.

Mi'ytiar straightened his slightly bent position towards you in surprise. He looked at you with his head cocked to his side, not breaking the intense eye contact.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally relented and lowered his head. The gesture always made you feel powerful. It meant submission; only with you, never others.

Proud of yourself, you squared your shoulders and held your head high.

Sometimes, there were minor disagreements between you and your mate, but instead of arguing, you both only looked at each other while a silent battle was fought between your gazes. Mi'ytiar always backed down first, secretly loving your dominance but also cursing your stubbornness.

You were his Life Mate, the human female he treated as his equal. Wholly fascinated and smitten by your softness and loving nature, he was wrapped around your finger and would bend to your will. You had a certain power over him and you loved it, knowing that a being like him was capable of acting this way.

"I know I should have listened to you. You told me to stay within the safety of the ship and I should have listened to you. But I didn't and I put our pup in danger. I'm sorry, tanhì." You admitted, looking up at him with wide, apologetic eyes.

"Akail?"

"He freed himself and then me." You answered before adding in a whisper, "He killed everyone."

His mandibles clicking, he said, "Good." before eyeing the suit sullenly.

Mi'ytiar didn't mind seeing you bloody. In fact, there had been times when the prey the two of you had been hunting together had bled all over you, which had aroused him to the point where he had just grabbed you and fucked you on the forest floor.

But he didn't like this, not at all. The color wasn't right. It was too red, too human. The possibility that it could be yours worried him far too much.

But it wasn't yours. You had told him so and deep down he knew that, but it made him feel unsettled nonetheless.

In the meantime, you watched him and the hardly noticeable change in his eyes. He was very caring, something you loved the most about him, so you planned on putting him at ease when you reached behind you to open the suit. The light fabric slipped down your body and gathered at your feet. You stepped out of it and kicked it away with your foot.

Now you stood in front of him in all your naked glory. Your plan must have worked because he didn't hesitate to step forward and engulf your now much more visible stomach with his clawed hand. His infatuation with your pregnant body was beyond you.

Three months into your first pregnancy, a neighboring clan visited yours for feasts and a hunt. There, you got to know a woman named Vulpine, the first human you ever met on Yautja Prime. She was soon to be mated with her Yautja who had only recently decided to commit himself fully to her, thus renouncing any sexual or even romantic relationship with other females. That's how the concept of being Life Mates worked, after all.

You pestered her with questions. Not only how long she had been here, how she was coping with life on this strange planet and who her Yautja was, but also how he treated her in a pregnant state. Turns out, the only Yautja who was that infatuated with his mate being pregnant was Mi'ytiar.

Another thing was that he had been over the moon when you had finally voiced out your wish to carry his pup. He had taken such great care of you during your pregnancy, coddling you, literally hovering over you, not letting you out of his sight.

You had always wondered why he had been acting this way — maybe it was due to the fact that you were human and, therefore, you and your body were just different — but you never thought it was necessary to actually question him about it.

After a while, you said, "We'll be home soon, my love."

"Good." Mi'ytiar replied, nodding. "I will await you."

And that's what he did.

As soon as the ship landed, the ramp extended and the door opened, you saw Mi'ytiar standing there, waiting. You didn't even hesitate to rush to him. He responded by lowering himself to one knee and reaching out to you, catching you when you threw yourself into his arms.

His mandibles clicked happily when he finally could touch you again and feel his unborn pup. He had missed you both so dearly. To be closer to his little one, he made himself even smaller, almost sitting on the floor, and pressed his forehead on your stomach while one hand rested on your hip and the other on the back of your thigh. Purring, he enjoyed the familiar closeness to his sweetling.

You were a mess, bursting with emotions — those goddamn pregnancy hormones — as you ran your fingers through his dreadlocks, felt their warmth and fleshy texture, and played with one of the golden rings Mi'ytiar used to style it, as you liked to call it.

While the two of you were completely engaged with each other, not caring what happened around you, you hadn't noticed how your son had also eventually left the ship to join the both of you.

"Father." Akail greeted, announcing his presence.

Mi'ytiar lifted his head before pulling away from you to stand up. As was customary for Yautja, he placed a hand on Akail's shoulder in greeting and shook it slightly. Then he grabbed his son's upper arms with his hands, Akail doing the same, and they both put their foreheads together. They stayed like that for a moment before pulling away to talk.

You didn't feel like you had to listen to them, so you didn't, but you watched them with a smile. There stood your favorite people in the universe, your family, your whole world.

Soon, Mi'ytiar turned around and made his way back to you. Before you could say anything, he put one arm under your armpits and one under your knees, lifting you up. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he carried you away, knowing him to Cahrein, the healer.

You liked Cahrein and the feeling was mutual. He was responsible for tending to the wounded and sick, helped the females during their pregnancies and birth, provided ingredients, and maintained tools for the Medicomp when Yautja went on off-world hunts.

He was rather serious and professional, but you could see the curious excitement when Mi'ytiar first had brought you to him. You were a whole different species to him, something new he could learn about.

It was nothing unusual for your mate to accompany you on your check-ups, so Cahrein thankfully didn't ask any questions, only saying a word when he confirmed what you had already told both, the father and brother of the pup — everything was fine.

That was all Mi'ytiar needed to know before he dragged you away and to your home where he shed you of your clothes and fucked you like a wild animal that was starved of your touch, sating his needs.

It felt like hours had passed when your sweaty and naked body slumped back against Mi'ytiar's torso, exhausted and fully satisfied. Mi'ytiar nuzzled into the hair on the back of your head.

While you were still trying to catch your breath, he regarded the bite mark he had left on your shoulder out of the corner of his eye. The sharp tips of his mandibles had broken into the skin on the front and back of your upper arm, your shoulder blade, and the spot of your chest where your heart was still beating frantically. Meanwhile, his teeth had dug into the edge of your shoulder, making it bleed.

You squirmed in his lap when he licked the dried blood to clean you.

When he was done, he gently took a hold of your hair to put it over your shoulder and out of the way. His eyes fixed on the second bite mark. This one he had placed on the nape of your neck. When he was done cleaning you there too, he chattered happily, proud that he had so evidently marked you as his own.

You tilted your head back to look at him. "What?"

"It never was able with other female." He said, "Marking."

You tensed at that before you lowered your head with your lips pressed together. You knew you were acting like a child when he placed his index and middle finger on your cheek to turn your head to look at him, but you stubbornly refused to do so. You even leaned forward to break the skin contact between your back and his torso. You had to bite your bottom lip to stifle a moan as his cock was still inside you, keeping his seed where it belonged. Even in its now soft state, it was still able to send pleasure down your spine.

Although you knew that only some Yautja were permanently bonded to each other and most of them had several mating partners, you had totally forgotten that he, of course, had been with other females before you. In fact, you had never really thought about it. The thought had never occurred to you as he had always been entirely devoted to you.

Irrational jealousy took hold of you. Of course, it was completely normal for one's partner to have been with others before you. That's how it worked on Earth, too. Nothing special, nothing unusual, and yet you hated it.

You had been 26 when Mi'ytiar took you with him. A year earlier, you had broken up with a boy you had been dating for two years, and you had a few one-night stands before and after that. You had never cared about their former partners.

Now you did.

"What is it, yawne?"

"Nothing." You mumbled, your lips twisted into a defiant pout. "It's just… I never thought about other females having you like this." You were still facing away from him as you continued, "It makes my blood boil knowing someone else has had you before me."

A strange possessive feeling surged through you as you turned around to look him straight in the eye. "You are mine, only mine." You said before turning back around, resulting in you not noticing him almost bursting with pride.

You were lost in your thoughts, completely missing his low, rumbling laugh. He thought you were adorable like this, secretly wallowing in your possessiveness. It made him happy, knowing he was able to elicit such feelings from you.

The next thought you voiced out was one you had back in the days when you still felt unworthy as the Life Mate of the great Mi'ytiar. "It makes me question why you chose me of all people to be bound to you forever and to bear you pups, something I never even thought would be possible. They easily could have given them to you."

Now that you said it out loud, you realized one thing in horror — pups.

Pups with other females. His pups with other females. His pups with someone who wasn't you. How did you never think about that too?! He never had mentioned them, not that you knew, but if…

"They could not." Mi'ytiar interrupted your panicking thoughts.

"What?" You turned your upper body to look at him, his honest eyes looking back.

With his help, you fully turned around in his lap to face him without losing the closest, most intimate connection you both still had: between your legs. He placed his hands on your waist to pull you as close as your stomach would allow.

"I provide for clan in many ways. I am leader. I lead, I protect and I care for them. It is honorable to strengthen clan with pups. Only my seed never took. No female carried my pup. It was shameful to not provide clan with pups. Especially as leader."

He paused to play with a loose strand of your hair. His fascination with it wasn't something you couldn't quite understand, but you didn't mind.

"When you and I met, you was what I wanted. Objections were made when I dedicated my being to you, but I did not care. I could not provide with pups anyway." He told you. "I forgot about them. I only wanted you, yawne."

