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vincess-princess · 4 months ago

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in darkness shall you be reborn

Chapter 18

Word count: 3823 Warnings: violence, blood, guts, all that stuff A/N: finally i got down to updating this one. work's been sucking me completely dry so i could only get to it on the weekend. anyway, hope you enjoy this!

The chain was about three feet long and easily slid up and down the post, so Vince managed to reach for his blanket and lie down on it: he had nothing to do anyway, so he might as well catch some shut-eye.

He didn’t get even that. Just as he began to fall into a slumber, a loud “bang” went off at the distance, and a shudder went through the entire ship. Vince bolted awake. He had already heard that sound.

Those were the Shout’s cannons. He last heard them when his ship was attacked. He felt like he got a punch in the gut. The sound sure brought back unpleasant memories.

But why the hell were they shooting? Were they attacked? Or vice versa, attacking?

They had some plan to discuss, and an attack on you is usually not something you plan for. So they were executing a raid. That explained the imprisonment in the galley… partly: Vince wouldn’t be able to do anything about it anyway, and the pirates knew that. Maybe they didn’t want him to get in the way? He tried to not do so at any rate, raid or not. And chaining him up together with locking the door was way too harsh of a preventative measure – after all, they could have just told him. Then what the hell were they afraid of? Surely not Vince himself; maybe something he could do, or his presence could trigger?

The cannons, meanwhile, went silent. A vibration went through the ship, and then Vince heard battle screams and shots from the deck. The Shout gang must have neared its prey and was boarding it.

Well, he’d seen them in action, and he could only hope poor souls fighting them would rest in peace. How many ships like this one were on their conscience? Did it ever leave its mark on their souls? And how many more were still to come?

Vince didn’t know how much time had passed before he realized something was wrong. The screams and shots were now getting closer, he could even hear swords clanking. But that meant the battle had moved to the Shout’s deck. Which was impossible, because that meant the pirates were losing.

Or was it?

Maybe they took off a bite they couldn’t chew? A ship so much bigger than Shout that they were losing due to sheer numbers? That was unlikely, but possible. Unlikely because Vince could never imagine Nikki doing that. He always counted his odds, and did it very precisely. But how else could he explain it?

And… - his heart skipped a beat – did it mean he would soon be freed?

With bated breath he listened to the battle sounds from the deck. Oh how he wished he could see through the hard wood! His fate was being decided up there, and he couldn’t even see anything! Was that why Nikki chained him down here – to keep him from entering the fight, to deprive him of a chance to decide his own fate? That sure sounded like him. Though how could he predict this battle would be a losing one for them? Was that an attack, after all?

Vince could do nothing but wait and think frantically, flinching at every bang and gunshot from the deck. He imagined Nikki descending onto the enemies like a hurricane, his sword just a glint in the sun, blood splattering around, a crazy smile on his face. Tommy by his side, his curls flying as he jumped and swung his sword back and forth. Mick, not wasting more than exactly one bullet to kill an enemy. And yet they were losing? How was that possible?

Yet it was happening, right above his head. A scream pierced the air – and then was cut short as something heavy landed onto the deck. Was that one of the Shout’s crew? Or the unknown enemy? Though who exactly was an enemy to Vince in that situation?

He was so consumed by listening to the sounds above he almost missed the sounds coming from the corridor.

“Damn! Locked!” a hoarse voice said from behind the door. Vince’s heart sank into his boots – or rather, not being in possession of them, feet. He rose from the floor and pushed the blanket into the corner. “There must be something valuable in here then, ya think?”

“We gotta check it out,” another answered, sounding like its owner was born with a cigarette. There was something off-putting about them. It’s not what Vince imagined the voices of his saviors would sound like. “But quick – we gotta be the first to find that pipsqueak.”

‘Pipsqueak’? Were they referring to him? But his father’s men would never call him that.

Then a heavy blow shook the door, and one more. On the third blow it surrendered and slammed open, hitting the wall.

Two men stood in the doorframe, and Vince could tell at first glance they were not his father’s men. Or men of someone honorable. Compared to them Nikki’s gang could very well pass for gentlemen. One was bald, with an eye patch and tattooed arms – but not Nikki’s type, with well-defined lines and bright color; this guy’s tattoos were blurry and blueish. The other had matted hair, a red, sweaty face and three fingers on his left hand.

“O-oh, look what we’ve got here.” A smile widened on the bald guy’s face. “Blonde, girlish, scar on the cheek… exactly like Hetfield said. I think we struck gold, pal.”

Once again this Hetfield. Who the hell was this guy?

“Huh,” the other stretched his lips in a grin, “I kinda get Sixx now. Ya think Papa Het would let us-“

God, not this look again. Vince had enough of them already, and they never meant anything good.

“Who the hell are you?” he said, trying to sound confident. Nevermind that he was chained to the post and these guys each had a gun and a saber.

“Your saviors, baby,” Three Fingers said in such an oily tone Vince didn’t doubt anymore – these guys weren’t Vince’s saviors.

“What happened on deck?”

“A little skirmish. But don’t worry, we’ve slaughtered all your captors like pigs, as they deserve.” The Baldie approached, raised his saber and put the tip up to Vince’s chin. “Now tell me, where’s the key to this chain?”

“No idea,” Vince said honestly. Nikki had it, most likely, but for some reason Vince didn’t want to leave the galley at all, especially not with those two. Suffocating and depressing before, now the galley seemed a shelter. And these two were intruders.

“Are you sure?” The tip of the saber pricked the skin on his neck. “You must have seen it when they chained you up.”

“It snapped on its own,” Vince said. “I haven’t seen the key.”

“We’ll find it anyway. If not now, then later, on a body of one of these bastards. And you won’t like it if we’ll have to wait.”

Was the Shout’s crew really all dead? No, the right question was – would they be? The pirate could say whatever he wanted, but Vince didn’t really believe him. Despite, he really didn’t see the key once, although he was fairly sure Nikki had it on him. He was in no hurry to tell the men that, though.

“Well, that’s too bad. I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. You’ll have to wait, I guess.”

“You, mouthy bastard-“ The Baldie grabbed Vince by the collar and shook him, but his mate put a hand on his shoulder.

“You’ll get him later. He’s of no use, and we ain’t got much time.”

“I know.” The Baldie pushed Vince back so hard that he’d have fallen were it not for the chain.

A loud scream came from the deck. Both men flinched and looked up anxiously. So not everything was going well up there for them. Someone was still fighting.

“Look for the key. He could have given it to the cook,” The Baldie ordered to Three Fingers, who then made a beeline to Mick’s chest and began rummaging there. He, meanwhile, bent forward to look at the chain ring wrapped around the post.

“Damn. Don’t think I can crack this lock.” He yanked the chain, trying its hardness. Vince turned his head away in disgust – the man smelled like he hadn’t washed himself in months. The chain didn’t budge. If that could work, Vince thought bitterly, he wouldn’t be here now.

“You! Pull the chain!” The Baldie turned to Vince.

“Why?” he frowned, following with his eyes the pirate’s hand wrapping around the handle of his gun. “Oh no, no, that won’t wo-“

“I said pull the chain!” The man pushed Vince back again, and the chain stretched out flat. Then he shot at it.

There was ringing, something whizzed by Vince’s ear, and splinters from the ceiling sprinkled his hair. He raised his eyes: right above him there was a bullet hole.

“Idiot! You could have killed him!” Three Fingers hurried to them from the corner of the galley and knocked the gun out of The Baldie’s hand. It rattled across the floor, and Vince realized this guy was almost as dumb as his friend: it was pure luck the gun hadn’t gone off. Yeah, these men are gonna kill him, whether they want it or not. He had to do something.

“You have any other ideas?” The Baldie snapped. “You ain’t got the key, right?”

“No,” Three Fingers murmured. “It’s probably on one of these bastards.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” The Baldie spat on the floor. “What are we gonna do, cut his hand off?”

Oh shit.

“Hey! There’s no need.” Vince’s voice sounded just a tone higher than he’d like it to be. “You got sabers, right? You can cut through the post.”

The two men looked at him, surprised, then at each other, then at him again.

“Hm,” said Three Fingers. Then he tilted his head and evaluated the thickness of the post. “This could work.”

“You don’t think it’ll take too long?” said The Baldie.

“Perhaps. But we ain’t got anything else. Or do ya really want to chop his hand off? Hettie’s not gonna like that.”

“Kinda.” The Baldie unsheathed his saber. “Back off, pipsqueak.”

Vince stepped back. Alright, he saved his hand – for now. He was pretty sure the men would soon get tired of scratching wood and come up with something else – something similarly harmful for Vince.

The Baldie began sawing. Three Fingers went on to rummage in Mick’s things.

“Would you look at that,” he said with an alarming smile, reached his hand underneath the bed and pulled out Mick’s guitar. “Old man’s a musician! Who could have thought.”

The guitar trembled in the hands of the man like a terrified woman. Vince realized what was going to happen even before Three Fingers got the idea.

“Sure would be a shame if his instrument was… crushed.”

And Three Fingers raised the guitar over his head and smashed it against the floor. The strings cried out one last time, the body cracked, the neck broke in half. Vince winced. These poor wretches didn’t know what they called upon themselves.

“Hey! I want to smash it too!” The Baldie demanded. Vince’s stomach tensed up. Mick’s really not gonna like this. And Vince let it happen, just like that. He was chained, of course, but that would be no excuse for the angry pirate.

Well, maybe if he could avenge the guitar Mick would forgive him.

He had no plan and hardly any intention. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. When The Baldie sheathed his saber and turned his back on Vince, intending to join his mate in thrashing the poor instrument, Vince reached forward, grabbed the handle of his saber and pulled it out of the sheath. A jerk from behind made the pirate turn his head – just when Vince plunged the blade into his back.

His cry of pain alarmed Three Fingers. His buddy staggered forward and with a groan fell right to his feet, splattering blood all over his boots. Unfortunately, in his agony he gripped the saber so tight the handle slipped out of Vince’s hand, and the blade stayed in the man’s body. Now Vince was facing a pissed cutthroat alone, one hand chained to a post, and not a single weapon in sight.

“You-“ Three Fingers gasped, looking at his friend bleeding out at his feet. Then his gaze shifted to Vince, and the mad rage in his eyes made him shudder. “You killed him, you bastard!”

He pulled out his saber and lunged at Vince. Vince ducked, and the weapon passed mere inches above his head, the wind it raised ruffling his hair. He launched at the man and wrapped both his hands around the saber-wielding arm and hung on it with the weight of his whole body: now to pierce him the man would have to shake him off his arm.

But then The Baldie began backing down, and the chain stretched out to its limit. Vince’s hand inevitably began slipping off: between metal and flesh metal was definitely winning. He wouldn’t be able to hold the rascal with just one hand.

With as much force as he could Vince pulled the man closer and kicked him in the groin. It worked: he dropped his saber and bent down, groaning in pain. But – damn it – his saber rattled across the floor out of Vince’s reach. Three Fingers, on the other hand, had it at arm’s length. Vince couldn’t let him recover enough to realise that.

Vince grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled at it. The man was too heavy for just one hand, but a couple inches was enough for Vince. He hooked his leg over the man’s neck and hung on him, pressing him to the ground. Three Fingers yelped and tried to shake it off, but Vince added his arm to the pressure, and the man leaned forward under his weight, allowing Vince to hook the other leg on his neck. Three Fingers couldn’t hold his whole weight and fell on his hands and knees.

Vince squeezed his legs around the man’s neck and began strangling him. Three Fingers wheezed, his hands gripped at Vince’s thighs, trying to unclench them. He was strong; Vince’s muscles rang with exertion. He wouldn’t be able to hold much longer. Just black out already, just black out already-

With a grunt, Three Fingers pushed his hands underneath Vince’s legs and opened the grip. Vince fell to the floor; pain shot up his back. The man staggered back, gasping for air. A few seconds, and he’d locate his saber and absolutely have the upper hand.

Vince’s gaze darted frantically around the room, looking for something, anything to arm himself with. Mick took the kitchen knife with him, that Vince remembered. The guitar’s neck broke at a sharp angle, but it was too far away from him. Wait, there’s The Baldie – he must have weapons on him, right?

Or in him.

Vince grabbed the corpse by the boot and dragged towards himself. The Baldie must have been twice as heavy as him, but he barely noticed it: the desperate desire to survive pulsed through his veins, pumped his muscles up with strength he could never imagine himself to have. His fingertips brushed the handle of the saber; he overcame the last inch through sacrificing skin on his wrist and pulled the saber out the very second Three Fingers came around and bent down to grab his saber. When he straightened up, Vince was ready.

Three Fingers was incapable of cursing at this point. He just growled and lunged forward.

Rage was never a good companion in battle. The only person Vince saw utilize it well was Nikki – but, Vince suspected, at this point it was just his second nature. Three Fingers definitely didn’t possess that kind of control.

Stab – dodge. Counterattack – parry. Three Fingers kicked him – Vince jumped back, stretching the chain. His arm went unprotected. Three Fingers seized the moment.

Or rather, tried. Vince spun around the post like a pole dancer, and the saber just scratched his arm. For a second Three Fingers’ stomach was open for a strike. And strike Vince did – blindly, following his instinct.

The blade met something soft, and a groan came from behind Vince’s back. The instinct proved itself reliable. Vince kept spinning, the saber trembling in his hand as it sliced through flesh. The groan turned to gurgling.