"I only wanted you, too." You replied, smiling up at him. "Do you remember when we became Life Mates and you introduced me to a group of females so they could teach me more about the planet, the clan, the dynamics in it, and such? They taught me all the things the mate of a clan leader needed to know."

One of those had been the mating act. You laughed quietly when you thought back to your reaction as they told you that fighting for submission was something like foreplay to them. First, the male had to succeed before the mating act could start. It certainly explained why Mi'ytiar had been confused the first time you had sex.

The affection and trust you had for him had been finally big enough that you decided to get involved with him in a more intimate way. Until then, he had waited for you to give him permission to mate with you. You would never have credited him with such patience, but you hadn't been the only one who had learned about his kind. While you took your time to get used to your new life, he had also learned about humans.

Not enough, apparently, because he had looked at you in astonishment like you were broken when you had just let him take off your clothes — clothing that was based on the Yautja style, made of leather, fur and, after a short trip back to Earth, thankfully also soft cotton — and you let him manhandle you.

But you did snap at him when he had been too rough and you had needed more time to get used to this new feeling. After your first time together, it was your turn to teach a Yautja about you, about the female body and what it needed before he could ravish you, how he could pleasure it and take care of it.

"One of the females was pregnant at that time." You continued, "And I wanted that, too. I wanted to carry your pup."

"And you did, yawne." Mi'ytiar purred. "Made me so happy when you told me you wanted my pup." He turned your body to sit sideways on his lap so he could pull you in with one hand for a cuddle while the other rested on your belly. "You gave what no female could. Proof I am not failure." He nuzzled into the side of your head. "You are parul, my miracle."

You opened your mouth to tell him that, of course, he wasn't a failure, but you closed it again, deciding to let him have his moment. Instead, you put your hand on the back of his head and pulled him closer to you.

You both fell into a comfortable silence, only his purring filling the air.

continue with the third part He Shan't Lose

[thegnomelord]

speaking of unorthodox mating: scorpionflies! my favourite thanks to entomology and them being very useful 🦂 mainly because they mate on top of fresh corpses. wonder what ghost of any of 141 you choose from would react to such a colorful mate

I doubt any of them would be all that happy fucking on top of a dead dude, Ghost especially seeing he got stuck in a coffin with one before becoming a wraith, but you coming back to them, covered in dirt and so much enemy blood you look like a butcher? Oh yeah, instant boner.

CW:NSFW, reader is some kind of insect monster idk this is quick and rough

GHOST - The second he registers the blood on you, and the fact you shed blood to protect him, tickles something in his brain. It's the knowledge that despite him being able to protect himself, he has someone to look out for him. . . . it has something needy and hungry stirring inside him.

Before you know it he's pulling you to a secluded nook, claws made of solid shadow tearing your belt open so he can swallow your cock down, pearly tears smudging the dark face paint around his eyes as your cock pushes past his gag reflex, smiling around your length when you answer in a chitter of your mandibles, your claws gripping his head as you fuck his mouth.

SOAP - Oh, he's not even waiting to get somewhere private. Everything with wolves is a social affair so the second the enemy's dead and the bullets have stopped raining down on you two, he's right next to you, full body rubbing against you like a bear scratching against a tree. It makes his fur and your clothes matted with blood and werewolf hair, whining and growling for your attention as he scents you and grows progressively more aroused by the second because holy shit, you smell like death and war and such a potent mate.

It takes you serious effort to pull him somewhere more private before Price yells at you two, and before you can even open your pants Soap's already on the floor, head down and ass up, tail raised even higher and still wagging as slick leaks from his hole. He howls like a bitch when you push into him, going completely slack as soon as your sharp mandibles clamp down on his scruff — not enough to draw blood, but strong enough to hold him down as you plow into him.

GAZ - He's a lot more sneaky about his attraction, acting like a doting mate when you two sit in the plane back to base, wiping away the blood that had congealed on your wings and elytra, chirping so sweetly to every little chitter and click you make, fingers reverently tracing your bloodied mandibles to the point the other's are complaining about you two being an old married couple.

His moans are equally as sweet as he begs to feel those sharp mandibles around his throat as you fuck him into the mattress, his wings pinned down beneath him and fully trapped like he's a piece of meat for you to consume. It's the danger of what your dangerous mandibles can do added to the knowledge you'd never hurt him that has him cumming in record timing, chirps broken up by hiccups as you just continue to fuck him.

PRICE - Oh, he holds out the longest, face and tone of voice betraying nothing as he tells you to get cleaned up, while inside he's purring like a tractor. He knows he shouldn't feel like this, that it's more than wrong fraternizing with you when he's your captain, but the way you'd looked covered in blood does something to him.

His claws rake down your front as he rides you slow and deep, slitted pupils taking in every little twitch of your wings and click of the mandibles, your desperate moans stroking his draconic pride as you beg to let you cum. And Price just tuts, "Come on, wouldn't want to disappoint me now?" He says, voice like a honeyed sticky trap, and you can do nothing but nod your head and try to hold on while Price tests your sanity by riding you into the early hours of the morning.

[moonselune]

I love your writing and especially how you write the dark companions! If you could, could you write the Dark Companions with a Chaos Magic! Tav (willing) causing a big and destructive accident at their homes? Tav likes to get experimental with how their magic works but sometimes they play with the settings too much and boom.

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Dark!BG3 | Chaos

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For: Conqueror!Minthara, MotherSuperior!Shadowheart, God!Gale, Ascended!Astarion, Naturist!Halsin, GrandDuke!Wyll

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

CW: Controlling, manipulation, coercion, injury, forced memory loss

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Conqueror Minthara:

The training yard was quiet, too quiet for someone like you. You thrived in chaos, and the humdrum of Minthara’s disciplined soldiers drilling and training day in and day out was suffocating. What harm could a little experiment do to liven things up? After all, wasn’t chaos what she admired most about you? So, with a mischievous grin and sparks of chaotic energy dancing at your fingertips, you began to weave your spell.

Your goal was simple—or so you thought. Enhance the soldiers’ abilities, make them faster, deadlier, maybe even a touch more intimidating. A few tweaks here and there, and you could gift Minthara an army like no other. But chaos magic, as always, had its own ideas.

The air crackled with unstable energy, and the spell spiraled out of your control faster than you could react. The soldiers began to shift, their bodies contorting grotesquely. Limbs multiplied, eyes emerged in clusters, and chitinous armor replaced skin. Within moments, Minthara’s proud warriors had been transformed into a horde of spiders—some small and quick, others massive and terrifying, their mandibles clicking menacingly.

You stared at your handiwork, equal parts horrified and impressed. They certainly were intimidating, and you couldn’t help but marvel at their newfound monstrous beauty. Still, this wasn’t exactly what you’d planned, and the sound of heavy footsteps approaching—accompanied by Minthara’s unmistakable booming voice—snapped you out of your reverie.

“What in the Abyss is going on here?!” her voice rang out, sharp and commanding. Before you could even think of an excuse, Minthara stormed into the clearing, her eyes widening at the sight of her mutated soldiers.

Her gaze snapped to you, fiery and accusing, and you barely had time to react before she grabbed you by the front of your robes and slammed you against the nearest wall. The impact knocked the air from your lungs, but you quickly plastered on your sweetest, most innocent smile.

“My love,” you purred, your tone honeyed, “I can explain.”

Minthara’s grip tightened, her strength as fearsome as ever.

“I don’t want explanations,” she hissed, her face inches from yours. “I want to know what you’ve done to my soldiers!”

“It was an accident!” you protested, your voice laced with faux sweetness. “I was experimenting with ways to make them... better. Stronger. More terrifying for your enemies. Just look at them!” You gestured toward the scuttling mass of spiders with a flourish. “Aren’t they magnificent?”

Minthara’s eyes narrowed, her expression caught somewhere between fury and disbelief.

“Magnificent? You turned my warriors into monsters! How am I supposed to lead a campaign with this?” she demanded, though her gaze flickered briefly to one particularly large spider, its glossy black carapace shimmering in the torchlight. You leaned in as much as her hold allowed, your voice softening.

“But they’re your monsters, my dear. Your favorite little creatures, aren’t they?” You gave her your most winning smile, as though that would smooth over the utter chaos you’d unleashed.

Minthara glared at you, her lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, you thought she might truly lose her temper, and your heart raced as you scrambled to think of something—anything—to defuse the situation.

Tentatively, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, testing her resolve. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

Her eyes softened, just a fraction at the bewildrerment of your audacity to just kiss your cheek at a time like this, and she let out a long, exasperated sigh.

“You’re lucky I tolerate your madness,” she muttered, releasing her grip on your robes. “But do not mistake my patience for leniency.”

Feigning a wounded look, you placed a hand over your heart. “You wound me, Minthara. I thought you loved me for my chaos.”

She turned away, her gaze sweeping over the mutated soldiers with a mixture of disgust and reluctant acceptance.

“I do,” she admitted, her voice low, “but there are limits.”

You stepped closer, emboldened by her words, and wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling her into a possessive kiss. Your lips pressed against hers with a fervor that made her stiffen for a moment before she melted into your embrace. When you finally pulled back, her expression was conflicted, her eyes alight with a mixture of annoyance and something deeper.

“Don’t push it,” she warned, her voice steady but softer now.

You smirked, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But admit it, my love—you wouldn’t want me any other way.”

Minthara’s lips quirked into the faintest of smiles, and though she rolled her eyes, you could see the flicker of affection in her gaze. As she turned her attention back to the chaos you had created, you couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. She might grumble and scold, but deep down, you knew she loved you for the chaos you brought into her life—even if it meant turning her soldiers into spiders.

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Mother Superior Shadowheart:

The dimly lit chamber had been alive with reverence and devotion just moments ago, the Sharran faithful gathered in solemn worship. Their low chanting filled the air like a dark melody, a display of absolute obedience and purpose that you knew Shadowheart valued deeply. Of course, where she saw discipline and grace, you saw an irresistible opportunity for chaos.

Experimenting with your magic was practically second nature, and the rigid solemnity of the scene practically begged for a little disruption. A flick of your wrist, a whispered incantation, and—boom.

The room was consumed by a flash of violet and black light, and when the smoke cleared, the kneeling Sharrans were gone. In their place was a scattered array of glittering obsidian jewelry—rings, pendants, even a particularly elegant brooch—all lying where the devotees had once been. You tilted your head, inspecting the results with a mixture of pride and amusement.

“Well,” you said, breaking the heavy silence. “That wasn’t exactly what I was going for, but look at the craftsmanship! Stunning.”

Behind you, Shadowheart’s sharp intake of breath was the only warning before she whirled to face you. Her expression was a tempest of shock, anger, and disbelief.

“What,” she hissed, her voice dangerously low, “have you done?”

You turned to her with a wide grin, holding up a particularly intricate pendant.

“Relax, darling. They’re not gone, not really. They’re just... improved! Look at this one—it’s gorgeous.” You turned the pendant toward the dim torchlight, admiring the way it caught the faint glow. “I mean, it really brings out the essence of Shar, don’t you think?”

Shadowheart pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering a prayer to Shar under her breath, though you had a feeling it was less about devotion and more about patience.

“Fix it,” she demanded, her tone steely. You picked up another piece—a delicate obsidian ring—and turned to her with a playful smile.

“This one, though. This one would look incredible on you.” You held it up, as if presenting a gift. “Go on, try it. You’d look like the embodiment of Shar herself.”

Her gaze hardened, though a flicker of amusement danced behind her stern expression.

“Fix it,” she repeated. “Now.”

You sighed dramatically, leaning against the altar and turning the ring in your fingers. “Only if you say please.”

Shadowheart’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing. “The Mother Superior does not say please.”

You grinned, letting the ring clink softly back onto the altar.

“Good,” you said breezily, “because I have absolutely no idea how to turn them back.”

Her expression faltered, a flicker of disbelief giving way to a sigh that was equal parts exasperation and reluctant fondness.

“Why am I not surprised?” she muttered, stepping closer to you.

“Hey,” you protested lightly, holding your hands up in mock innocence. “In my defense, this was a very high-level experiment. And,” you added with a sly smile, “if you think about it, this is a kind of devotion. They’re serving Shar eternally now, as fashion statements. I call that commitment.”

Shadowheart let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she looked at you.

“You are insufferable,” she said, but her tone had softened, a glint of affection warming her words. “And yet... I can’t seem to stay angry with you.”

You straightened, your grin widening. “That’s because you love me.”

She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth lifted ever so slightly. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Come on, admit it,” you teased, leaning closer. “You adore me and my chaotic ways.”

Shadowheart’s hand reached up, surprising you as she cupped your cheek gently.

“You’re reckless and infuriating,” she murmured, her thumb brushing over your skin, “but yes, I adore you.”

The words sent a thrill through you, and you leaned into her touch, savoring the rare affection she offered so freely in this moment.

“See?” you said, your voice soft and teasing. “You’re not so scary when you’re being sweet.”

“Don’t test me,” she warned, though her smile betrayed her. “Now, fix this—or try to.”

You hesitated, your mind already buzzing with a dozen excuses, but before you could respond, the obsidian jewelry began to glow faintly, vibrating where it lay. Slowly, the shimmering forms of the Sharrans began to reappear, their chanting resuming as if nothing had happened.

“Well,” you said, stepping back with a satisfied grin. “Problem solved. See? I didn’t even need to lift a finger.”

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow, her gaze lingering on you. “You’re lucky it resolved itself.”

“Lucky?” you repeated, feigning indignation. “Please. That was all part of my brilliant plan.”

Shadowheart shook her head, but this time she pulled you closer, her arms wrapping around your waist.

“You’re reckless and foolish,” she murmured again, her lips brushing against your forehead. “But you’re mine. Just... try not to turn my acolytes into accessories again.”

“No promises,” you teased, leaning in to steal a quick kiss.

Her laughter was soft, but her hold on you tightened briefly, as if grounding herself in the chaos you brought to her world.

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God of Ambition Gale:

It started as one of your more ambitious experiments, a blend of chaos magic and raw creativity, designed to bring a spark of inspiration to the mundane, dull mortal realm. You thrived in chaos, but there was something uniquely satisfying about crafting chaos that could be useful—or so you told yourself as you conjured a small, shimmering creature into existence.

Its body glimmered like liquid starlight, constantly shifting and pulsing with energy, and its eyes sparkled with a mischievous intelligence. It was a muse made manifest, a creature designed to inspire boundless creativity in anyone it touched.

You held the little beast in your hands, its soft purring vibrations tickling your palms.

“Perfect,” you murmured to yourself, admiring your handiwork. “This little guy is going to change the world.”

Your first test subject was a sleepy mortal village nestled in a picturesque valley. With a wave of your hand and a whispered incantation, you sent the creature spiraling down to the mortal plane, watching with eager curiosity as it darted between homes and into the lives of the unsuspecting villagers.

Gale stood beside you in his domain, his arms crossed, his expression a mix of skepticism and intrigue.

“You do realize these things never go as planned,” he said, his tone laced with dry humor.

“Oh, ye of little faith, God of Ambition,” you replied, grinning as you conjured an ethereal window to observe your experiment. “Watch and learn.”

The results were immediate. The villagers, once ordinary and unimaginative, became suddenly, brilliantly creative. Paintings adorned walls, melodies filled the air, and intricate sculptures sprang up seemingly overnight. The drudgery of daily life transformed into a vibrant tapestry of artistic expression. Gale raised an eyebrow as he watched, his lips quirking into a reluctant smile.

“Well,” he admitted, “I must say, I expected worse.”

“See?” you said smugly, leaning back and gesturing toward the scene below. “I’ve created something wonderful.”

For a moment, you basked in the glory of your creation, the little muse flitting about the village like a benevolent sprite, igniting inspiration wherever it went. But then... something shifted.

One by one, the villagers began to grow pale, their vitality waning as their art became more fevered, more frantic. Their joy turned to obsession, their creations taking on a dark, almost desperate edge. You leaned forward, your grin fading into a frown.

“Uh-oh,” you muttered.

Gale let out a long-suffering sigh, already anticipating what was to come.

“Let me guess,” he said, his tone heavy with resignation. “It feeds off them.”

Before you could respond, the first villager collapsed, their body withering into nothingness as the muse absorbed the last of their life force. The creature grew larger, its shimmering body now tinged with ominous hues of red and black. It moved on to the next villager, then the next, its hunger insatiable.

“Well,” you said with an awkward laugh, scratching the back of your neck. “I mean... no experiment is perfect.”

Gale gave you a withering look, his fingers already crackling with power. “You’re lucky I’m here to clean up your messes.”

“Wait, wait!” you protested, grabbing his arm. “It’s not that bad! Maybe they’re fine? Or—or maybe this is just part of its process! Artistic sacrifices and all that? Ambition demands a price.”

Gale didn’t dignify your excuses with a response. With a sharp snap of his fingers, a beam of radiant energy lanced from his hand, striking the creature below. It let out a piercing, otherworldly cry before disintegrating into a shower of harmless starlight. The villagers who remained collapsed in exhaustion, their lives spared, but their inspiration gone.

You pouted, crossing your arms as Gale turned back to you. “You didn’t even let me try to fix it.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression unimpressed. “And how exactly were you planning to fix a creature that consumes its muses? By giving it a snack and hoping for the best?”

You opened your mouth to argue but found yourself at a loss for words.

“Well... maybe,” you admitted finally.

Gale sighed again, rubbing his temples. “Next time, perhaps test your creations somewhere a little less populated. Or better yet, not at all.”

You smirked, leaning closer to him. “Admit it, though. It was kind of brilliant.”

“It was chaos,” he replied, though his lips twitched with the faintest hint of a smile. “But then again, that’s why I keep you around.”

You beamed, wrapping your arms around his waist. “See? You can’t resist my brilliance—or my chaos.”

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “One day, your chaos is going to be the end of my immortal existence.”