Then resistance stopped. The body fell to the floor with a soft thud. A thin flow of blood streamed towards Vince’s bare foot. He stepped back to the post, dropped the saber and collapsed onto the floor. Only now his body began to shake.

Soon the blood from both bodies reached him. He didn’t get up, letting it soak into his pants. He’d never manage to wash it out, not on the ship anyway; it would brush against his skin as long as he wore these breeches.

Footsteps behind the door. Vince raised his head and reached for the saber. But it was not another aggressive stranger. It was worse.

It was Mick.

He rushed into the galley, saw Vince and stopped dead in his track. Looked over the bloody scene unfolding in front of him. His face dropped when he saw the shreds of his beloved guitar. And then, torturingly slowly, his gaze moved to Vince.

“I’m sorry,” Vince murmured, avoiding looking into his eyes. “I couldn’t stop them. Like, physically.”

“It didn’t stop you from killing them, I see,” Mick said slowly. “Spilling guts all over my kitchen. I’ll never scrape all this blood out of the floors.”

Vince bit his lip. He killed two men one-handed, and that’s what he got? Berated for getting the galley dirty?

“But you avenged her,” Mick suddenly added. “That’s something.”

Another pair of footsteps. Tommy’s lanky figure appeared in the doorframe behind Mick. His face was splattered with blood, but Vince couldn’t understand whose it was, and his left arm hung lifelessly.

After a bit of silence Tommy spoke.

“Holy shit. He did that?”

I have a name, Vince thought tiredly.

“Apparently,” Mick said. He didn’t sound much surprised.

“Give way.” Tommy pushed past Mick, wincing when his hurt arm brushed against his side, and bent down to the body of Three Fingers. He turned it over and examined the guts spilling out of his stomach with an enviable indifference. Then he did the same to The Baldie.

Finally he looked up at Vince.

“Nice work, man,” he said. Was that a hint of respect in his voice? “Maybe we should have put you up on deck.”

“Maybe,” Vince jerked his shoulder. It should have felt good, proving to the pirates that he was also worth something. But Vince just felt empty.

Then Tommy got up and headed to the door.

“Nikki! He’s fine! Come look!” he yelled into the hatch.

Shit, Nikki forbade him to use weapons. Vince threw the saber into the corner and listened to it rattle against the floor as Nikki’s footsteps neared the galley. They were hurried, but heavy and uneven, and when he appeared in the door, Vince saw blood on his thigh.

His gaze sent chills down Vince’s spine. Nikki’s pupils were so wide his eyes were almost completely black. He was still vibrating with rage from the battle – and Vince was the perfect target to pour it out on.

As he was slowly, attentively examining the galley, Vince had to force himself to breathe. He’d never been scared of him more, not even when Nikki defeated him and, as he pressed his boot into Vince’s neck, Vince was convinced he was going to die.

Finally Nikki’s gaze landed straight on Vince, making him shrink. Nikki was capable, smart, handsome, young, but Vince would never want to be him. How was his human body even capable of holding that much hatred?

“You picked up a weapon,” he said. “You broke my ban.”

“They would have killed me.” Vince stared at the floor.

“Lies,” Nikki said so sharply it could as well slice Vince up in half. “They sought to free you.”

“No!” Vince shook his head. “They were going to… take me somewhere. To one Papa Het. No idea who that is.”

“Really? No idea at all?” Nikki narrowed his eyes. Vince looked helplessly at Mick, then Tommy. What does he want from me?

“Hey, man, relax.” Vince couldn’t say whether Tommy noticed his desperate expression or not but was thankful regardless. “If he knew what Het had wanted he’d not kill his guys. Which, by the way, is quite a feat. Gotta give him that.”

Nikki kept burning a hole in Vince’s skin with his eyes, but at least didn’t accuse him of anything Vince had no idea about anymore. What did he even mean ‘sought to save him’? They were clearly not intending to do him any good. Or did he fatally misunderstand them?

Great. Now he was agonizing over whether he just destroyed his only chance at gaining back his freedom.

Nikki turned away from him, and breathing was now easier. Please just leave, please just leave…

“Unchain him.” Nikki threw Mick a key, which he aptly caught, and left the galley. Even Mick and Tommy seemed relieved.

“What the hell was that?” Vince asked weakly. “I thought he was gonna kill me.”

“Don’t mind him.” Tommy waved his hand. “He’s just pissed. Not at you, you were just a convenient target. Now,” he nodded at his hurt arm and winced, “I would really like to visit sick bay. So long, gentlemen.” He walked out.

Mick silently unlocked Vince’s chain. It fell to the floor with a clang. Vince stretched his arms with a delighted groan.

“You’re hurt,” Mick said suddenly, pointing at the gash on Vince’s arm.

“Yeah.” Vince winced. “Should have been more careful.”

“That’s for sure. Fighting two rascals, armed to the teeth? Every day I’m just growing more and more convinced you’re completely insane.”

“They were going to kill me anyway.” Vince shrugged. “Why not go down in a fight?”

“You think they were?” Mick raised an eyebrow. “Why’d you decide so?”

“One almost shot me in the head trying to break the chain.” Vince pointed at the hole in the ceiling. “That’s when I realized they were going to do me no good.”

“Hm.” Mick examined the hole a little bit too attentively than it deserved. “You were probably right.”

He threw the key on the counter, walked to the remans of his guitar and began slowly, carefully collecting them into a neat pile on the floor. Vince didn’t dare to break the silence anymore, though he had many more questions. It felt sacred, almost like a ritual.

He slipped into the door behind Mick’s back.

#motley crue #nikki sixx #motley crue fanfiction #tommy lee #vince neil #my writing #mick mars #in darkness shall you be reborn #motley crue fanfic #pirate au

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bi-bard · 2 years ago

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I Don't Need to Break Down, You Still Found Me - Nikolai Lantsov Imagine [Shadow & Bone]

Title: I Don't Need to Break Down, You Still Found Me

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov X Reader

Word Count: 1,572 words

Warning(s): mention of unhealthy relationship (manipulation, burnout) and unhealthy family

Summary: [Inspired by "Slow Burn" by J. Maya] A new person joins Sturmhond's crew but refuses to talk about their history. One late night reveals secrets about the new member and the captain... and leads to a realization about whatever is between the two of them.

Author's Note: Y'all. This song is so beautiful.

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I could still remember the nervousness that crawled around my stomach as I stood on the ship for the first time.

The entire crew had been standing there, staring at me as we waited for the captain to come out. It felt like a test. As if they were trying to see if I would crack and run for it. Sadly for them, my need to run from this place was far stronger than my fear.

The captain came out. He was introduced as Sturmhond. I had to bite back the urge to make a comment about how fake that name sounded.

I was asked why I wanted to be there.

I lied and said that I was curious about the world and this ship was my only chance to truly see it.

That seemed to impress him. I could see it in the smirk he offered me as he tilted his head for just a second.

He asked what I could offer.

I didn't lie about that. I didn't have any money to offer him. I had nights upon nights memorizing the layout of any map I could find. I could show them places that may have never considered before.

He raised an eyebrow at me. I felt his eyes tracing over me. Testing me much like the rest of his crew had.

"Come with me," he said simply. I readjusted my small bag on my shoulder and followed him. He ended up leading me to a bunk in the far corner. "This is where you'll stay. We'll assign you to a proper role soon enough."

"Alright," I nodded. He was walking away by the time I spoke up again. "Th-Thank you! Sturmhond, thank you."

"Just don't make me regret it."

I grinned at him, promising that I wouldn't.

I spent weeks trying to prove myself on that ship. Not that I truly needed to. The crew had warmed up to me far faster than I ever expected them to. Even their captain seemed to already be convinced that he wouldn't regret allowing me to join them.

Sturmhond.

He was an interesting man. Throughout my time on his ship, we grew close. It felt like we grew far closer than we should have in such a short period of time. But spending time with him was accompanied by this feeling of calmness that I couldn't make sense of yet felt like I couldn't without.

It wasn't fair that he could have such an effect on me so easily. But I still held onto it. It may have been the best part of being on that ship.

Truly, the only problem I encountered was at night.

Night watch had become the best thing for me. At least then, no one could question why I seemed to get almost no sleep.

But on the nights when I wasn't on watch, I had no excuse. I just had to hide in my little corner and hope that no one realized that I wasn't sleeping nearly as much as I needed to.

No one confronted me about it.

Not until one night.

I was standing near the railing. It was the first night that the corner that I had been hiding in finally felt too small. I needed the moment alone with the air. The night watch was too focused on whatever card game they were playing. To be completely honest, I don't think any of them even knew that I was there. I didn't think that anyone did.

"Trouble sleeping?"

I jumped at the sound of a voice. I looked over to see Sturmhond standing at the base of the steps next to me. He held up his hands up.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's alright," I grinned. "Night watch is over there playing cards."

"Well, I wasn't looking for them," he shrugged. "I saw that your bunk was empty, so I wanted to check on you."

"That's very kind of you," I replied. "Was this your normal nightly act of kindness or were you also struggling to sleep?"

He chuckled. "I would like to say both. Rarely sleep well."

I nodded, quietly agreeing with the sentiment. I had rarely slept well since I made it to the ship.

I moved to sit on the top of the steps.

"I'd be glad to keep you company," he offered. "Sit, talk, anything you wish."

"Okay," I nodded.

There was a long pause between us. I expected him to speak first and choose the course of the discussion. But he didn't.

"I don't know what you want me to say," I forced a chuckle.

"You could always start with the truth," he suggested.

I had to actively fight my smile from dropping at the statement. I knew what he was asking. I just didn't want to show him that in the hopes that I could still get out of talking about it. I tilted my head at him.

"I could go first," he added. "If it makes you feel better."

I raised an eyebrow at him.

He took a few steps up so our faces were level. He leaned over so he could whisper to me, "My name isn't Sturmhond."

"I knew it," I said. He shushed me quietly, laughing to himself. "What's your name?"

He took a deep breath as if he were embarrassed. "Nikolai."

I tried to hold my laugh back, but it didn't work very well. I ended up trying to stifle my laugh.

"Shush-"

"Nikolai," I muttered to him. "You were ashamed of the name Nikolai, so you landed on Sturmhond?

"I wasn't ashamed of my name."

"Then why change it?"

"Why did you lie about why you wanted on this ship?" he countered.

I froze. My smile dropped and I stared at him. I didn't want to talk about this. I didn't even want to think about it anymore. But here I was, left with no choice. I either told him the truth or tried to fight him. I would never win a fight against his crew.

"(Y/n)-"

"Why do you want to know about it," I asked. "Why does it matter?"

"I need to know about any risk to my crew."

I closed my eyes.

"I need to know what risk you're facing, so I can ensure that I- we can do the most to protect you."

I looked at him again and saw nothing but concern gracing his features. Eyebrows drawn up in the middle, a frown forming on his lips, his eyes dancing around my face for the answers that I wasn't saying out loud.

"It's... There was a guy," I managed to mutter out. "We were meant to be together forever. My parents were convinced of the fact. But he didn't want me. He wanted to be wanted. Needed. I didn't always make him feel that way. And I hated how I felt when I did."

"Did he hurt you-"

"Saints, no," I shook my head. "He just enjoyed thinking that I was fighting for him. When I didn't seem to be, he deemed that I didn't love him. That I was just selfish. I was just being... drained. Running was the only way for me to get out without him trying to guilt me into staying."

"Do you think he'll look for you?"

"No," I replied. "I think he'll find someone new. I just couldn't face my family. They'd just tell me to go back."

"Why didn't you tell me the truth?"

"I thought that you would turn me away," I shrugged. "That my situation wouldn't be serious enough for you."

I felt a hand reach out and touch mine.

"You deserve more," he said quietly. "So much more."

"I know... that's why I had to leave."

There was this moment.

This moment where the two of us locked eyes. Silence on both sides. I was suddenly hit with every moment where I had looked at him and felt that odd peace. That peace that hadn't quite made sense at the time. But now, nothing made more sense to me.

"(Y/n)-"

I cut Nikolai off by leaning over to press my lips to his. His hands landed on each side of me as he slowly kissed me back.

I felt the flames crawling along my skin. Slow enough for me to know it was there. Careful enough to warm my skin without scorching me. It merely crawled through my blood and laid in my veins like a comfortable blanket on a freezing day. I could feel how warm I had gotten during the kiss. And I didn't mind the feeling at all.

It was everything that I had ever craved. I had lost faith in ever finding this. All I needed now was for Nikolai to feel the same way that I did.

I pulled away first, grinning at him. "Was that okay?"

I watched the smile slowly stretch across his face before he spoke, "Yeah. It was... far more than okay."

I slowly nodded.

He slowly stepped back, reaching out a hand to help me up and lead me down the steps. "I think it's time for both of us to get some much-needed rest, don't you?"

"I couldn't agree more," I replied.

He leaned in and kissed me again. It was shorter this time, but that didn't stop him from offering me another smile.

This was a feeling that I could easily get used to.

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#nikolai lantsov fanfiction #nikolai lantsov imagine #nikolai lantsov x reader #imagine #fanfiction #x reader #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone fanfiction

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sodabranch · 8 months ago

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Halo here, still waiting for the next time their irl friends are up to play Lethal Company together... Justice time!