“But not today,” you teased, already conjuring ideas for your next experiment.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Ascended Astarion:

The moment the radiant sphere erupted in your hands, you knew you had made a catastrophic mistake. Warm, golden daylight spilled out, illuminating the room in a way the Underdark had never seen before. For a heartbeat, it was beautiful, shimmering rays glinting off the stone walls like a living masterpiece. And then you heard it—the anguished screams and hisses of Astarion’s vampire spawn as the light enveloped them.

You turned slowly, your heart sinking as you watched them disintegrate into heaps of ash, one after another, their forms crumbling away until all that remained was silence and piles of fine, gray dust scattered across the floor.

The sphere flickered and faded, leaving you standing in the aftermath of your chaotic magic experiment, the air heavy with the acrid scent of burning. You winced, the gravity of what you’d done crashing down on you.

Before you could even think of how to explain yourself, you felt it—Astarion’s piercing gaze. Slowly, you turned to see him standing in the doorway, his face a picture of perfect, seething stillness. One elegant finger raised, stopping you in your tracks before you could utter a single syllable.

“Not. A. Word.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but his crimson eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint warning you against testing his patience.

“But—” you tried, your voice small and hopeful.

“Not.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a velvet growl that could freeze the very air. “A single word.”

Your shoulders slumped, and you glanced down at the ash piles surrounding you.

“It wasn’t intentional,” you murmured, unable to resist defending yourself.

“Hush!” Astarion hissed sharply, his hand cutting through the air like a blade. His tone was less a command and more a promise that any further protests would be deeply unwise.

You bit your lip, trying to look contrite, though your inherent nature made it difficult not to fidget. “I mean, technically—”

“Technically?” Astarion’s voice dripped with incredulity, and his perfectly arched brow shot up. “Technically, my beloved spawn are now piles of ash. Technically, you just obliterated potential centuries of loyalty and power. But by all means, technically explain yourself.”

You winced, taking a small step back, only to realize that you were leaving a footprint in what was once one of his favorite lieutenants.

Astarion noticed too, his gaze dropping to the ashes before rising back to meet yours with an expression so icy it could freeze the very sun that had caused this debacle. He exhaled slowly, a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“You are,” he began, his tone eerily calm, “so incredibly, unbelievably lucky that I love you more than anything else in this wretched world.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned by the declaration, but before you could bask in it, he continued.

“Because if anyone else—and I do mean anyone—had dared to incinerate my progeny, they would have found themselves meeting the same fate without hesitation.”

You couldn’t help but grin, your chaotic nature sparking in your expression. “So you do love me more than anyone else.”

“Do not test me.” His tone was flat, but there was no missing the faint twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips.

You stepped forward cautiously, brushing some ash off your hands in an awkward attempt at tidying up.

“To be fair,” you began, choosing your words carefully, “it was an accident. I was trying to conjure something... atmospheric.”

“Atmospheric,” he repeated, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Yes,” you said, nodding fervently. “Like... ambiance! Who doesn’t love a little sunlight?”

Astarion’s eyes narrowed, his patience visibly wearing thin.

“Darling,” he said, his voice dangerously sweet, “you are the only person in existence who could accidentally decimate my inner circle and then attempt to justify it as an improvement to the mood lighting.”

You shrugged, managing a sheepish smile. “Well, you did give me sun resilience. So really, this was a sign of my gratitude!”

Astarion let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head as if trying to make sense of the chaos that was you.

“I don’t know whether to throttle you or kiss you senseless,” he muttered.

You tilted your head, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “I’d vote for kissing. It’s a much better use of our time.”

For a moment, Astarion simply stared at you, his expression torn between exasperation and adoration. Finally, he stepped forward, his cold fingers tilting your chin up as he leaned in close.

“You,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours, “are an absolute menace.”

“And yet,” you replied, your smile blooming as you kissed him softly, “you love me for it.”

Astarion sighed against your lips, his arms winding around you despite the mess you’d made. “Unfortunately for me, I do.”

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Naturist Halsin:

The spell had seemed like a good idea at the time. You had been sitting in the heart of the grove, surrounded by nature’s endless beauty, and your chaotic mind had begun to itch with ideas. Surely, a little magical boost could elevate this place even further—make it a sanctuary unlike any other. A burst of inspiration struck, and you channeled your chaotic magic with all the finesse you could muster, shaping it into something you hoped would enhance the grove's splendor.

The result, however, was not quite what you intended.

Flowers erupted from the druids around you—not sprouting from the earth, but from their very bodies. Roses tore through flesh with violent grace, twisting stems of ivy coiled around limbs like serpents, and delicate petals unfurled from places they were never meant to grow. It was horrifying and beautiful all at once, a grotesque display of life overtaking life.

The grove now stood transformed into a macabre garden, vibrant blooms swaying gently in the wind as if proud of their horrific origins. You stared at your work, hands still outstretched, your eyes wide.

“Oh... oh no,” you muttered under your breath, already bracing for the inevitable lecture.

It didn’t take long for Halsin to appear, striding through the chaos like a wolf stalking its prey. His presence was a calming one, though it only made your heart hammer harder in anticipation of the reprimand you surely deserved. You turned to him, words of apology tumbling to your lips before you could even think them through.

“Halsin, I—I was trying to make the grove more beautiful! I didn’t mean for... this,” you said, gesturing helplessly to the floral carnage. “I can fix it, I swear—”

He cut you off with a raised hand, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the scene. For a long, agonizing moment, he said nothing, his piercing gaze moving over the flower-covered remains of the druids who had once called this grove home. You expected anger, disappointment, perhaps even sorrow. What you didn’t expect was the low chuckle that rumbled in his chest.

“Fix it?” Halsin repeated, his voice rich with amusement. “Why would you want to fix this?”

You blinked, unsure if you had heard him correctly. “Wait... you’re not mad?”

He turned to you, his green eyes alight with something you couldn’t quite place—something possessive, primal.

“No, I’m not mad. If anything, I’m impressed. This garden...” He stepped closer, his hand brushing lightly against one of the flowers blooming from a former druid’s shoulder. “...is stunning. A testament to your power.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, a mix of relief and disbelief flooding you. “But... they’re... they’re dead.”

“Yes,” Halsin said simply, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “And they were annoying me anyway.”

You stared at him, unsure if he was serious or merely teasing. “Annoying you?”

“Always looking at you as though they had a chance,” he said, his tone darkening just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “As if they could ever be worthy of your attention. Of your heart.”

His words sent a flush of warmth through you, though you couldn’t help but feel slightly unnerved by the intensity in his gaze. “Halsin... you know my heart belongs to you, right? There’s no competition.”

“I know,” he said, his large hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in to press a kiss to your temple. “But it doesn’t mean I enjoyed their little fantasies. It seems your chaos has solved that problem for me.”

You laughed nervously, still unsure whether to feel flattered or alarmed. “So... you’re okay with this? The whole... accidental flower massacre?”

“More than okay,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your cheek now, warm and reassuring. “You’ve made the grove a better place, and you’ve shown those fools exactly where they stand—beneath us.”

You raised a brow at him, your own chaotic nature bubbling up as a mischievous grin spread across your face. “You’re not just saying that because it’s... convenient, are you?”

Halsin chuckled again, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush. “I’m saying it because it’s the truth. You are powerful, unpredictable, and utterly mine. Why wouldn’t I admire your work?”

His lips found yours in a possessive kiss, and you melted into him, the tension from your magical mishap finally ebbing away. As his hands tangled in your hair, you couldn’t help but think that perhaps chaos wasn’t such a bad thing after all—especially when it made Halsin look at you like that.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Grand Duke Wyll:

The garden ball was in full swing, an opulent display of noble finery and delicate laughter echoing under the twinkling stars. Lanterns hung from the trees, casting a warm glow over the meticulously kept grounds, and the scent of blooming flowers mingled with the sweet aroma of wine. You couldn’t help but feel a little restless, your chaotic magic itching under your skin, desperate for an outlet.

“Just a little experiment,” you whispered to yourself, your fingers twitching with barely contained energy.

The spell you conjured was harmless—or so you thought. It started as a whimsical idea: wouldn’t it be delightful if the nobles could see the garden from above? You shaped your magic with care (or as much care as your chaos-addled mind could muster), releasing it into the air with a flourish.

At first, it worked beautifully. One by one, the nobles began to rise gently from the ground, their laughter turning to gasps of astonishment as they floated higher and higher. You clapped your hands, delighted with your handiwork, until you realized two very important details:

This was an open-air garden ball.

The nobles were not stopping.

“Oh no,” you breathed, watching as they began to drift, their jeweled gowns and tailored coats flapping in the night breeze like gaudy, oversized kites.

Panicked shouts began to replace the initial awe as the nobles realized they had no control over their ascent. Wine glasses were dropped, fans fluttered uselessly, and more than one monocle was lost to the growing chaos.

“Darling!” Wyll’s familiar voice cut through the din, and you turned to see him striding toward you, his noble bearing still intact despite the absurdity unfolding above. His expression was one of exasperation laced with fondness, a combination you had grown all too familiar with.

Before you could explain yourself, he held up a hand, silencing your excuses. “Let me guess,” he said, his tone light but edged with amusement. “You thought this would be enchanting?”

“It is enchanting!” you protested, gesturing to the nobles now gently spinning like celestial decorations against the dark sky. “Look at them! They’re having a... unique experience.”

Wyll raised an elegant brow, his gaze flicking upward. “Unique is certainly one word for it.” He sighed, shaking his head, though there was a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Only because you love me,” you said, flashing him a cheeky grin.

He chuckled, his frustration melting as he reached for a nearby tablecloth. With a flourish, he spread it over the grass, its once-pristine edges now brushing against the earth. Then, to your surprise, he lowered himself onto it, patting the space beside him.

“Come on,” he said, his voice softer now. “If we’re going to watch the nobles drift into the heavens, we might as well do it comfortably.”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if he was serious, but the warmth in his eyes reassured you. Smiling, you joined him, lying back against the makeshift picnic blanket. The two of you gazed upward, watching as the nobles continued their unintentional journey, their cries growing fainter with distance.

“You know,” Wyll mused, his arm brushing against yours, “this might actually be one of the more amusing spectacles I’ve seen at a ball.”

“You’re welcome,” you said smugly, earning a soft laugh from him.

He turned his head to look at you, his expression tender.

“You’re trouble, beloved” he said, leaning in to brush a kiss against your temple. “But you’re my trouble.”

You nestled closer to him, your chaotic heart settling in the comfort of his presence. Together, you lay under the stars, watching the nobles fade into tiny specks against the vast expanse of sky, the garden ball below forgotten in favor of the strange and unexpected beauty you had created.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

I don't know why but it got weirdly wholesome at the end. I do love writing for this series and it was a good one to get back into the requests queue again. I am going to try and get back to regular posting but this virus is killing me as is being a corporate girlie at the same time ahaha. Anyway I love you all and I hope you guys enjoyed it! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[yaut-jaknowit]

Naww funny asf idea you might like, the reader having a thing for their male yautjas chest, you know overall like “BOOBIES, THE TIDDIES” and their mate just having to put up with their shenanigans

(Don’t forget to stay hydrated🫵)

Boobies, Yes

Pairing: Wolf x Reader

Word Count: 1808

Summary: A menace, a daring menace. That's what you are. Any chance you're given, you attack. How can you resist? They're right there! Your hands need to hold them. They look so heavy for your Yautja.

Author Note: This, this is gold. Tiddies are the best, no matter one who or what. Muscle or not, Yautjas have great boobies. Thank you for this wonderful ask.

Masterlist

Ao3

How could you ignore them? Especially when they’re right there! Even though Wolf was leaner compared to a few of his hunting buddies, he had enough to grab. You snickered quietly as you eyed up the lethal Yautja sitting in his pilot’s chair. He was none the wiser as you stood off to the side. Well, you believed he didn’t know you were there. But this is Wolf we’re talking about. He scented you the moment you entered the room.

One of the things he taught you from the time you’ve stayed with him, you were able to step lightly as you snuck over to him. You kept behind him, bare feet not making a sound on the warm metal floors. A poised hunter, trained from one of the best.

The chair sat about three feet in front of you. This was your chance! You took a step to the right, ready to spring around it and surprise Wolf.

“What do you think you’re doing, little hunter?” The question hung in the air. You tensed up, muscles freezing up. Damn… You stayed where you were, hoping he’ll just brush it by. ‘Hope’ that won’t do much for you in the situation. Wolf said your name, not a warning or anything. He just spoke it.

Air pushed out of your nostrils as airy scoff. Finally, you stepped out from behind the chair and relinquished your hiding spot. Wolf sat relaxed in his seat, one elbow resting on the arm rest. His other limb was messing with a screen. By the looks of it, he was checking his messages. As one of the greatest hunters out there, he was quite busy.

Wolf’s eyes glanced at you for a moment. The Yautja held a nonchalant gaze when he looked at. “What are you doing?” You placed a hand on his unused arm rest and leaned a little in. A playful grin growing on your smug face. You didn’t try to hide it once of ever.

“Oh nothing, nothing at all.” A total lie but he had no idea. Probably. Your eyes flickered down. Target acquired.

Today was a relaxing day. All Wolf was wearing was his loin cloth a leather shoulder guard. The leather band went over his chest and up his shoulder. He was free to show off his body that you loved. You were happy to drink it in. But that’s not why you were standing next to him. There was a special part you were after.

A scaled brow was raised slightly. His gaze was still on the screen before him, pointer finger flicking through messages. Wolf hummed his suspicion at your retort.

Perfect. The grin on your face widened more. Then you attacked. Your free hand surged forward and latched onto one of the pecs of Wolf. You squeezed, the muscle for the second soft, not being flexed. The very next second, they were rock solid in your grasp.

A massive, calloused hand wrapped around your wrist, easily swallowing it up. The limb tugged you forward towards Wolf. Instantly, you gulped and laughed softly, almost nervously.

Deep down, you don’t know how this alien tolerates your antics, but he does.

Said Yautja leaned in close, hot breath fanning over your skin. “What do you think you’re doing?” he reilerated and emphasized by pulling on your limb to get you even closer. Wolf flicked his upper mandible. It brushed against your cheek.

You kept that grin plastered on your features. “What do you mean?” you asked of him oh-so innocently. All of that was a lie.

Wolf huffed then his eye glanced down at your hand still holding his pec. You still pretended to not know what he’s referring to. This is what you loved about him. One of the many things you loved about Wolf. He let this happen. He let you fool around – safely of course.

Since you hadn’t moved the limb, Wolf flexed his muscle you were holding onto. He left it untensed once he was done showing off. This was a new opportunity. Your hand squeezed it again. You giggled excitingly. Afterwards, you were able to remove Wolf’s hand on you and walk off.

The entire interaction confused Wolf. He let you go though and returned to the screen before him. An amused smile on his face as he shook his head. Whatever will he do with you?

.

That was the first time you’ve done but it wasn’t the last. It’ll never be the last! No matter how many times you do it to him, no matter what he wears, your hands find his boobies. Soft, velvet skin continuous met the palm of your small hands. After so many tries, you’ve lost count of the successes. Not that it matters though. Mostly.

This time consist of a drive-by. Multiple success in one day. Four in total. Time to make it five.

Your feet carried you swiftly down the main hall. Wolf was lifting himself out of his chair and strolling down the same hall as you. Since the atmosphere of the ship is to his liking, he can freely discard his biomask. In conclusion, you could see his eyes closely watching you. It was like Wolf already knew what was to happen. There was suspicion floating in his eyes.

Careful steps lead towards your known target. Each one counted down. Wolf tried to keep a wide berth but he can’t escaped you. Not when he’s trained to be a hunter like him.

“Boobies!” you shouted and grasped his free pec lightning fast. One squish and you were racing down the hall away from him, towards the cockpit. Sometimes he’ll give chase after you. Other’s – like this time – he’ll stop, turn to face your direction, and quirk a brow. Nothing will be said in exchange. He’ll just watch you, trying to hide the minute smile on his alien face. But you’ve spotted it, twice. He likes this game you rope him into playing. Different, fun, and seeing you smile, that’s what matters to him greatly.

.

This incident consisted of the two of you back on Yautja Prime. Though, considered dangerous for you, a ooman. No one dared laid finger on you. Not when you smelled like Wolf or when he was around you. Many barely gave you a glance before giving you the space Wolf silently demanded. All the males, of course did this. The females, they were different. Thankfully, not many of them were out today in the shopping district of Wolf’s hometown.

While in the public’s eye, Wolf wasn’t the most friendly. As one of the most deadly hunter’s out there, he had to keep up his image.  With that in mind, Wolf couldn’t be touchy-touchy with you. No holding hands, not even a hand on your shoulder. That didn’t stop you from being extremely close with Wolf. Like any hunter, he knew the dangers of his own planet. You were kept in front of him at all times.

Wolf corralled you towards a vendor he was needing to visit. It was easy to keep you contained. Once the two of you arrived, Wolf began to speak to the other alien. You were expected to stay between Wolf and the table. The safest place to be. And that’s where you stayed, mostly peacefully.

The vendor’s table didn’t have much that interested yourself, computer components by the looks of it. You looked at what they had before quickly losing interest. Instead, you turned around to face Wolf. He had his biomask on, a way to hide his emotions better. But you could read his body language plainly.

Standing in front of him, about to his midriff, you couldn’t contain your smirk. It was your precursor to your actions. Your hand grabbed at his pec once again and squeezed. The Yautja didn’t even move or flex the muscle. You huffed and fake fell towards him. Now, your face buried between his glorious boobs. Mmm, best place to be!

Now, your Yautja stiffened slightly, spine tensing but he did nothing more than that. You happily stayed there. Wolf didn’t do anything with his hands. He let them hang at his sides, though his fingers did twitch. Not that you saw or even felt them move.

After the two of you were done at the vendor, Wolf stepped back. You weren’t expecting this and stumbled since your weight was pressed into him. He placed a hand on your shoulder for one moment to catch you. Then it fell away back to Wolf’s side. He turned around and started walking away. This sort of thing wasn’t unnatural out in public. You don’t take any offense to his actions out here. That didn’t stop you from teasing him. All with a smirk on your face.