1. One thing that would suck about the Company is that I doubt it you get time off for illness/injuries. So imagine the dilemma of Justice having to leave to look after the employees heading to the bunker, but also being worried about the one needing to be left to rest on the ship.

Other than the issue of the employee being unable to react timely to an enemy lurking near the ship, I see Justice's past experiences worsening their mental conflict. They were always there, when the master or someone in the household got sick, so leaving them feels unnatural.

And what if it's something they can't simply recover from? Earning a disability is bound to be as easy as death itself, on the job.

2. Okay, this one isn't a Justice specific one. I was thinking, man, even the freakiest and erratic of nutcracker OCs will find a human out there who thinks they're really cool! Suddenly, an idea popped into my head.

Because the nutcrackers have parasites, making them semi living, what if one could apply a freaking soulmate AU to it?!

3. Justice, in the past, waiting for the master to come home from work, but they're coming home late. How would Justice react? I could imagine it thinking about how it can't just make a phone call.

Sure, you could easily turn the idea into angst, but I see it that the master simply had overtime, and eventually came home just fine. But Justice is a bit angy they never warned it, because it was worried...

4. The employees and Justice were gathering scrap from a mansion. Everyone is back inside the ship, confident that Justice will soon return safely. In the midst in the snowstorm, they see its approaching silhouette, but something about it is different? Oh, that's right, it's carrying scrap, too. But what?

As Justice steps inside, they see it's a—

Oh no, it's a somehow decently preserved and clean puffy dress?! Justice is irradiating excitement; isn't this fitting for a partner to wear for a waltz? The employees, on the other hand, are thinking 'Oh crap, it's gonna make one of US wear it!' They then push the one who they know Justice sees as the master to the front of the group, like a sort of sacrificial offering to wear the dress.

~ Halo

Oh, I'm also waiting for my friends to have a free night so we can play Lethal together and totally suffer the consequences of our own actions...

I just arrived home a moment ago so brace yourself:

Aaaand no, I also doubt the Company would be so kind to offer you some time off or even compensation lol. Once you're away from Gordion you're on your own, buddy;; better read the fine print.

Justice would be torn between staying with them or helping the team. On one side, it would be able to provide care for the injuried person, aiding them on their needs and staying guard in case any entity was to take advantage of their state; on the other side, there's no way it is going to abandon the team!!! four people is still better than three. Yes, of course it believes that the team can totally fend for themselves!! but maybe just maybe,,, what if some monster sneaks up on them and it can't do anything, then what!

In the amidst of this mental dilemma, Justice settles on giving the crewmate a walkie and gestures for them to use it if something were to happen, then helps tucking them in the uncomfortable bunk bed (to much of Justice's dismay. It really has ought to look for a way for them to rest more comfortably...), and there's no way it is going to forget the "healing kiss" to the forehead before heading out with the rest of the crew. Then maybe it would keep checking on them from time to time, excusing itself to "bring some scrap back to the ship".

Oof I let myself get invested in that one,,,

AND UMGMMGGMMGMG, SOULMATE AU???? ON MY BLOG?? MORE LIKELY THAN YOU THINK- I REALLY need to think of a way to make this real???? I never thought of it as a possibiity, but you're kinda so right? Preach.

Asdhsdhd also choking up from thinking of Justice waiting by the door to see if their master makes it home safely...

At the start, it would be a bit confused, they were supposed to arrive some time ago! Well, could have been a slight delay, but that doesn't erase the nagging thought telling it something might have happened. What if they got injured on their way back? What if someone did something? What if this? What if- Enough for now, it should think more rationally than that. So naturally, Justice decides to busy itself with some cleaning while it waits... Only for more minutes to pass and for it to start growing more and more worried. Now without any tasks to do while it waits it just sits motionless on the entryway, expecting to see them any second now...

And it's not until the sound of keys turning and the door creaking open that it can rest, seeing the face of their master and mentally restraining itself from running up and hugging them. For now, it is glad it got to see their face for another day.

AAAAAAA THE LAST ONE THE LAST ONE

Just just imagine,, while exploring this mansion, Justice finds itself in some sort of bedroom. Rummaging through it, it wasn't long before something caught it's attention: a perfectly preserved dress stored inside some sort of garment bag... The sight alone brought back so many memories of packed ballrooms and the many dances that took place, most of which Justice had to spectate. As a guard, it was supposed to watch over the people, never let in the fun.

So it guesses the crew won't have much trouble when it brings the beautiful garment back to the ship!! One of them even stepping forward, how sweet!

and im cutting it here because it may be getting too long :9 but I have so many new ideas giggles*

#ask #my guys #im so tired ughhghghg #but i got too excited and wanted to answer this before going zzz

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jpitha · 2 years ago

Text

Just a Little Further 30

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

We sent the Venusians home today.

We left them enough thruster to travel to the Gate and traverse, enough environmental systems to keep them alive - so long as they stuck to their quarters and the Command Deck - and... that was mostly it. Oh, we did take the entirety of their weapons. I even had their weapon lockers stripped. We now have a good supply of high quality rifles and small arms. I gave a few to Sep and asked them duplicate them and begin training. I also promised to stop by later and give some tips in the finer points of their operation.

When I saw their faces when they saw what I was sending them home in, I admit I cackled just a teeny bit. We made sure it was survivable and they won't be injured, but their ship looks like a joke. Large pieces are missing from the hull, whole rooms exposed to vacuum, the thrusters we left them are undersized for what would normally be used, and so on. I imagine they are going to have an... interesting time going through joint human/K'laxi space.

The wormhole generator was destroyed in the explosion, so they can't link home, so what they'll do after they reach human space an the end of the Gates is a bit of a mystery. They won't be trapped though, there are plenty of human Starbases or colonies they could reach via the Gates and ask someone to link a beacon to Venus so they could get a ride the rest of the way.

They don't use AIs at all either. Their ships run with only human crews, so it's not like we left some poor AI behind to drag their own corpse home. It's just a ship.

Well, it's 65% or so of a ship.

As for Raaden and Emery, I did wind up going with the option Ava and I discussed. We found an empty apartment building that was close - but not directly next to - the Royal Dawn. It had two empty apartments and we put Raaden, and Emery in separate apartments quite a long distance from each other. The apartments are guarded all hours of the day, and meals are sent up.

It feels like I just stuffed them into a corner and are trying to forget about them, and I guess I did, but I that's what having hostages is sometimes. I'm trying to make sure they're comfortable and well taken care of. Emery has seemed to accept his lot. He mostly reads and sketches. When he asked for art supplies he seemed excited when we brought him paper and pencils that were native to the Reach. He spends his time looking out the window and sketching what he sees. I've seen a few of them; the drawings are actually quite lovely. I have a feeling he's pretty used to being stuck in a corner somewhere and told to entertain himself.

Raaden... hasn't accepted her lot so easily. She's tried to escape twice already and the only thing that has prevented it was her unfamiliarity with the locks. After the second attempt I had to use my Voice to make her stop trying to break out. Now she just sits in her apartment and alternates between seething and sulking. I almost wish we had a hibernation cabinet to put her into. She'd be less of a problem if she was just on ice the whole time.

Wait a moment. I wonder if Omar can print one? I'm sure there are plans for one in the printer database we got from FarReach. I should ask.

Ginny we put up in the Royal Dawn. Not right near our rooms, but in a room in the hotel. I did use my Voice to order her not to talk to Raaden and Emery and to not have any contact with Venus without our permission, but she knew why and accepted the order.

Yes, we did decide to let Ginny stay. Of all of the people we interviewed she was the only one who actually wanted to be here. Everyone else was indifferent to it or was being actively ordered to be here. That was what finally convinced Ava, Omar, Um'reli and Starlight. We won't give her the Builder package for a long time, if ever, but that still doesn't mean we don't need the help. We don't have her doing much right now, but she is shadowing Sound of the City and they love that they have a helper and someone they get to show the Reach. Maybe I'll take her with us when we go to the Wilds of Besmara. She might enjoy that.

I'm just finishing up breakfast in the Royal Dawn when Omar comes in. "Melody, what are we going to do with all the parts we took from the Lavinia?"

I can't help myself. "Put them on a Starship, Omar."

"Melody. Which Starship? High Line and Sun Dancer are done. We'd have to put them back into the dock to add things to them, Immar IV isn't done, but do we want to put all the parts on that one?"

Ah I see. If we put the Venusian parts on High Line or Sun Dancer, then that delays how long before we can go to the Wilds of Besmara.

"Let's keep them off High Line and Sun Dancer for now. I do want to go to the Wilds now that we've dealt with Venus. Once we're back and Immar IV is done, why don't we start construction on a whole new ship?"

"A whole new ship?" Omar sits down at my breakfast table and looks off into the middle distance, thinking. "Yes, we could do it. I think we have a handle on how things work now. We would add the Venusian parts, of course. That would save a lot of time. I'd make a dreadnought of our own - smaller than the Venus or other human ones - but it would still pack a punch."

"See? What a great idea I had." I'm laughing, but I mean it. I think it's high time we make our own Starships. I wish we had more printers, we could really get production going, but it's not like we need a whole fleet right away. Slow and steady progress is fine.

"Omar, do you want to pilot High Line when we take it over to the Wilds? I want to go next week, and we need to figure some things out. You piloted it during the shakedown, but this will be our first Gate traversal since we came here."

"Yes, I'd like to drive if you're okay with that. We should have the others take a turn so we all get experience with it - it's different than being the Reach - but for now, I'll take us over. Who is going to come? We should probably leave at least one Builder here."

"I agree. I wanted you and Ava and Starlight to come, and we can let Um'reli run things while we're away. I want Ginny to come too."

Omar breaks his reverie. "Ginny? Why?"

"I want to show her she's not a prisoner like Raaden and Emery. She was the only one who wanted to be here. Might as well start treating her like that. Plus, we could use a reactor tech on High Line."

"You make a good point. Fine. Ginny can come too. We don't really need much of anyone else. With Builder systems I can run most of High Line from the chair. I wonder if it feels the same when an AI runs a ship? I'm doing a similar role."

"I don't know. If we ever get back to our side of the Galaxy we should ask." I really find lately I'm missing stuff from home. I hope once were done visiting some Starbases on this side we can go home, just for a visit. "I'd like to open up some lines of trade too. I bet people over there would like some of our foodstuffs and I sure could use some coffee." I looked wistfully at my cup of tea on the table. I hadn't had coffee since talking with the Venusians. I was trying to save what little she had for special occasions, but it's so hard!

"One thing at a time, Melody. Let's do see if we can figure out what happened at the Wilds. Then, see if we can find any other Starbases or colonies. We could finish the exploration that FarReach abandoned."

I looked up at Omar in surprise. "That's it. We can continue the mission! Just because FarReach declared Captain Q'ari unfit and left doesn't mean that there isn't good things to learn out here." I jumped up and gave Omar a hug. "Thanks Omar. It really helps to talk things out sometimes."

"No problem Melody, glad to help."

I leave the Royal Dawn and start walking towards the Throne, thinking while I walk.

We're going to go to the Wilds of Besmara with the refurbished High Line and see what's up. Last time we went there was some kind of field that grabbed FarReach and started to pull it in. Maybe it was an overzealous landing field? I don't know. Either way, if it happens again, I think we want to let it take us in.

Also, that warning. I know now it was in the Voice, but it was over radio which - for me at least - commands in the Voice don't work. I wonder how it was in the Voice, I thought that was just an Empress thing. Maybe it was a recording? All these mysteries. We just have to go and find out for ourselves.

I take a long way to the Throne and say hello to people as I walk. When I first got here, people were so frightened of us, but now people tell me hello, they give me little bits of news from their world, I even get to meet families! More than once I've been told how nice it is that I was able to increase the food deliveries. As plain old Melody I was often intimidated making small talk with people and would try and avoid it, but when I'm Empress, I find it's much easier. It almost feels like I'm pretending to be the Empress; like it's a persona to put on and take off. When I'm with Ava in our room I'm just Melody, but when the gown comes on and I walk around I'm The Empress.

It's hard to explain. I wish I knew more people that had gone though this to see if it's normal. I guess, when you're the only Empress around, anything you do is normal, by virtue of the fact that you're the one doing it.

I make my way to the Throne and settle in. Ava, Um'reli and Starlight are there already. I can feel Um'reli and Ava showing Starlight how to work things.

"See Starlight, if you just look... over here... you can see the transit network."

"Yes, yes, I see. It looks like we have the trains on schedule and... wait, what's that one on that siding?"

"That's Melody's Royal Transport. She likes to use it when she feels like showing off, or if she needs to get somewhere after hours or when things are too busy to wait for a scheduled train."

Mentally, I look up at them "I don't use it to show off. I use it when I want to make an entrance."

"Okay, so when Emp-Melody's not showing off, she stores it over here?" I smile to myself when I hear the smirk in Starlight's tone. When I made them a builder, I let them call me Melody. I decided it would be weird for Ava, Um'reli and Omar to call me Melody, but Starlight has to call me Empress, and I didn't want to make everyone call me Empress as well, so Builder Starlight can call me Melody. They're still getting used to it.

"Um'reli, you're okay with staying here and running things while the rest of us go to the Wilds of Besmara to see what happened to them?"

"Sure Melody, it's fine. I have reports to go over on reactor efficiency. We have enough of a power surplus now we should look at taking down the reactors one at a time for refurbishment. I don't think it's ever been done!"