He stalked away like a predator, like the hunter he is. You were quick to scramble after him, a pep in your step.

.

Two perfectly shaped breasts just sitting there. All of this has been going on for weeks. And it won’t stop. You couldn’t help but snicker quietly as you walked alongside Wolf in the ship. Dinner had been prepared. He had come to get you so the two of you could eat.

As the pair of you made their way into the kitchen, you spun on your heel and stopped in front of Wolf. He paused as well, head tilted down to look at your smaller frame. A brow was quirked up. Recognition flashed in his eyes. Yet, Wolf didn’t move. You giggled. Immediately, you placed a hand on his exposed pec and squeezed. You leaned in and stood on your tippy-toes. This was Wolf though, he stood far too tall for you to press a kiss to his mandible.

The wall met your back, a hand cushioned the back of your skull. Then, that limb pinned your hip. The other hand was firmly wrapped around your neck, promptly pinning you to the wall as well. You gasped harshly and stared up at Wolf in shock. Nevertheless, your fingers still grasping his chest.

Wolf leaned down, warm breath fanning over your face. Dark tresses creating a half circle curtain around us. His three mandibles twitching, dark eyes scanning over your features before locking onto your eyes. The upper fang caressed your cheek bone. “Are you going to continue doing that?” he growled. Internally, you knew that didn’t have a single bite in it.

You stretched out your neck to be closer to him. “Yes.”

Dinner was forgotten about.

[praisetheaxolotl]

The Arsonist Theory, Part 3: Journey to the Vicious Spiral Nebula

Part 1: Mandibles!

Part 2: We Get It, The Billboard Was A Metaphor

I want to take a step back for a moment. Look at the bigger picture of Gravity Falls as a whole, and at the relationship between narrative foils that are the protagonists and antagonists of a story.

But first, just a recap: For anyone new, the Arsonist Theory proposes that Bill was not the sole person responsible for the destruction of his home dimension-- there was a third party, an accomplice that used him like he uses others now.

Once again:

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE BOOK OF BILL, INCLUDING SOLUTIONS TO CIPHERS

On we go!

Gravity Falls is, at its core, a story about cycles.

More specifically, it's a story about the vicious cycles that enable bad behavior- both personal spirals, and cyclical patterns of behavior in families.

We see this most obviously with the Stan twins, with both personal and familial cycles. In the personal side of things, Stan broke Ford's perpetual motion machine, resulting in his parents disowning him and Stan vowing that they were wrong and they'd see that one day, only for every attempt to prove them wrong about him to backfire and get him into even worse trouble, each failure further cementing his reputation more and more as a lying, dishonest criminal-- hey, where have I heard this one before?

On Ford's side, he erroneously trusted Bill and was consumed by both the portal and, once he realized he'd made it, his mistake itself. Even after Bill's death, he's terrified of him-- the mistake consumes him, eats him up inside. However, every time he attempts to subdue Bill on his own without confiding in his family the full story for fear of their judgement, it all ends up making everything worse. The incident with the portal and Stan? It was because he refused to tell Stan what exactly was going on, deciding to keep it all to himself out of guilt and lash out instead of admitting that he'd trusted the wrong person and that he was in grave danger-- hey, I might have heard this one before, too!

On the familial side of things, the Pines twins' parents don't exactly have the best relationship, as revealed in the Book Of Bill.

That fight must have been pretty bad to give Dipper, a kid who's survived the APOCALYPSE, nightmares. The Pines family has been shaped by familial dysfunction, and now it's been passed on-- the Stan twins' parents weren't exactly the healthiest parents, especially Filbrick. It's plain to see that that dysfunction was passed down from generation to generation, until it hit the Pines twins' parents as well.

And hell, Dipper and Mabel almost being broken apart as well-- not only because of Ford offering Dipper an apprenticeship without considering Mabel, mirroring how he sees Stan as dead weight, but also because of their parents fighting. Mabel didn't want to go home to that environment alone, and Dipper wanted to be far, far away from it. The Stan twins were broken apart by their father, and now the Pines twins will be broken apart by the Stans.

Except... that's not what happened, was it?

The Pines twins didn't let this break them apart. Dipper ended up prioritizing his sister and caring about her and her feelings, without just writing her off as deadweight the way Ford did to Stan. And eventually, the Stan twins also reconciled. They broke the cycle, as protagonists in a story with a happy ending tend to do.

Bill, as their antagonistic foil, would therefore be perpetuating cycles like this, instead of breaking them.

Then it stands to reason that, from a Doylist perspective, wouldn't it make sense for Bill to have been a victim of the same kind of manipulation and deceit that he now inflicts onto others?

In fact, we already have an example of Bill being hurt by someone, then going on to pass that same pain onto someone else:

Even though this is a silly example, we've been given canonical evidence that the way Bill deals with trauma is to take it out on someone else. And let's be real, Gravity Falls is rife with examples of something seemingly silly at first but ending up to hold emotional weight for the characters involved. Take in point Stan's attachment to Wax Stan.

So, we've established the cycles present in Gravity Falls and Bill's thematic role as the antagonist leading to him perpetuating instead of breaking cycles. So, what does that mean for this theory?

Bill and Ford are already presented as foils to each other- they're both outcast individuals with both a strange personality and a mutation that make them unpalatable to others, with a sordid home life, who eventually make a huge supernatural mistake with apocalyptic consequences. So, it's natural to wonder: what if their parallels extend even beyond this?

Ford initially blamed himself for being foolish enough to fall for Bill's tricks, placing the blame largely on himself. However, his family was there for him to pull him out of that way of thinking and help him move past it. Bill, in contrast, didn't have a family, ergo he had no one to pull him out of a similar rut. And we see multiple times throughout the Book of Bill and the Axolotl's poem that he does regret what happened to Euclidia, and his role in causing the massacre, so it's not out of the question to think that maybe, his thinking followed a line similar to Ford's. That there was someone that took advantage of Bill's desire to make everyone understand, and Bill blamed himself both for falling for it and for being ineffectual in stopping it.

Ford was at a standstill and approached by Bill, who was a genuine friend in a lifetime of loneliness and who presented himself as a friend, only to be used by him to create a portal that Bill was going to use for destruction-- perhaps Bill went through the same sequence, as victim instead of perpetrator?

Did you know that most perpetrators of abuse are themselves victims of abuse? They grow up without healing from their past traumas, and end up inflicting it onto others, thus continuing the cycle.

(Here's a fun fact- that's actually what my first theory ever was about, before this blog!)

Anyway, to me it's becoming clearer and clearer-- there's a glaringly obvious thematic parallel here that very neatly supports the idea of someone having used Bill in this manner in the past.

Oh, and by the way- on Time Baby's report on Bill, a translated cipher refers to him as the "Lone survivor of the Euclidian Massacre"

Lone survivor? If he'd acted alone, wouldn't it say "perpetrator?" If Time Baby knew enough to know what dimension he was a survivor of despite Bill himself never even speaking its name, then he should know enough to know the story of what happened. There's always the possibility that he didn't, but I saw fit to mention it.

In part four, everything is gonna be tied together as neatly as I can, with some present-day clues from Bill's actions that point to certain parts of his trauma being linked together that, on their own, seem a bit... reach-y, but with three posts of evidence backing them, they hold more water than that.

Part 4: Blame The Arson, Not The Fire

[emelinstriker]

Predaking ♡ Fetch

First TFP X Reader one-shot of the few I've saved up since like 2021. Will be posting the others later, but I gotta go to the dentist in a bit. So have your big mecha dragon boi. c:

[TL;DR] Predaking acts like a wholesome, oversized puppy towards you. And only you.

♡ ~ Fluff ~ ♡

"Alright, go fetch!" You yelled up at him before throwing a softball across the flight deck. You specifically chose this type of ball due to how easily the predacon could see its bright red color, and because it's big enough for the two of you, as well as soft and squishy. It was also cheap, so you could just buy a new one if Predaking ended up destroying it on accident. But he was still using the first ball you gave him, so that in of itself was impressive.

The giant mech dragon wagged his tail a bit with some small side to side jumps, before happily zooming after the ball. Due to your size and lack of strength, the ball didn't land too far, but it began to bounce and roll away really quickly due to the wind. Yet another reason that ball was a good choice.

He gently picked up the ball before practically bouncing back over to you. You beckoned for him to lower his helm. He did as you commanded and you proceeded to take the ball and pet his helm before leaning your upper body against him in an attempted hug. "Good boy! Great job, Predaking! Who's a good boy! Yes you are!" You cooed, gently stroking one of his mandibles while nuzzling his helm with your forehead.

He purred loudly at your praise. His mood would instantly change whenever you were with him. Your mere presence alone made his spark throb with love and joy. Honestly, he didn't mind being treated like a lesser being, even a pet. But only if it was you. He would not allow this sort of belittlement from anyone else. Not from Shockwave, not even from Megatron. And especially not from a piece of scrap like Starscream.