"What do you mean, take the reactor down for refurbishment?" Starlight looks curious as Um'reli and I talk.

"So, at least with our reactors, they need regular maintenance. We usually build our systems with enough overhead that they can run with one whole reactor down so we can work on it, or if one fails we can swap it out without inconveniencing anyone. Before we got here, the Reach had enough power, but I wouldn't have dreamed of shutting a reactor off. Now, I think we can turn one off, make sure it's in good condition and then turn it back on, move on to the next and so on."

"That's impressive, Builder Um'reli. You have found so many ways to improve efficiency."

"Just Um'reli is fine, you're a Builder now too, remember. But, thank you. I enjoy working with the reactors. I hope we can get Ginny up and helping us too, it will be useful to have someone else - someone who actually took some training on this and isn't just an enthusiastic amateur - take a look at things."

"Okay, good. Omar is going to drive, I'll sit in the Command chair, Ava can monitor systems, Starlight can let us know if there's anything we're missing with local information and Ginny is coming along to prove to her that she's not just another hostage like Raaden and Emery."

Ava looks up from the report she's reading. "I like it Melody, it seems like a good plan. Ugh, I wish there was something we could do about Raaden. I don't trust her as far as I could throw her."

"I know! I was thinking about it on the walk over. What if we printed a hibernation cabinet for her? I know that Starjumpers carry them, and that FarReach used to be one so I assume their printer database has the plans."

"Actually, I think that could work. Let's ask Omar how tough it would be to print one up. On the one hand, I don't like the idea of just sticking her in a closet until we decide what to do with her, but on the other... I don't know what to do with her. She'll never trust us, and we can never trust her."

"Exactly."

Starlight looks like they are warring with themselves over something. After a moment, a decision is made. "Melody, why did you keep her anyway? If it was me in charge, I would have declared her culpable for Rapid River Roaring's death and had them executed."

Now everyone is looking at me. "Starlight, for right now, she's worth more to us alive than dead. If we killed her and sent the Venusians home with their ship stripped and them humiliated they would have come right back with all their dreadnoughts and just fired upon us as soon as they traversed the Gate. No radio, no opportunity to use the Voice on them, just kaboom. This way, with Raaden, their Archduke and Crown Prince Emery, they have to think twice about whether to come in guns hot or not."

"Ah, I see. Yes Melody. You are making it so that we are too valuable to outright destroy. But, what do we do when they want their crown prince and their archduke back? Or worse, what if they don't want them back?"

My shoulder slump. "I don't know yet. As soon as we figure out a deal and we give them Raaden and Emery they don't have a reason to not come in and destroy us."

Starlight's eyes are bright. "Well then. We just need to be better armed then they are by then. We can then repel them the regular way."

"Hah. That's the best idea I've heard so far Starlight. For now, we'll go with that plan. Once we come back from the Wilds, Omar was going to look into building a dreadnought from the parts we... liberated from Venus. Do you know of any Aviens plans for large warships?"

"Actually, yes. I believe we have some plans for a ship like that. We should try and reach out to more of my people. Ever since our ancestors were trapped here, we have not heard from any other of our kind."

"Starlight, I was wondering, what did trap you and the Mariens and others here all those years ago?" Um'reli and Ava look up at Omar's question. I guess we were all wondering it.

"I wish I knew Omar. My parent's parents were the original ones left here, but they wouldn't talk about it. From what I can gather, there was... a war, or something like it. The last Builders left the Reach to... do... something and never returned. My parent's parents did mention that the first few years after the Builders left were very difficult."

"Another mystery to solve then. I want to get going. Hey Omar, do you think you can print a hibernation cabinet?"

"Probably Melody, what for?"

"For Raaden. I just don't trust her to be awake and around while we leave to do explore the Wilds of Besmara. I was thinking of putting her in a cabinet and sticking her on board in hibernation. Crown Prince Emery seems fine, we could probably leave him here under guard."

"Melody that's brilliant! We don't have to deal with her trying to escape and we can carry her around as a kind of... talisman against Venus attacks. You just have to get her into it."

"Leave that part to me."

It actually only takes Omar a few hours to print the hibernation cabinet. When you have printers that can make a whole starship in a few weeks, one small hibernation cabinet is hardly a feat. It comes out gleaming and white, looking like a long lozenge or pill from the medical department. On the top is a clear window to see the face of the resident and on the side is a small readout of vitals. I ask Omar to let me borrow some people, and an Aviens and Azurian wheel the cabinet behind me as we walk.

In front of the apartment complex it's clear that the cabinet is much too large to bring up to Raaden's room. "Wait here please. I will be down with them in a moment."

Upstairs, I nod to the guards and knock on the door before opening it. "Raaden, come here please."

"Go to hell mmmmmm-Empress."

I don't have time for this. "F̷̗͝o̸͔͌l̷̺̊l̴̨̃o̶̦̾w̵̡͠ ̶͔͘m̷̢̒ē̵̬.̸̹̊ Raaden." She gets up out of the other room and robotically walks to me. Her eyes radiate hatred, but she follows none the less.

We get to the bottom floor and I open the door to leave and she catches a glimpse of the cabinet. Raaden's eyes go wide and the snarl of hatred on her face is replaced with a new emotion.

Terror.

"No! No no no no! You're not going to put me in one of those! Please! Please Empress! Don't put me in a hibernation cabinet! I won't escape! Please! Don't put me in there!"

I stop and turn, surprised. "What? Why not Raaden? It's just a hibernation cabinet. It's brand new. Omar printed it up from our copy of FarReach's printer database. It's not even a local design, it's one of ours."

She's standing in the doorway, shaking. She is legitimately terrified of the hibernation cabinet. "I-I-Its a form of punishment in Imperial Venus. For people who have... displeased the Emperor. A person is placed into the hibernation cabinet and then they... manipulate the settings. They change the person's sense of the passage of time. A day can feel like centuries."

You know, I actually feel bad for Raaden right now. That sounds like a horrible punishment.

"Raaden, I'm not going to manipulate your perception of time. We're going to run you deep enough that you won't have any perception of time passing. It'll be just like when people were put in cabinets for Starjumper trips before the wormhole generators. You'll go in, and then you'll awaken on Venus when we've worked out the details with the Emperor."

"Possibly, or else I'll never wake up for my failure. Or worse, I will but it will be after ten thousand years subjective and I'm a gibbering mess. Empress, I am actually begging you." She gets down on her knees in the door way and bows down "Please. Please. Don't put me in hibernation. I will literally do anything else." She puts her head up and her cheeks are wet with tears and she's shaking. She whispers. "Please, don't."

I... I can't. It's too cruel. I look at her and try and concentrate. Is she just acting? No. I think she is completely terrified of going into hibernation.

Ugh.

I sit on the cabinet and reach out to my Builders. "Hey. Raaden is like, wet her pants terrified of going into hibernation. She's literally begging me not to do it."

Is it a put on, is she just really good at acting?

I don't think so. My heightened body language processing says she's being honest.

Just order her to do it anyway, use your Voice.

Doesn't that seem unnecessarily cruel to you? We'd be leveraging a legitimate phobia just to make things easier on us. She'd never forgive us.

You still think she'll forgive us?

Hey, we have a responsibility to treat our prisoners humanely, and that includes not torturing them. This would be torture for her.

They wouldn't have the same consideration of us.

All the more reason for us to treat her better.

Okay then, what do we do with her?

Take her with us.

WHAT?

Take her with us. She'll still be on board, I can order her around with the Voice and we'll still bring the cabinet. If she causes trouble I'll order her into it and we'll be done with it. This is her chance to show us how much she doesn't want to be in the cabinet.

Or for her to show us how good of an actor she is.

Ava, I'm pretty sure she's not acting.

Ugh fine. She can come. Let me get a room ready and strengthen the locks on it.

Thanks Omar.

I look up. Raaden has gotten up from the floor but her eyes are still wide with fear. She is working very hard to control it, but fear of the cabinet is still very strong. She truly is terrified of being put into it.

"Raaden. I won't put you into the hibernation cabinet."

As I complete the sentence, her body relaxes and she starts breathing heavily.

"Yet."

She tightens up and holds her breath again.

"You're coming with us on the High Line to explore the Wilds of Besmara. I need insurance against Venus, and if you won't get into the cabinet then you'll come along. I will also bring the cabinet so if you cause us even a small amount of trouble I will just order you into the cabinet and be done with it."

I narrow my eyes and meet her gaze, "Do you understand?"

She stands straight and tall and matches my gaze, looking me in the eyes. "I will not betray you, nor will I attempt to escape, nor will I sabotage any aspect of your mission. So long as it keeps me out of that thing, I will be good."

"See that you do." I jump off the cabinet and gesture to my helpers. "Bring this to High Line. Omar will show you were to put it. "C̵͖͋o̷̤̒m̶͉̍e̶̩͛ ̶̰̎R̷͈̅ä̵̮å̷̡d̴͍̒e̶̙͝n̷̬̓.̶̀ͅ, I will bring you back to your apartment."

She follows me without struggling this time. I stop at the entry to her apartment. "We'll be back tomorrow morning. Do you have any requests for food or drink onboard?"

She blinks. "You're asking my opinion?"

"Well yes. You're going to be onboard with us for at least a week, if not more. You deserve to have some input."

She runs her hand through her close cropped hair, surprised. "Uh, I don't like coffee, so don't bother giving me any. I know you love the stuff, so don't waste any on me."

Oh nice. More coffee for me then. "Thank you. We'll be by tomorrow after breakfast."

She nods and moves to close the door. "Until then."

After the door closes and I lock it, I look at the guards and they acknowledge me. "Empress" they both say, and then face forward, silently.

Part 31

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #humans go on adventure #humans are space oddities #sci fi writing #writing #humans and ai #humans and aliens #the k'laxiverse #jpitha #just a little further

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paperback-rascal · 2 years ago

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Okay okay okay….

So imagine that the 347th has a third star cruiser that is deemed the quarantine ship. It is used when they 347th is coming off a natural disaster mission. And obviously they have to be quarantined right away.

So the ship looks like any other ship but it restructured in away to protect the bridge crew from the potentially infected members coming off the mission. So the bridge would be sealed off from the rest of the ship but there is cabins located near so they crew can rotate and get rest. There is the necessary defence measures on the ship.

There aren’t as many air craft. Only the necessary ships to get crew off the planet. The pilot wear specially made biohazard suits so they are lessen the risk of exposure. Then there is the medical crew that will also wear the suits.

They would have the decontamination area for the troopers coming off the mission. Where their armour will get cleaned. Then the troopers will get organized based on their prior medical conditions and call that kind of stuff. Then they will get assigned rooms because you know they need to rest and ensure that they haven’t caught anything. And so forth.

Just the random idea i came up with when i was half asleep lol

Those are some really awesome ideas! Thanks @kalm5!

Additional thoughts are under the cut/read more:

347th definitely made many modifications to the ship. Most of them are not permanent like the kitchen area. However I can see certain areas being heavily separated from the ship. Maybe having additional air filters or even separate air reservoirs.

Most corridors have additional lock chambers – so it could be more easily sealed in case of emergency. Some doors are „sealed shut”, however not permanently - they are NOT wielded shut – those doors have additional encryption so only authorized (not necessarily commanding) clones could overwrite them.

The reason it's temporary is... in a case of an outside inspection, to which the layout of the ship could be restored to it's "original setting" easily. 347th learnt it the hard way - one day, some overzealous senator wanted to check where the Republic funding go. At the end 347th was forced to strip the ship of all modifications despite Mercy and 40 explaining, in great detail, WHY the changes were made and that they are essential for the safety of the crew and possible patients.

To warn other clones that some doors won't budge on most days, they painted giant quarantine signs on them or... Some doors have morbid (inside) jokes - mostly remains of the previous missions – something akin to “don't dead open inside” from The Walking Dead painted on a door of a walk-in fridge which, at some point, was used as temporary morgue when they were stationed on a hot and humid planet.

Most of the holding cells were fitted to serve as additional isolation wards. Some were even refurbished for civilians. Few of those were adapted to host minors/parents with kids, thus were painted with kid friendly, colorful designs (which varies in... artistic expression).

Since the ship is modified to be semi-open to civilians some parts of the ship have the colorful lines on the floor that, if followed, get people to certain parts of the ship. To prevent anyone from snooping around the off-limits parts of the ship relies heavily on scanning the ID chips located in clones' wrists - it's something barely used in other vessels, but crucial asset for 347th.

Whole Regiment is trained to not use/heavily limit words such as “quarantine”, “isolation ward”, “solitary confinement” especially when in presence of outsiders such as civilians or clones from other GAR units. They quickly learned using such terms trigger people to resist treatment or even try to escape. That's why wording such as “waiting room” or “private quarters” is used.

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the comics is taken from the idea I came up with @/kalm5 in which, after one of the campaigns, 347th and 501st had to be quarantined together. Rex had to be isolated, for his own safety, from the rest of the clones as he is immunocompromised due to the previous Shadow Virus infection (a popular fanon) as well as having respiratory system issues after being shot in the chest (which most likely resulted in some lung damage).

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see more post about 347th and 501st quarantine storyline here -> [LINK] <-

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see more posts about 347th regiment here -> [LINK] <-

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STAR WARS: The Clone Wars/The Bad Batch © George Lucas/ Dave Filoni/ LucasFilm/ Disney

#the clone wars #clone wars #TCW #347th regiment #Rex #captain rex #commander rex #CT-7567 #fanart #fancomics #tooka cat #tooka #paperback-rascal replies to stuff #347-501-quarantine

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mad-salesman · 5 days ago

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An excerpt from the Book of Death

The complete annals of the cult of The One Who Waits, this entry by Brean, annalist and chief advisor

58th day of summer, year 83

A visitor approached the cult grounds today, an eagle who gave no real name, calling himself only "Lookout". Presumably, it's his position aboard the ship on which he sails. I invited him to share lunch and asked, as I often do of travelers, to tell me something of the world away from the Heretic's Coast. He told me a tale of a place across the sea, and I chose to record his words verbatim, and set them down here.

Sail a day south from the old lighthouse near here, then turn to meet the rising sun. East across the open water for 8 or 9 days will bring you to a rocky coast. Now, if ya meet that coastline and follow it south for a bit, all depending on how the winds have pushed you about, but perhaps a day's journey, you'll find a city goes by the name of Kolo Mala. The folk there are a weird bunch. Hardly an honest creature like you or I to be found. LIke skinny gorillas without all the hair they are, and less slump to the shoulders and back. I've only sailed under one captain brave enough to anchor there, and we were told to be on our best behavior and stay near to the docks. There's a couple of taverns that allow "our kind", and it seemed to me that's where most of their gold came from. The tavern keeper there tells me that the folk call themselves tangata, "humans", but folk like us get called manukaina. Now he translated the word as "beastkin", but I got the impression that was the polite version. Anyway, he tells me that the folk there believe we're humans that were cursed by their gods to be like wild creatures, and they keep us as slaves. There in Kolo Mala, there's a big arena where the rich folk go to watch us manukaina be made to fight each other, or fight mosters. Tells me he doesn't believe in it, but there ain't a thing he can do save run his tavern and keep those of us that land in the port safe. So you can imagine how I paid for my drink and spent the rest of my time there aboard. I can't tell you how pleased I was to see that place fade into the horizon.

Lookout wasn't able to tell me much more of these "humans" or their culture, but shared a snippet of a legend that the tavern keeper related to him that I found quite interesting.

So this barman tells me that the folk there treat us beastkin real rough, 'cause sometime way back when, there was some sort of rebellion. Seems a bunch of the slaves they made fight in the arena got tired of playing the game and took the fight to the folk of the city. Carved their way to the docks, freein' every slave along the way. The ringleaders, just 6 of them left by then he said, led all the slaves onto a couple of ships. Tore the crews apart and left their bodies in the bay he said. Seems no word of those ships was ever had in Kolo Mala again, but they still remember those 6 as the manutau. Legend goes that if these manutau ever return, the waters will rise and reclaim the land under the city, or some such madness.

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl fanfic #fanfic #cotl au #old troubles au #the book of death

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zoroslilprincess · 2 months ago

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Zoro and his Assassin

Anya's POV:

It all started with a vague memory. The day after I joined the Straw Hats crew a huge feast was thrown for my welcome. We drank for 3 whole days and nights. On the 4th morning I was sick as a dog and too hungover to be considered human. I remember standing near the railing and puking my guts. Then falling face first on the deck and rolling like a piece of cannon ball.

I also remember dark boots that stop my miserable broken body. Strong hands picking me up like I weighed nothing. A soft bed and cool hands on my forehead. When I awoke, finally able to discern reality from dreams, I was by myself, dehydrated and stinky.

I had cleaned myself and forced my poor tired body for day 5 of revelries. Thankfully, the crew was busy running away from Marines and I was put to work immediately to manage the sails.

I got to witness the power of the Straw Hats crew, the cunning of Nami, the aim of Ussop, Robin's disinterest but subtle help. the cook's strong kicks and the captain's raw power. Chopper's transformation, Franky's SSuper, Brooke's swords skills and Jinbe's calm but effective evasive manoeuvre

And then there was him... that man, or monster, he stood in the middle of the ship. Arms crossed, almost relaxed. His one eye staring at the Marine ship as if daring them to attack. His three sword's hilts were flashing in the sunlight even though they all were still sheathed. His three earrings dangling. He looked like a God. No, not a God, like a demon from Hell. So much power, so much control.

I knew then, deep in my heart I knew that the marines ship was no match for us, that this man was just standing there casually resting while his crew fought, because it was beneath him to exert any energy for such a trivial fight.

I hated how self assured he was, hated the way his scar looked on his face, hated the pretty earring on his head. Then there was his body and my God what a piece of art that was, even in my abhorrence for him, I could appreciate his body. With his broad shoulders and strong chest his rippling abs and a penchant for roaming shirtless. Well if I had a body like that I might have roamed shirtless as well but wait, I digress - I hated him with a passion I did not know was possible, for one who was just a 5 day stranger to me. My heart sped up whenever I looked at him. I knew it was only in anger and disgust. No man should have such power, no man should look like this. It was just not fair.

I try not to think about his hair at all, even when I am secretly admiring his body or openly loathing on his face. Because every time I look at his green hair I for some strange inexplicable reason blush like an idiot....ok fine I know why I blush but Im getting that under control. I blush because ...well Nami (that meddlesome moron) told me that the green hair was natural to him. Natural...NATURAL. His hair was green....everywhere....ALL OVER. My heart sped up and I flushed from head to toe imagining all the places he might be green. Damn it. This is why I don't think about his stupid hair.

#Zoro #roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #one piece

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2309analysis · 1 year ago

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This is a one-shot of Robin having a regular day on the Sunny.

“ I acquaint thee ”

I push my back my hair against my ear, I sit up to put back the lovely book I have just finished back on it’s shelf. I return to my desk and write down the book I have read onto my chart of “finished books.” (Have a hc she keeps track of the books she finishes)

I go down to my room and look through the small window, I see Nami asleep, but her bed’s a mess. Poor girl. She always has a hard time falling asleep, but alas, I can’t blame her. I turn around to peer into the boys’ room.

I see them all sleeping in their own ways on top of bunk beds’. Of course, the first person I look to is Luffy, my beloved friend and captain. As I smile, I start to see Franky, who’s just now starting to get up. He slowly rises out of bed, and looks around for his daily cola. Before he could finish getting them, I back away.

I walk to my usual spot on the mast. I sit down quietly and lean my head against the swaying ship. I close my eyes to listen carefully to all the sounds I hear; the calm seas drifting us to out to our next destination. The yawns and groans of my crew slowly getting up. The wind brushing itself against my hair. The seagulls gawking in the distance passing by the Sunny. The doors of my crew-mates rooms’ being opened by them. I slowly lift up my eyes as I see the slow rising sun.

“Mornin’, Robin-chwan!” I turn my head over to the cook of the crew, Sanji. “Good morning, cook. How was your sleep?” He swiftly flawns his arms up to his chest and starts to dance around with pure joy. “It’s was amazing! I didn’t want to wake up from my beautiful dream. It was amaz— …” As usual, he excitedly describes his dreams to me. While I listen quietly, I catch at the corner of my eye my captain claiming his usual spot.

On the other side I see Nami re-checking her three posts on her wrist. “Seems we’re still heading in the right direction. phew..” As she reassured herself, she comes up near me and Sanji and politely asks for some breakfast.

“BREAKFAST!!!!” My captain shouts at the top of his lungs. “Sanji, hurry! I’m hungry! Get me some meat!” He demands out of our cook who becomes quickly annoyed by him. “Alight, alright! I heard you the first time. Now shut up and go to the kitchen and wait there. I’ll whiff up something for you.”

On dot, the rest, including me gets up and make our way to the kitchen. We all sit in our usual spots and silently wait for Sanji to finish the meal preparations. Luffy waits anxiously, practically drooling at the mouth, waiting to dig his teeth into the preparing food.

I bring out another book from the ship’s self-library. As I patiently wait for my meal, I decide to start another book. The crew’s’ inconsistent chatter becomes muffled. I fall into the world of the book’s imagery; I start to imagine the words through my mind. As if I’m in the book itself. A few minutes later, I return back to reality, the words “here’s your breakfast, my dear Robin~.”

I set down my book and thank the dear chef for cooking such a lovely meal. I began to grab my fork and start by cutting up my sausages. Eggs, sausages, two pieces of toast, and a glass of coffee to fit my routine. It may not sound like much, but the way we eat our meals it’s 3x bigger than your average food.

After we got done eating our food’s and put our plates and glasses aside for Sanji to clean, we all went to our “spots” of the boat. Usopp and Franky go straight to the engineering department. Chopper goes back tand his doctor’s office. Nami goes back to our room to draw out more of her “world-map,” which I’ll admit, I admire her dedication. Brook goes wonders around the ship in hopes to help some of us out. I go back into the library to read my book, as I sit down I noticed Zoro is training. Like usual, I can’t tell if he’s overexerting himself or not.

I don’t usually know what Luffy’s up to. He mainly hangs around Brook or Usopp, but since Usopp’s busy with Franky he’s most likely going to be left alone. Suddenly I hear the door slam open. My question has been answered; it was Luffy. Shockingly he seems interested in looking into a book. “How may I help you, Captain?”

“Comic books.” He replies simply. I’m not entirely surprised, his reading comprehension isn’t the best out of all. He isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but definitely a peculiar one. “They’re over there near the right of you. Feel free to choose as many as you like. Remember, to return them after you’re done. You have a habit of just leaving them and going somewhere when you’re uninterested anymore. Leaving me to pick them up. Please be more responsible with them, okay, Captain?”

I don’t mean to scold him, but you can imagine the frustration of having to pick up after others. Alas, I don’t think he heard me, he was plopped onto the floor head down in the comic books. Even more so than me, and I’m considered the book worm. “Sorry, Robin. I’ll be more careful with the books. But I wanna sit here and read. I like hanging out with you, but you’re always in here reading the days away. So I want to come to you, instead! Hehe”

He gives me those big idiot smiles. I can’t help to feel touched, though. I smile and return to my reading. We both quietly read almost until lunch-time. I couldn’t help but to look up at Luffy and watch he read intently, if it’s comic books, then fine. It was still a rare sight. It a cute and funny thing. I sense that somebody was watching us though, I angle my head towards the door and I see everyone staring shocked at us.

“Luffy’s reading a book?! And actually being quiet and focused?! Holy moly. Is today Opposite Day or something?” Usopp whispers to Nami and Franky. I use Cien Fleur and pull out a hand and mouth to tell them it wasn’t Opposite Day, but he was only wanting to hang out with me.

“Oh. Okay, but I’m shocked he’s not annoying you or anything. If he were with me, I would’ve kicked him out by now.” Nami commented. I chuckle. I take a minute to put a book mark down and I close the book. I see Luffy eyeing the crew sourly. “Who said I can’t be calm?!”

“Nobody. It’s just… you’re not the best self-contained guy.” Franky chuckles. Luffy shoots up and runs towards them yelling at them to go away if they’re going to bother me and him. Obviously a little embarrassed he returns back to reading. I still walk toward the door, “huh? Are you okay, Robin?” I turn around, “oh yes. I’m just going out to get some fresh air, I haven’t been able to fully concentrate for the past few minutes. I’ll be back before lunch.”

“Okay! Awww man, I lost my place. Damn..” I turn back around to grab a view of the Sunny in all her glory; amongst the vast ocean. I breathe into a slow breathe to inhale all of the smell of the sea. I lay my hand down on my head and rest it on the railing. I observe the crew doing their daily routines. I smile.

“Lunch is ready! Everyone gather in the kitchen. Especially you, Zoro. Just because you can sleep all day doesn’t mean you shouldn’t eat. Jesus..” Zoro sourly snaps a stare at Sanji. “You wanna start something, cook?! I can take you on in my sleep.” “Oh yeah?! Let’s see this newfound confidence, Moss head!”

Suddenly Nami clams them on the head. “Shut up! Both of you calm down and just eat. Do this somewhere else, or not at all, BUT NOT ON THE SHIP!” She drags them into the kitchen. Plops them onto the floor near their seats, and sits down at her seat. Luffy laughs in the background.

I slowly walk towards the kitchen. I come around to my seat and quietly sit down. While still smiling I continue to observe my friends. It’s never a dull moment with them. The speciality of them. I was soon served my plate filled with wonderful colors of food.

Each time, the cook seems to impress us once more. The food always is appealing to the eye, and filling to the stomach. It tastes like heaven too. I wouldn’t trade any other food for these meals. Regardless of how unimportant it is.

I decided to ask for some tea this time. I think it would compliment better with the food he gave to us other than coffee. Which, won’t say much, because it’s Alfredo. We all quickly eat up the Alfredo and ask for more. Before we knew it, it was all gone. It was a wonderful meal, as always. I thank Sanji for the meal and head about outside.

Nami follows asking me for a navigational book. One thar she hasn’t read yet, of course. “I’m running out of books to give you, navigator. Soon, you’ll just be rereading things you already knew.” She chuckles. “Let’s me honest, I know enough to put the world government to shame. Maybe even the creators of navigating. Just kidding! Although, it’s be a dream to meet the creator of it.”