Speaking of the devil, Predaking spotted him behind you near the entrance. He released a dangerously low growl to warn the seeker to stay away. Especially from you, knowing Starscream's distaste towards humans. You thought the growl was aimed towards you, so you backed away from him with an apologetic look, believing you weren't supposed to hug him like that. "Oh- Sorry..."

However, Predaking felt your warmth leave him, and he didn't like it. His aggressively stiff posture turned calm again. He then nudged his helm back towards you with a purr, rubbing his rather flat snout against your tummy, begging you to hang onto him once more.

Your smile returned as you plopped your weight against him once more. Just to make the moment funnier, you even said a little "Boop!" as you landed on him. His tail wagged a little, happy to make you smile. Yet he still kept an optic on the seeker, just in case he tried anything.

Meanwhile, the seeker was not amused as he was on the flight deck for a reason.

"Human! Megatron and Shockwave are awaiting the predacon! Megatron commands you to go back to your habsuite until further notice!" Starscream's voice startled you as you didn't notice him before. So you got off Predaking's maw and looked at the other mech. But one hand was still on the giant predacon as a form of comfort for both of you.

You slightly looked downwards in disappointment. "Oh... Okay then..." You turned back towards the mech dragon giving him a sad smile before leaning down to put a light kiss on his snoot, rubbing the side of it.

"We'll play more later, okay? Be a good boy when you leave. Love you, King!" You said before starting to walk towards the entrance, turning one last time to give him a little wave.

You didn't notice it this time, but the mech dragon's tail swooshed from side to side faster than before. If you had listened closely, you could've also heard his cooling fans turn on when you gave him a kiss. His optics also turned from giving the seeker half the attention to putting his whole attention onto you as your tiny frame walked away.

His gaze on you was soft. There could have possibly been hearts floating around his helm if this were a cartoon. He could've even had hearts in his optics, that's how far gone he was. That's when he heard the seeker approach him with his usual unnerving voice. The predacon's mood instantly changed. His loving gaze towards your direction halted as he turned to face Starscream with a look of pure hatred.

"Well, well, well... You appear to be having fun, being treated like a servant animal by a tiny rat. Doing everything they want. Why can't you simply follow my orders then!?" He yelled out in anger. If he hadn't known about the predacon's transformation, he would've hit the dragon.

Predaking let out a loud screech before standing up and spreading his wings- Towering over the shorter mech. Having his pride take a hit was one thing, having to listen to the SIC call you 'rat' was another. You were so much more than a rat. You were a divine soul. And your tiny frame only made his primal instincts want to protect and love you even more.

"Whatever your relationship with the fleshy may be, it doesn't matter. Now, move to Shockwave's lab." Starscream scoffed. If looks could kill, the seeker may have already died back in the pits of Kaon. It felt like Predaking's hatred for him could time travel.

Suddenly, the mech dragon transformed into his bi-pedal cybertronian form.

"I'll be there for the meeting. However..." The taller mech stomped over to the now intimidated seeker. His shadow was now looming over the SIC. "If you call them a 'rat' one more time, I'll make sure to rip your spark out the 'primal beast way'."

Starscream trembled beneath the predacon's fierce gaze, then the king made his way past the seeker and towards the lab.

The meeting itself was quite uneventful. It was simply seen as a progress report. Predaking was just there for show, in a way. It was mostly Shockwave who talked to Megatron.

After the meeting, the predacon was dismissed. And the first thing he did was visit your bedroom.

Due to your relationship with Predaking, and you being basically the only one able to tame the beast with questionable ease, Megatron assigned Shockwave to be your guardian and for you to stay in a smaller room connected to the lab. However, with how much disinterest the scientist had in you, he basically abandoned you just for you to be taken care of by Predaking. So technically speaking, Predaking was your guardian and you were his charge. The only thing Shockwave did to take care of you was to get Knockout to get you stuff you needed. Because it seemed illogical for him to go get necessities for you himself.

The predacon slowly approached your little home, transforming into the beast on the way. You knew about his bi-pedal form, but you didn't treat him with as much affection as you did when he approached you as a mech dragon. He enjoyed your company regardless, but it was more enjoyable for him personally to see you laugh and smile a lot more when you were simply allowed to pet his helm.

You had fallen asleep in your bed, assuming the meeting would take a while. So when Predaking gazed upon your sleeping body, he couldn't help but purr. And of course, his purring didn't go unnoticed by you as you slowly woke up from your nap. And the first thing you saw right in front of your face was a pair of yellow glowing optics staring right at you in admiration. You weren't startled or anything as this wasn't the first time the predacon (unintentionally) woke you up like this. You yawned as you sat up to look at him with a little smile.

"Hey, King... How did the meeting go?" You asked, still tired. The predacon closed his optics and tilted his head towards the side, ex-venting some warm air like a heater. This movement roughly translated to either "Boring" or "Meh", and it never failed to make you laugh. It simply looked ridiculous to see a giant beast do such a motion.

The predacon then suddenly got an idea. He gently picked you up by the back of your shirt like a kitten and walked off. You two bypassed Shockwave as he just stared at you helplessly dangling from the giant beast's maw.

You didn't say anything, waving at the purple mech. This wasn't the first time Shockwave's creation did this, so neither of you were concerned about being in danger around him. However, you were a little curious as to where he was taking you.

Turns out he was taking you back to his kennel. You still didn't understand why, however. Maybe he wanted to play more?

Your questions quickly were answered however, when he gently lowered you into the middle of his nest and started to circle around you before eventually dropping down, having you sitting against his body. One wing was spread out a bit to give you a roof and contain more of the warmth Predaking's frame produced.

He let out a whirring noise that seemed to resemble a yawn as he tried to comfortably cuddle up closer against you. He curled his body around you more and you couldn't help but coo at how adorable he was acting. Like an overgrown puppy wanting love and attention. And if you couldn't give it to him all the time, he would simply not let you leave. But to be honest, you didn't want to leave him at the moment anyway.

So you simply let yourself fall back asleep, this time in your king's embrace.

[ Masterlist ]

[deathworlders-of-e24]

Liz, Biotechnician

Part 5

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re sure it was my codes, sir?”

Liz stood in front of the 3 highest ranking officers on board the Noah: the bipedal insectoid Captain Skitch, the First Officer, a woman from the Doun race named Koatil, and Security Chief Ducane. She’d been called to the captain’s office before the cycle’s shift had even started.

“We’re sure,” Captain Skitch chittered, his short mandibles moving, “but we’re also sure it wasn’t you.”

“I don’t follow,” Liz said. Sitting in the chair across from these three was making her nervous. Like there was an alarm in her head screeching out LAST CHANCE LAST CHANCE LAST CHANCE in Admiral Townes voice. It’s not like she’d been dissecting other crew members like other humans on the ship, so she wasn’t sure how or why this was happening.

“Let me be perfectly clear here Elizabeth, you’re not in any trouble, but several times in the last few weeks, someone has been using division head codes to send encrypted long distance communications.”

Commander Koatil leaned against the wall, her thermal suit clunking and rumbling. Liz had always wondered how the thing didn’t get clogged with Doun fur all the time, but now wasn’t the time to ask. Especially not with Koatil’s horns looking so sharp at the moment.

“At the times in question, you were usually at your work station or in the mess hall. Chief Ducane here assures us your… what did you call it Ducane?”

“Body language, Commander.”

“Right, that. He assures us you couldn’t be behind it. You’re too ‘relaxed’ to be conspiring against the rest of the crew.”

They’ve been watching me? Conspiring against the crew? Liz thought, trying to swallow but her mouth had just dried up like the desert world Apam 2. Hopefully they hadn’t seen what had happened to Coco, or if they did, it wouldn’t get them fired. Liz had to get them to stop eating so much chocolate. Problems for later. The idea of a traitor among the crew was almost an afterthought to her. Almost.

“So do you know who it is?” She asked.

“That’s classified,” Ducane said.

So you don’t know, she figured.

“It’s been…,” the chief continued, “let’s say, brought to the ship command’s attention that some rather odd occurrences have gotten overlooked, so I’ve given Chief Ducane the all clear to begin an official investigation. Can you think of anyone who’d have access to your work station or your personal space?”

Liz shook her head silently. The black ball cap she’d always seen him wearing was backwards, and he donned his ‘tool belt’, sporting an Earthly ballistic pistol and a stun baton. Danny looked at her a second longer before leaning against the desk, looking pensive.

“Naturally, if you speak of this to anyone, you’ll not only be expelled from the ship, you’ll probably end up court-martialed back on Earth,” Skitch said, dead pan. “The only reason you’re being informed is because you were involved, however slightly it was.”

Liz looked around at the three of them. Even if she wasn’t in trouble yet, she thought about the conversation she’d had just yesterday with Thomas and Jane. If anyone had overheard them, even just a little, and they told Bridge Command, that was it. She’d be finished.

God damn it Thomas.