I walk up to the library to check what books Nami hasn’t looked at yet. (Another hc, he keeps “read” and “unread” for each crew member and herself. Of course, in a notebook or tabs) I noticed that there’s only two comic books on the floor and the rest was put away. I want to assume Luffy did what I asked and put the ones he read away and the two he didn’t still around. I’ll ask him later, I don’t want to put false information into my notes.

I choose two books for Nami. Regardless of her only asking for one, she always ends up coming back for me after I given her one. Usually in the same day. I admire her dedication to learn more and more about it. Like how I am with archeology. We’re all committed to something.

Soon, I heard the door burst open. It was Luffy. “Coming back so I can finish reading these comics. I’ll be done soon, I read fast!” I smirk. “Is that so? Then, Captain, could you tell me what they were about?” He stares blankly and thinks for a couple moments. “Well… they’re mostly about super-hero’s. They save the city from destruction and they capture the bad guys and send them off to jail. Isn’t that the usual plot of comic books?”

While he’s not wrong, he didn’t explain to me why. I laugh, “yes, but sometimes comic books have cliffhangers or the villains win for the moment. Did any of the computer books you’ve read have any of those moments?” He ponders again. “Well.. I don’t remember exactly, but I think.. this one did.”

I grab the comic book from him, and I scroll through a few pages of it. “It does seem like for the majority of the comic that the villain is winning. Although, in the end the hero saves the day. You found the second part to the cliffhanger. Good job though, next time pay a little more attention to what you’re reading. You’re more than welcome to take a few short books and read them in your free-time.”

He smiles and thanks me. Then randomly takes three books off of the selves. Unfortunately they’re out of order, but I don’t think he’ll notice. I get back to what I was doing before and head to the door. I open it up to Usopp. “Heya, Robin! Can I barrow a few boos about mechanics? I promise it’ll only take a few seconds!” I gesture out of the way, “of course, take as many as you like.” He rushes in just as he got in, he was out. Like the wind.

I walk towards the stairwell to give the books to Nami. Who was obsessing over her log-posts. I softly walk up to her and gently pat her on the shoulder. “Here’s your books. I’m sorry for the delay.” She instantly raises her hands and grabs the books excitedly. “Thank you, again, Robin! I’ll enjoy every moment of them. Maybe we should buy some more. Or I just make one myself, hah! Nah, I’m not a writer.”

“That’s okay. We’re all good at something and I don’t mind buying more. Even I enjoy reading the navigational literature. It’s a real treat. It’s even more treasurable to see someone who can easily navigate through these waters like you can, Nami.” She smiles happily. She thanks me again and proceeds to walk towards our room for some quiet to read the books.

I sit down onto the mast again for today. I listen to all my friends having a good time. With the wind riding in the back of my hair. I smile more, I’ve never smiled this much in my life. It’s a good feeling, a warm, comfortable feeling. A feeling that reassures yourself that you belong. This is your home. You’re home. At least, that’s what it gives me.

I mean, I’m sure it’s different for everyone. Especially for those who can smile easily. Than those who can barely pull a genuine smile. Than those who don’t. Everyone’s “reassurance” is different. Regardless it all means the same.

Brook leans over to me and sat beside me. “How is your day going, Robin? Anything you would like me to help you with?” I shake my head no. “My day is going well. Everything’s peacefully settled, but I will admit, it’s kinda boring. But, how’s your doing been going?” He yohohoho’s “Splendidly! I made sure I did everything correct today! I even helped Sanji with his cooking. I hoped that effort was seen in his eyes. We all know how highly expected he his about himself.”

“That is true.. I’m not sure if he knows it yet, but he exceeds them every time. None of us can ever get enough of it. We’re all so excited for his meals. I hope he sees that through his own efforts.” Brook nods in agreement. “Absolutely right, indeed, Robin! Glad that you’re so thoughtful of others. Really makes you easy to talk with.”

I become a little flustered “really? You think so? Hmm.. I only thought I was just being realistic and non-accusatory.” Brook looks at me throughly and laughs again. “My, you’re so modest! Too bad I can’t be that modest, get it? Because I’m a Skeleton! YOHOHOHO!” I chuckle aside him.

We talk a little more (I’m sorry, but I’m not about to make four more paragraphs of desperate attempt to move it along) then Brook was called over by Franky and Usopp. I tell him “good luck, see you later.” He frantically waves back at him gesturing the same thing. I go back to me and Nami’s room.

Nami is drawing her map. I put a jacket on her shoulders so she doesn’t get cold. She smiles at me and returns to her drawing. I walk over to my side of the room, and decided to take a small power-nap. (What?! Robin sleeping?! Rare.)

A couple hours later, I was being nudged to get up by Nami. “Hey, it’s time for dinner. You slept pretty well back there. Feeling refreshed?” She replies with a wide smile on her face. “Yes.. I’m well-refreshed. Thank you for the concern. Also, we should hurry, it’s now dinner time. Shall we go together?”

“Sure! I was actually about to ask the same thing. I’m glad we had the same thought in mind. I guess we’re either hanging out too much or know each other more than we thought? Hehe I know it was just a small coincidence. Regardless. We really should get going…” “Agreed.”

We both walk and talk until we reached the kitchen. “NAMI-SWAAAAAN! ROBIN-CHAAWWN! YOU’RE HERE!” Sanji practically jumps at us just barely entering into the kitchen. “Shut up, and get off of them and give them space, curly brows. Sheesh, I wonder how they can tolerate such an ignorant man.” “What you say?! You wanna talk about that last comment out-loud? I don’t remember you being perfect either! Mr. Serious 24/7! Like, c’mon, lighten up! Good god, you never smile anymore. It’s a real turn-offer.”

I sit down while their bickering continues. Jimbe yells at them to knock it off and continue with dinner. Luffy while laughing agrees, but because it’s only food in the context. Sanji scoffs and hurries to get our food. He, of course, serves the girls first. Then goes on to subtly passive aggressively serve the boys’. Then just slams Zoro’s plate down in-front if them. Boy, do they ever change. Most likely never. It’s good though. I love them just the way they are.

After we all got done with our foods, Luffy wanted us to watch the stars with him. “Oh right, there was going a meteor shower tonight! I completely forgot to say anything.” Nami stated. “There was?? I was only wanting to watch the straws with everyone.” Luffy shouted back.

We all gathered around where Luffy was standing. We all sat down in our places, “look, I already see one!” Chopper shouted to all of us, specifically Usopp and me though. Then we all owed and ooed in delight a few seconds later. I could sense the ease and excitement from the rest of the crew as we silently watched the beautiful nightsky.

“Aren’t they a sight? Look how amazing they are.” Brook softly said to us. “Yeah. They’re really breathtaking.” Usopp replied just as softly. “Shhh we can give our feedbacks after the show’s over.” Nami softly but sternly scolded them. “Fufufu..” I chuckle. Which caused a chain reaction to luffy snickering quietly to himself.

After the beautiful scene that we witnessed, we all decided to head back to the rooms’ and sleep for the night. Today wasn’t as eventful as I was expecting it to be, but it certainly did end on a marvelous note. A positive result for a chill day. I wonder what tomorrow will be like.

— THE END.

#one piece #one shot #nico robin #writing #headcanon #writerscommunity #writers on tumblr #short fiction #fanfic

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unfinishedjulyrain · 1 year ago

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👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 ALL THE SHIPS EVERYONE YOU CAN THINK OF ONE FOR

send 👀 for a dirty thought and/or fantasy my muse has had about yours.・❥・@mournus

Hana: "What dirty thought or fantasy did I not have about him? Well, to be fair, a new one comes along almost every day and I don't mind repeating them in my head over and over again. When things are pretty serious and he discusses matters with his crew, leaning over the wooden table with the big map, I can't help imagining him bending me over exactly that spot, my chest squished on top of it. Oh and if Nachim whispered foreign words in my ear? Even better. But really, anything he does... this smile... I don't know if he would ever be interested in me pole dancing for him. That's my fantasy, watching him as he watches me. I practiced, I know I can do it. With clothes, without clothes. But with the jewelry he gifted me."

Tadashi: Tadashi blushes for a whole minute before he goes on. "I like to think that Haru has a very nice... bottom, any part of Haru, really! Just that my mind drifts to their butt and I can't help the thought how juicy it looks. And is. I'm not very... I might be a bit boring in that sense so I have to rely on Haru a lot to show me the ropes but I love seeing Haru in cute oufits, daring outfits... so my fantasy is to see Haru a little tied up while I caress each part of them, maybe with a toy, maybe with my hands, or something else. I love Haru, I think I'd do anything they ask of me."

Dahlia: "Haru's my little plaything, my one and only. More than often do I think how precious Haru looks, especially stripped off of clothes with just this cute pink collar. So as for a fantasy, I want Haru to taste my blood, to endulge in its sweetness and feel my arousal through it. Haru riding me is a fantasy that lives in my head rent-free and that enough gives me so much energy, I need to let it out somehow."

Manshik: Is he really going to say such things about a friend he has not seen in centuries? "Maybe it's because I haven't seen Jongsu for so long and especially in that form that makes me wonder how he looks underneath, human bodies are different than our true forms, they actually give you so much more room to explore. I will never tell him because I don't want to scare Jongsu off but to dig my fingers into that ass and press him against me? Enough to get me excited."

Otohime: "Kaili is so sweet, I felt welcomed the second I met them," Otohime chirps. "Maybe this is too light for dirty thoughts or fantasies but I just want to be near Kaili, the rest comes with it. If they want to go further, we can. If not, I am very much content just laying there and look at the stars, the sea, talk about anything. Allow me to say though that I'd love to know how their lips taste."

Goeun ( about Mai ): "Mai's stares didn't go unnoticed, they make me feel a little hot and bothered. Why do I imagine sitting on her lap and rolling my hips while waiting in my dressing room?" Goeun holds her burning cheeks. "That's... keeping me awake, to be honest."

Goeun ( about Kaho ): "Can I have such thoughts about Kaho-san? We barely met and yet, I can't help but imagine how my fingertips would feel on his skin... or how our bodies would press against each other, barely clothed. I am a vampire, I am a little more on the passionate side but this is new... my heart is not beating but I still feel these chills all over my body. It's like his voice lured me in."

#mournus #( * ic; letters answered )#nachim & hana #ariel & captain jack #haru & tadashi #haru & dahlia #jongsu & manshik #kaili & otohime #mai & goeun #kaho & goeun #i did them aaaall

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heliianth · 2 years ago

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omg return of the king (HTTYD FIC!!!!!!!) 🌟🌟

ya!!! i cant promise anything man i dont even know if ill add anything but like . im thinking abt it yanno? anyway. uh. the wip (its long be warned). becuz i luh u <3 <3

When escaping the circle of midnight sun, usually waiting for the melt was the most tedious part. The sky hung grey with slow day, clouds of snow-fog blanketing his ship with frost. Though winter was slowly releasing her grip, this far north still felt her fingers, long and bloodless. Under his boots cracked a thin layer of ice.

They made this journey annually, at the peak of Cockoo’s Month. Their ship pioneered past razored ice sheets and an ever-fluctuating landscape of bergs as they were swept south by cold ocean currents. Lantern light reflected against their dark surfaces, waning like so many little moons, a great blanket of manmade stars. This crew was used to plodding around during the forever morning, the sun a constant overhang and daytime an insidious cloak. Lesser men’s heads might ache with pervading sunlight and their cheeks grow feverish with sickness. If the sleep deprivation didn’t rot the mind, it was the calls of unreachable Seashockers and Northern Scauldrons as they fought in pods underneath the ice. And if it wasn’t them, it was the already captured dragons, whose rest cycles were so disrupted that attempted sleep was always accompanied by a cacophony of bellowing.

By design, their single ship, Skinfaxi, was meant to withstand it all; both the fragile mind and their conditions. A tall, bulky seamaiden with a metal hull and winches anchored to the deck by foot-long nails, she held them over while they trudged around the outskirts of dragon territory. Her three floors, each connected by worn stairs, were dark and humid enough to soften sores in frostbitten nostrils, and her cargo bay was stuffed with mead and exotic seasonings which flavored even the driest jerky. Every vulnerable part was plated with expensive dragonproof metal and while they rarely encountered dragonroot arrows in markets, they used stockpiles wisely. Skinfaxi hadn’t been so much as grazed by a dragon in at least a decade.

Dragon hunting was a southern trade, down near the floor of the archipelago, where nests teemed with fuckers of all kinds to net and cage. Hunting brigades never travelled into the midnight sun circle—populations tended to die further north than that and the rough waters were too much for the convoys usually employed by contractors. Dragon territory only started up here if you went way past what sane people would consider safe, but Briger had earned him and his men a small fortune offering to net here. When you arrived at that sweet spot, where the sea gave way into an actual continent instead of miles of walkable ice and seal holes, the breeds grew big and the yield became bountiful.

Despite their competency, Briger and Skinfaxi were used to being looked over. His crew, mostly consisting of family and family’s friends, were from poor fishing villages beset by raids, whose ancestors were no-names and whose yellow, crooked teeth hid behind yellow-frosted beards. They bet on Gris games and bit their nails bloody and smelled like sweat and dirt. At least a few men had replaced limbs, thick, untranslatable accents, and bastards running around somewhere at home. They were not esteemed and shaven like southmen, but they got the job done well enough.

Briger held pride in his work, his ship, his men. They were a reliable service and got reliable results. Sometimes contractors would specify something outrageous just to be difficult, but their cages housed everything from Snow Wraiths to Stormcutters and all came back in nice enough condition to be marketable. Their reputation was contained but good, and Briger was seeing wealth the likes of which Daddy never could’ve imagined hadn’t he been drunk off his ass before he kicked it. Now, he could even afford to be stingy with who he dealt with. Who would’ve thought?

Still, Briger knew when to haggle and when to be hired.

Right before Briger planned to make his annual trek, a bear-furred man with a large, tattooed underbite docked in the Northern Markets. His was a recognizable presence and his convoy was ill with riches; the frequents tittered about his arrival in a way that piqued Briger’s interest. Apparently, the bear man’s hunting business was renowned down south. Briger might’ve invited him to a drink had he not thundered towards him first with a small army in tow.

Sporting a healthy sense of self-preservation, Briger accepted the rate he was offered like a flogged woman without an ounce of backchat. And when the nutjob uttered his request, face red with sweat and his fingers black with the gnawing linger of ice, Briger knew that he’d done something to make the gods mad.

He fully expected him and his crew to drown in the northern ice sheets looking for a crazy man’s myth.

======

The melt took almost a month; dangerously close to moonrise. In northern dragon territory, that was not good, to put it lightly. To be caught out on the snow the minute the midnight sun went down was a death sentence, and Briger’s crew narrowly missed it the minute a wide channel cleared in the ice. By the time the frost on the wood melted, the ship was so noisy with dragon crying that Briger had forgotten the sound of his own thoughts. They quieted right up by the time night came—real night, that would end in at an appropriate time instead of overstaying six months.

The Northern Markets were a constant landmark; a misty silhouette on the horizon. Briger couldn’t help but observe what they were bringing into port, more self-conscious than he’d been in his life. Their emblazoned sails were hoisted high, oars lined in piles against the deck railing. The dragon cages had been pulled to the side, blanketed in soaked extra sail cloth, to keep their accursed eyes from staring and their fire down.

The weather these past few days had been abysmal; the air down here wasn’t what could be described as wet, but it was right tropical compared to the ice sheets, and that meant sleet storms pulled through every few days. It had given him a few bloody noses, which he’d rubbed raw enough to hurt in every inhale. But Briger couldn’t mind it. His fingers could already feel the coin.

“These requirements are gods-damned ‘bleedin us,” Svend groused from beside him. His breath wheezed the tiniest bit, and he pulled down his hood to separate his greasy hair from his forehead. “We’re gonna lose more than we’re getting, boss.”

“Nah.” Briger’s fidgety, itchy hands were worn from cloth-pulling and rope-rubbing, and a few of his callouses bled from pinching. He looked down at Svend’s, the exposed of which was decorated with an angry bite mark. “Little shit got you good, didn’t ‘e?”

Svend displayed it with a deep scowl. “The sagefruit ain’t work, if that’s what you’re asking.”

A wave rocked the boat, blew salty spray on board and into their mouths. Briger wiped his, stroked his spittled beard and tucked it under his elbows. “On the savage or the dragon?”

“The fuck you think?” Svend rubbed it with his other gloved hand, making a face that looked like he’d eaten something expired. His crooked pinky stuck out sideways with a pink flush and his teeth were still spotted with tack and his nose flared with indignance.

“Well, put ‘somethin on it if it’s making you so sour,” Briger told him.

“We got other problems too, man,” Svend raved with a peculiar petulance. He was usually a casual man, with a habit of gambling and a hobby for pissing self-important knobheads off and getting his face smeared for it. He was an adrenaline seeker and usually lived for scraps. Not with their new catch, apparently. “Thing ‘won drink, ‘won eat. Smart enough to figure it all out after the dragon passed out. Like a mangy dog with twice the fight in ‘et.”

“The thing’ll starve if it don’t eat,” Briger gestured with a hand, like he was showing off an array of plated food options in front of him. “Et’ll get taken care of in shipping. Eret’s got a contractor, ‘member?”

“Bo tried knocking ‘em out to treat the tag and came back with his tail between his legs. ‘Yer guy’s gonna get a fucking finger taken off.” Again, Svend showed him the bite. He’d been gotten deep, and it looked like there’d been a struggle. They’d likely thrashed each other and both of them probably regretted that. “I mean it, this was a bad call. We’re mucking around in bad shit.”

Skinfaxi’s sharp bow parted the fog. The Market loomed despite their distance. Already he could taste it—“We’re gonna draw a crowd,” he hummed absentmindedly.

“‘Brig,” Svend insisted, laying his gloved hand on his shoulder. Briger shrugged him off, callous. “C’mon. I know ‘yer smelling gold, but this is my whole life.”

“What, you got a wife and daughter?”

“Don’t say that shit,” Svend sneered. The bite mark he was once nursing like a mother was suddenly unimportant enough for his hands to curl into fists. “You’re just scared of Eret and you’re scared of ‘givin this to ‘em.”

If Briger were more arrogant than he was, he might’ve taken him up on the aggression and knocked another one of Svend’s teeth loose. As it happened, they parted before either of them could get pissy enough to escalate further. They’d have a nice long drink of cheap market wine and this would be forgotten by the morning, Briger thought, then they’d get back to normal once they offhauled. He would never see Eret or his southern business again.

Briger spent his time at Skinfaxi’s bow, leaning over the whorling ocean with a creased brow, as they approached that island speck. The tip and sway of the water was that of a cradle, his men’s hollering as they made landfall a lullaby. But as the island grew bigger, the colors vivid, idea erupting into true destination, the Market became so much more daunting. If before it loomed, now it threatened. What small vessels usually circled for precious space were absent, and the entire place exuded the same haunt as the ice wastes they’d just escaped. Something was amiss, and not a moment sooner Briger spotted why.

A dozen or so warships awaited them, much too oversized for the Market’s harbor, which was merchant-crafted and merchant-minded. Each was massive, with armor that reflected what meager sunlight aimed true and gleaming ballistas which faced like spines outwards. Their masts waved high in the air and their sigil was one Briger had never seen before, painted bright red.

His face paled and he threw himself into preparing to dock, throwing down the anchor furthest away from the sea tanks. Skinfaxi rocked into a halt. Her sails folded, her rigging slack. The captive dragons lowed and screeched, recognizing the place’s smell.

Briger watched his men dive below deck. He stayed above and searched, skittish for their man.

Eret met them punctually. He was with his same bearskin and his combed hair that looked far too princely for such a brutish face shape. He was stained with shadow; the man wasn’t big, but he filled his space well enough, and yet he was dwarfed when compared to…

Briger froze.

When compared to his companion.

If Eret drew eyes, this man was so immense that he dragged everything around him into a vortex. His hair hung in dreads across his expansive shoulders and his two exposed arms displayed flesh thick with muscle and as wide as tree trunks. He was a brick of a man, armed to the teeth, and Briger recognized him on impact.

Oh gods, how he wished they’d been stuck in the moonrise back up north. He’d thought he’d won back his life by the skin of his teeth, but dying out there would’ve been quicker and kinder. Even though Briger was not a particularly religious man, he found himself praying as he forced his arms to lower the ramp. The greeting sound of it against the harbor was an explosion that threatened to take off his head. Then, feeling choked, he stumbled down it like a drunkard.

Usually dragon hauls attracted the attention of the whole market. Northern breeds were exotic and dangerous, and sometimes buyers would take days to arrive, leaving the beasts on display next to the ships where onlookers could gaggle at them and make hunters preen. Auctions were held and often fighting rings swept by to advertise or invest. To say the Northern Market oozed with dragon addicts would be an understatement. But to have it so silent was unheard of.

He couldn’t tell if the arrival of their cargo or the presence of Eret’s previously anonymous contractor was what shut the seabirds and gossips up. Even the dragons up top were utterly noiseless.

The top of their cargo became visible, then the whole thing, metallic teal warps standing out against so much wooden brown and neutral steel. The cage’s wheels squealed, rusty from melted frost, and it bumped along the ramp and clattered when it went horizontal. Bo and Ulf pushed it with their backs and shoulders, unwilling to stick their fingers in there for even a moment.

Though the reek of sagefruit still clung to every inch of it, the Night Fury inside was very much awake. Its wings were spread for balance, making the thing look like it filled out the whole oversized box. Its ears turned, radars picking up nothing, its teeth bared at everything. Half of its delicate tail fin had been torn by the grapple; the combination of sharp metal meant for traction and the thing’s sheer velocity a recipe that led to damage. It was a nasty wound, with leftover gore, though they cauterized and fixed up what they could to make sure it didn’t die on them. And despite the fact that its hurting tail was lashing and making a racket of the bars, its attention remained single-minded, tongue flicking between those razors like it was imagining the taste of flesh.

And between its legs, spine arched against its belly, was the thing’s little devil-boy. He wore a new bruise on his jaw which was framed by strands of greasy hair that hid a different head wound in piles of shorn clumps. His rapid, terrified breaths clouded in the air, seeped from behind his curled lip, bloody gums exposed. All in all they were an aggressive, unhappy, sorry sight.

Briger was intimately aware of the drop of sweat carving a path down the nape of his neck.

With an embarrassing flourish of showmanship, he presented their catch, goosebumps sending burns down his spine where the two demons pressed their hating stares into him.

Drago Bludvist appraised the merchandise indifferently and sniffed. “You tagged them.”

pretend this is a new chapter woooo yippeee yay ^-^

Hvergelmir gurgled spring water from the depths of the south. From it spilled the eleven rivers Elivagar into the vast nothingness and their venom congealed into slush, hardened by void’s touch. Rimed with sour venomous dribble, layers of ice and hoarfrost created a frozen, biting realm in the Ginnungagap: a great and desolate Niflheim.

Lurgy Island was shaped like a pillbug, low to sea level, and sloped. The east side tapered off into a pebbled beach littered with debris and the west side ended in a dropoff from which an inconsiderate man might fall to death from, body brutalized by the invisible rocks underneath the whitewater. It was guarded by natural barriers made of wind-sharpened stones that threatened to gore passing ships, and small whirlpools formed in the sea shelf that marked the abrupt edge of Lurgy’s shallow coast. It was far enough south that Skadi kept her snow for the winter months, but high enough north to be considered part of the Barbaric Archipelago.

Lurgy, the hamlet for which the island was named, consisted of just over a hundred living in only a handful of timber longhouses. When a Lurgy man married, his wife’s family would move into his place, so you could be forgiven for thinking the amount of houses entirely inadequate for even such a small number of people.

Despite their awkward economic position and geographical hazards, the people of Lurgy found the island was inundated with rain-watered soil rich enough to grow crops. They made their living exchanging barley, rye, and oats with the northmen whose islands were rankled by ice and forests. They managed a port twice the size of the village with imported wood and had a proud and longstanding, tight-knit community that valued hard work and occasionally indulged in humble luxury.

It was just over Lurgy’s hundredth winter when Randi Tovesdottir, who’d grown up in the quiet village her whole life, decided staying any longer was utterly unbearable.

Winters past marrying age, Randi’s disposition drove away the few men her age that might’ve been willing. Any suitors her family tried to cajole into her were already brothers, or knew far too many embarrassing stories for her ego to withstand. Randi was a seamstress’ daughter with a lumberjack’s build who knew her way around an axe and a needle. She handled both with grace yet enjoyed neither, with a plaintive sort of restlessness that beguiled a trapped thing.

To put it simply, she thought she was uncontainable. Her voice was loud and brash, she towered over her childhood friends, and the skills her father introduced her to were sharpened until she believed herself invincible. By age eight she’d explored the whole island with an obsessiveness that only predators hunting down a kill could replicate. Around the age of her first bleed, she began to find the smell of their hearth intolerable, the chatter of her parents incessant, the generous spaces between longhouses confining. Every gentle prod about growing up was a deeply troublesome reminder of something undefinable to everyone but Randi herself. She was claustrophobic in the extreme. For a girl in Lurgy, these things boiled over into tense, sleepless nights after a collage of colorful arguments about her place in life. Truly Lurgy occupied a special place in her heart, the way only homes could, but she had a habit of running eastward and gazing out at the horizon. Her mother, Tove, called her dreams unfathomably big, but Randi believed the world was wide enough to fit all of them. So she kept casting her fishing lines towards the sun.

And one day she caught something.

Randi was only looking for her daily aloneness she so craved on the eastern cliffs when she spotted a pair of longboats approaching them. She recognized the crest, and her eyes reflected the morning light, and she ran barefooted into Lurgy with a big grin on her face. The ships from Berk were here!

Berk was Lurgy’s biggest trade partner. And unlike many of the other islands in the Archipelago, including Lurgy themselves, they were startlingly isolated.

Randi had seen dragons before, she knew people who’d killed more than they could count on both hands. She’d taken a few herself. Lurgy was no stranger to the Dragon War. But with the Berkian longboats always came the scales and the teeth and the claws. Their village was overrun with dragons of all shapes and colors—so many they had nothing to do with their remains. It scared off any traveling merchant types, blocked trade routes, and recently there had been a rumor of a nautically-spread Berkian disease that attracted dragons to the smell of your piss.

It was a surety that Lurgy might’ve never taken up business with them had their Chief—if you could call an ornery old man with wispy smatterings of patched blond beard and no family name who governed through age rather than any real lineage Lurgy’s Chief--not had such good relations with Berk’s own Chief. “Battle-brothers,” Aleinn called them, “forged in fiery dragon’s blood and good old tribes meeting mead.”