She could already hear her Uncle Edd, AKA Admiral Townes, AKA the man in charge of her current job, as well as the whole ship, telling her how irresponsible it was to leave her access codes on a sticky note by her computer. There wasn’t a universe out there where he didn’t already know about this. Every cell in her body wanted nothing else but to avoid that stern and disappointed lecture she’d heard a thousand times before, the reminders that while she might be the brightest mind in the family she was also the most thoughtless. Another screw up and he couldn’t bail her out again. Another screw up and she could kiss her position goodbye: no more science division head, no more personal lab, no more Noah-

-no more Coco-

The thought burst into her brain like a super nova. She’d finally made a friend, a real friend, someone she connected with in the lab and out, and the thought of losing that scared her more than she thought it would, way more than she’d be willing to admit. No, she had to fix this, now. The conversation she had with Thomas the previous cycle came back like an after flare, and so she did the only thing she could think of.

“Beep…?” she said, looking to Danny, trying desperately to signal to the security chief that yeah, I’ve already talked to Thomas, I know about your office, I know about a lot of stuff! You gotta help me out here, human to human!

The chief stared at her a moment, a puzzled look stuck on his face. Liz gripped the arms of her chair so hard her knuckles turned white. Exasperated she tried again.

“Beep!”

“Are you alright ensign?” The captain asked, looking from her to the only other human in the room, probably looking for a hint about this new strange Earthling behavior. Liz just kept looking at the security chief, and watched as realization bloomed behind his eyes.

Ducane strode over to her, and Liz noticed for the first time he had a scar under his chin, a thin line going up his jaw. In the back of her mind she wondered how he’d gotten it.

“Now, ensign,” Ducane half rumbled as he towered over her, “I’m going to escort you back to your work station, where you’ll not discuss this with anyone else, understood?”

“Understood… sir,” she added hastily.

As the two terrans excused themselves, Liz’ translator just barely picked it up.

“Those humans are weird,” from Commander Koatil.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Talk. Now.”

They’d made it down the hallway in silence, Ducane in the lead. The moment the lift doors closed he’d begun the interrogation.

Liz realized then just how much the man’s frame eclipsed hers, he was like four of her put together and force fed an all protein powder diet. She was like a pencil in comparison to a tree trunk. So in response, she straightened her back to her full height and tried to stand her ground.

“Look dude, this isn’t my fault, you told Thomas all that stuff, and he blabbed yesterday to us-”

“Us? Who’s us?!” Danny cut her off, a pained look on his face. “What is the matter with you kids? Are you all trying to give me an ulcer here?”

“Who the hell are you calling kids, I’m twenty eight!”

“And I’m almost forty,” he sighed, “and at this rate you actual children will kill me before I hit the big four zero.” Danny pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Elizabeth. Liz. Please. Just tell me what he told you and…?”

“Jane, from medical.”

“God damnit Thomas.”

“Tell me about it, right? I’m gonna get canned just ‘cause I know stuff. That’s my whole job dude, to know stuff.”

“Please-”

“Yeah, yeah,” she cut him off, before explaining the conversation the three of them had had the day before in the mess hall.

“Fuuuuck me,” was all he said in turn.

“Why’d you even tell Bridge Command you’re looking for a saboteur on the ship?” Liz asked.

“Why? Because it’s my job, that’s why. This isn’t some little mystery holo show back on Earth, these are real stakes here Liz, real people who could get hurt or worse if this goes bad. So yeah, of fucking course I told the captain! It’s just you kids running around behind my back that are screwing shit up for me right now. If this gets out, the whole experiment is going to be canceled, we’ll all be fired, probably imprisoned, and the whole human god damn race is gonna have cosmic egg on its face right from the jump for a whole galactic audience to see.”

Liz just stared at him, watching the escalation.

“Oh,” is all she said.

The lift doors opened.

“Look,” Ducane took a deep, hopefully calming breath, “if you three just keep your mouths shut and let me do my job, everything is gonna be fine. GAIL Command won’t think anyone is colluding, they won’t even find out until we have something to say, and the ship can keep going on its merry way. Alright?”

“Alright,” Liz said.

And she really did want to mean it too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Human Friend Liz!” Coco’s voice synthesizer exclaimed, unusually excited for a creature with no adrenal gland. “You remember the moon where you lost your arm, yes?”

“Yeah, that was the kind of thing you remember hon,” Liz said, flexing her cybernetic fingers. She hung her coat across the back of her chair. “What about it?”

“Well I was thinking, why didn’t your plasma pistol ignite the air around us? The atmospheric makeup was 95% methane if you recall.”

“Weren’t you releasing oxygen from your branches? That’s why I didn’t suffocate after my mask broke.”

“Yes, correct, but not at a rate that could stave off an ignition. I’ve been rechecking the data, and it appears there was a steady stream of oxygen pouring out from the cave mouth. Perhaps there is some sort of generator, most likely botanical in nature, under the surface to offset the methane in some places.”

“Oh,” Liz said, “well then I’m really glad all we lost down there was my arm. Getting blown up isn’t great, I’m told.”

Coco was standing in their pot, using their branches to tick and tap buttons on their tablet. In their wall cubby enclosure, the Armeaters were ‘sunbathing’ under a heat lamp. A pile of chicken bones in the corner told Liz they’d eaten their lunch without issue. She reached her cybernetic arm over the lip of the tank and scratched one under its snout.

“Remind me, when is the zoological team coming to pick up these guys?”

“Based on their rate of growth,” Coco began, “we’ll have some time before they arrive. Around midpoint of the mission, at the earliest I was told.”

Coco turned their wall computer to face the human.

“Look at this data. I believe these creatures have a rather slow growth period during their first few stages of life, then have rather explosive growth spurts into adult hood.”

“That’s so weird,” Liz said, puzzled. “I mean I guess I’m biased, but most Earth creatures come out ready to go, especially outta eggs. Like sure they’re small, but they don’t stay that way for long.”

“Maybe they’re similar to the Soolian species in the Miriam Basin on Trigor. That species generates a growth hormone from the vegetation they eat,” she continued. “We might just have to take them back to the moon.”

“There is still much we do not know about their habitat. Another expedition to MX13 would be very informative.”

“Yup. Sure would.” Liz flexed her fingers, first the flesh and bone set, then the metal. “Maybe send the drones first though.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Coco turned their tablet back into the wall and continued their work. “Sorry, I had forgotten. When one of my species loses a branch, it will eventually grow back.”

“Lucky you,” Liz said dryly, scritching one of the little aliens between the eyes. It wriggled contently and rolled over. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad it was just my arm, and now I’m really glad we didn’t both get blown to hell, but I’m pretty fucking pissed I lost my arm. The new one is cool and all, but it does kinda suck in comparison to the real thing.”

“I am… incapable of understanding the feeling,” Coco said slowly, “but I am sorry that my friend human is upset. If you need anything of me, I will do my best to oblige you.”

“Thanks hon, I really appreciate that.”

Liz sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to the tip tap tap of Coco’s computer typing vines. She wasn’t even really working, more just sitting and breathing and existing, contemplating. Thinking about her arm somewhere, wondering if she could somehow make it shoot the bird to the universe for stealing it.

Wondering if she could or even should tell her best friend on the ship about the possibility of a saboteur. She reasoned that, no, no she shouldn’t. It’d be like… knowingly passing on a contagious virus. Something she didn’t want her friend to catch. Problems they didn’t have to endure if she could just keep her mouth shut.

She found herself thinking about her previous posting onboard the Herald, and the supervising officer who’d contracted the zeno-sporic infection. Hank was his name, if she remembered correctly.

Giant douche canoe filled with fungus, she thought.

He’d completely disregarded the safety briefing she’d made for the landing on Zenos 3, a highly dangerous planetoid in the sector they’d been assigned. Totally ignored the proper instructions and personal protective devices, and came into contact with an incredibly aggressive species of fungus that rooted in his lungs when he’d inhaled them.

Then the dipshit brought them back on the ship without going into quarantine! Who does that?!

Morons. That’s who.

She’d thought he’d looked a little off on the shuttle back, and hours later in the mess hall she’d seen him hacking up spore laced sludge into the waste bins. Luz hadn’t hesitated after that, she’d stunned him with her sidearm and licked him in the sterilization pod. After several hours of gassing him and the spores, he was clean enough to come out, and after another few hours-

-had to be sure you know?-

-she let him out, all safe and clean, totally spore free.

During that time, watching him thrash around in the pod while the spores made their way through his system and into his brain, trying to evade the gas, she’d learned something, something that’d stuck with her since.

Liz had learned that you can’t wait for people to do the right thing. You do it yourself.

She hadn’t waited for Officer Moron to get himself cleaned.

She hadn’t waited for that asshole Grite to save Coco on MX13.

She wasn’t going to wait for Ducane and Bridge Command to find the saboteur and save the mission.

She looked over at her workstation and saw the sticky note stuck there with her codes on it. Liz reached her cybernetic arm over and plucked it from the screen, crumpled it up, and dropped it in the Armeater tank. The largest of the three perked up and pounced on it, like it was a new toy, and shredded it with their newborn needle teeth.

“Time to get to work,” she said quietly.

In their pot in the corner, Coco gave an involuntary shiver of apprehension. Friend Human Liz was exhibiting predator again. They were just thankful for the pack bonding relationship they shared, because otherwise, the Sprygan would be terrified.