The arrangement was for the betterment of both villages. Berk was so infested with dragonfire that any crops they might have tried to grow would burn up if snow didn’t smother every winter. They had enough land to grow yaks, sheep, and chickens, who ate from grass pastures and grass seed, so they were wealthy enough to buy Lurgy’s stock. In return, Lurgy bought dragon scales and teeth in droves, which were as good as coins in the North. Nadder scales were like silver, Nightmare scales like gold. To islands down south, it was an untranslatable worth and every tribe would be considered dirtily poor. Up here flourished an economy built on savage heroism. Randi couldn’t help but marvel at Berk’s collections every time they pulled in.

She cut knuckles and sliced calluses digging through the beach for seaglass, which she would painstakingly shape into ornaments worth Berk’s scales. She got herself a neat trade working with tool and thread to create things she was proud enough to sell, but too connected with to let go. Every time she gave up one in an exchange and watched the ships sail out to sea days later, it felt like Berk was taking little bits of her with them.

This was especially true when she met Knat, the son of the Berkian representative that led their trade ships to Lurgy.

When he caught her eye, Knat was not so remarkable. Every Berkian subsisted off of a protein-heavy diet which wore down their teeth and made them heavy-bodied. He was a thick, dark-haired, and short boy with a few balls of fuzz on his chin and a dense forest on his upper lip. Unbeknownst to Randi, who saw the best of his demeanor, Knat had a juvenile fascination with competition. His youth was spent one-upping his peers, jeering at stragglers, quarreling with his brother, and idolizing his father. At Randi’s age, he hadn’t shed any of these traits, only buried them underneath a generous coat of rightful humbling. By Berk standards Knat was ordinary in the extreme. His only particularly noteworthy claim to superiority at this time in his life was the fact that he was the second in line to the Hofferson clan.

But Knat’s jaw was sharp, and his nose was strong, and his eyes were kind whenever he spoke to strangers. He had a voice that carried so far one might think it was stolen by birds, and a countenance that belied expertise handling weapons taller than grown men. These were the only things Randi, who had no idea of his familial status nor how Berk’s clans even worked, needed to fall madly in love. Without speaking to him once, she began to think of him as a representation of escape; the Berkians, with their untamed hair, masses of pelted cloaks, scars, and dragon scales were the definition of wilderness and adventure. Whatever Lurgy was, Berk was more so. And Knat was the pinnacle of it all.

She became so preoccupied with the rugged ferality of Berk and Knat that her mother began to take notice. When she indicated she knew of Randi’s new fixation, her daughter became paralyzed. So long had she associated her hometown and those native to it with entrapment that she feared she’d be forced into an unhappy marriage and tied down forever. But Tove took the harrowing first step for her and told Knat as he was in the middle of selling boar hooves to her husband, with only the bluntness a crone could manage, “My daughter is obsessed with you.”

At first, Knat was wary of her advances. Any other boy his age might’ve jumped at the opportunity to get involved with a young, reasonably pretty and certainly skilled girl so interested in him, but Knat was painfully conscious of his father’s acceptance and his brother’s opinion. He was entirely occupied with appearance and his place back home, and though he began to notice Randi’s shy, sneaky stares whenever he happened over at Lurgy, he never did anything about her brewing determination to be seen. Then, two winters later, Knat gave into the preening, tingling part of his mind that told him to take a chance on something wonderful.

He worked for a month learning womanish crafts to make her a bag out of Zippleback bladder and reindeer hide she could use to put her seaglass in so she wouldn’t scrape up her hands. Despite Finn inciting vicious mockery over the image of his mountainous Viking older brother hunched over to make a poor man’s attempt at embroidery, he felt not a smidge of shame. The end result was similarly misshapen, crude, and plain, but it glowed with time and care. Then, Knat got on his knees and begged to be on the next expedition out to Lurgy.

Their romance was young and swift. Knat indulged wholly in Randi’s ideas by spinning tales of victory in Berk’s Kill Ring and imagery of grand coniferous forests backdropped by glaciers which made mountains lopsided with weight. What she imagined of Berk’s arching landscapes and fields of sea stacks only worsened the pain in her chest. Her staring out onto the horizon became pointed northward, with a chin rested mournfully on her hand and a heaved sigh. Tove described her as a wife waiting for a husband to return from war, and she supposed that with Berk’s dragon problem, one part was true.

The other part became true soon after. Randi’s father, a gruff man with staunch worldviews that often got him into trouble with her mother, had a weak spot for his daughter and found no fault in Knat, who had truthfully approached him last quarter to ask the same thing. That spring, Berk pulled into Lurgy’s docks with a dowry. It wasn’t a surprise; Randi helped work on the small pen for the livestock that she’d be worth—Knat had wanted to pay more, but Lurgy didn’t have that kind of space, and the Hofferson clan didn’t want to spend that kind of wealth on a girl from a little farming village. Nonetheless, all parties were satisfied.

The first night, the newly betrothed found themselves overwhelmed with their proximity. The cabins were cramped, the bed singular. Actually leaving home wasn’t nearly as weightless as Randi had believed. Instead her stomach rolled and her bones went numb watching Lurgy disappear. Seeking adventure, she pushed Knat down on the bed and they filled the room with sweat. Knat pulled her close, body a furnace and hands quivering. He told her they needed to get married quickly after arrival, just to be safe, because there were no contraceptive herbs on the boat. Randi cried so hard her head pounded, suddenly ill with indecision.

On the eve of the second day on the boat, Randi caught her first glimpse of Berk. She expected to be invigorated, energized, but she couldn’t move as they swayed towards the arching, spired landscape. The growing dusk didn’t light up the sky in wonderful colors, the newborn stars didn’t shine. There was a thick miasma of storm clouds hanging onto the peak of the giant mountain which stuck out of the water like a monumental shard of ancient stone. Quilts of trees protruded from nearly every slope like hairs, and the village itself sat on a wide shelf overlooking the water, directly bathed in the struggling sunset. It stood out so harshly against the empty, ruthless ocean. It was a grand and daunting sight. After a life devoid of humbling, how could she not stare?

Twelve days north of hopeless and only a few degrees south of freezing-to-death, floating towards her new home directly along the meridian of misery, something quenched her. Like the freezing air had erased all of her wanderlust with a gentle scrape. Under the descending night, eyes locked with her new home, Randi was now perfectly content standing still.

======

“How are you doing?” Astrid balanced the supper tray on the nightstand and perched on the edge of the bed. Her body sank.

Móðir reached a hewn hand toward Astrid, her face grim. “This is humiliating,” she said, and sent herself into a flurry of hoarse, grated coughing.

“It’s not,” Astrid reached for the mug on the tray and placed it, delicate, into Móðir’s fragile fingers. She strangled it and looked at Astrid with some disbelieving derision. “I’m serious,” Astrid insisted.

Móðir ignored her attempts to help her sit up so she could drink. The straw-stuffed pillow crunched underneath her weight, fabric crinkling. She eyed the warm milk, something contemplative coming over her, before speaking. “So there’s been luck with the yaks?”

Knowing what she was attempting, Astrid made a motion that conveyed she’d whack the mug’s bottom and spill it if Móðir didn’t hurry up. “Just drink.”

Móðir sighed and leaned back, tipping the mug upward. Sweat beaded down the hollow of her neck, her forehead and cheeks and nose grew rosier. The wet sheen to her hairline made her skin metal underneath the candlelight. Despite her exertion, like every convulsion of her throat threatened to strangle her, Móðir refused Astrid’s assistance.

“I’ve also brought cheese and bread.” Astrid distracted herself by pulling the supper tray onto her lap, which pushed her into the cushioned bed even more. She’d refused to let Móðir lay on the wooden slabs they normally used for sleep, and created a huge mattress out of her own blankets and grass.

The unfamiliar terrain made her feel ten times as heavy, especially when she looked back at Móðir and saw the way milk ran down her chin in undignified rivulets, then sprayed when she hacked into her elbow. Móðir tried to clean it away with her hands mittoned by the quilt, but Astrid recognized the shake in them.

“This is humiliating,” she repeated.

“You’re sick,” Astrid told her. Then she held up an ugly chunk of cheese. “What sort of daughter would I be if I let you starve?”

“Oh, everyone’s getting thin nowadays,” Móðir dismissed her with a croak. Even so, she took Astrid’s offer and let the cheese melt on her tongue, bitten nails lingering on her chin as if to manually chew. Her next words were coated with spit: “The next Giving is coming up.”

At the mention of the Givings, Astrid’s face soured. She manhandled the slices of bread and tore them into bite-sized balls with far too much force. Her jaw, clenched, refused to form words.

Móðir inspected her. “Astrid.”

“I know,” is all she could provide. Then, to make up for it, she produced a torn slice, which her mother frowned at. “I don’t know what I’m going to put out.”

“Well,” Móðir rolled the bread into a compact ball, thumb knuckle going white. She braced her temples with two fingers, concentrating. “What did you put out last time?”

“An axe,” Astrid mumbled, not wanting to look her mother in the eyes, “...my axe.”

She’d polished it for hours, until she could see her own reflection. The steel wasn’t pure, but Gobber never half-assed workmanship, and it was the best axe she had. It swung like an extension of her own arm, weighted beautiful and dangerous in her palm, the ashwood handle weathered. She won dragon training with it--she’d knocked a tooth out of the huge purple Nightmare with its blunt and killed the thing by driving the head into its neck.

She fidgeted. Maybe the Dragon Master could smell the blood on her. Maybe that’s why he left it to collect dust outside for three days.

All of the Hofferson clan’s Givings since she’d killed it at fifteen went unnoticed, and people in the village began to look at her sideways. Truthfully, it enraged her, and she had no desire to leave things out any longer. When the Givings started she thought it ridiculous, and now she believed it even more so, now that she could not conquer it. Rooted into her core was a deep and cantankerous sort of rebellion she’d never experienced before. What was one Giving without an offering if the Dragon Master never accepted anyway?

“Astrid…” Móðir admonished again. The feeling of skinny, wide-jointed fingers twisted Astrid’s irate expression into exhaustion. Móðir was one such superstitious proponent; a believer in absolute destiny and holy belonging ever since she set foot on Berk. Her mouth opened and closed, partially searching for something to say and partially gasping in air like a fish.

Astrid ripped another clump of bread from the crust. “I think the Givings are stupid.” She watched Móðir’s shifting face carefully. When she got nothing, she barreled onward. “They don’t work,” her hands clenched, “and not just for us! Not just because of me, Mamma!” She accused, “Did you know a month ago Gothi’s hut got stolen from? Even though her granddaughter’s offering worked the night before?”

“Astrid,” she echoed, trying to sound stern with her brittle voice.

“No!” She leapt up. The tray clattered all over the ground, bread and cheese spraying like blood from a wound. “It’s only been here three winters but everyone kowtowed immediately! What, because the merchants fear it? We’ve been dealing with dragons for centuries and now--” she grasped her tunic, sewn and modified to fit a muscular woman’s figure, cinched with the standard masculine belt for its shape. Now it hung off of her in drapes. To emphasize her point, she gestured with both of her arms to Móðir’s condition, barreling on despite her mother’s wince. “We’re thralls in our own village, Mamma! And--!”

“I’ll make you a new one,” she interrupted. “And your father will help you pick out an offering.”

“There’s no more thread!” She waved her arms around, voice pitching. “This is insane! What happened to Vikings, Mamma?”

Móðir’s throat bobbed when she swallowed. The mug she held on her lap, still trapping a film of milk, was easier to stare at than her face.

Astrid turned away, rising indignation strangled by a sudden awareness of her blowsy. She was pierced by something barbed which made her feel like a child. All of that work to restore the Hofferson name after Uncle Finn, and it was useless. She’d sweated, and sacrificed, and whittled her skill into a knife’s point until there was no option left but success. Now someone else would have to work to restore the Hofferson name after her, all because some demon on the back of a Night Fury knew where to hit them the hardest.

The last one to approach Berk had been shot down almost fifty winters ago by the Chief’s grandfather. Felled by the last dragonroot arrow from an indulgent investment, it had careened into the sea and they retrieved nothing of it. Freed of devilspawn, that summer’s was the best harvest they’d had seen, and their defenses flourished without explosions big enough to bring them down. The last five decades had been some of the most prosperous in Berk’s history, despite the uptick in raids. At least, that’s what the adults said.

Astrid first heard the whistle when she was fourteen. She’d been on fire patrol. Fear had struck her stupid and she narrowly avoided being crushed by the southern catapult that had exploded into a fiery shower of shrapnel. For days afterwards she’d pick out splinters or discover burns she didn’t remember getting.

After that, things started going missing. Their hunting traps broke, taken apart and dumped somewhere else, often down cliffs or into lakes, and would keep breaking even if they set new ones. Gobber’s shop, which had once been a go-to for trading items due to how much scrap it’d accumulated over his decades working there, would be ravaged. Tools and leftovers and once even a whole anvil were gone by sunrise. Their bolas were stripped of rope, their fishing boats robbed of nets.

Astrid won dragon training in trousers so raggedy she could’ve been mistaken for an Outcast.

One night, devoid of raids, the village woke up to resounding booms coming from the direction of the sea. Standing outside, they realized it came from the Kill Ring. Investigation yielded a chilling scene—all of their captured dragons released, the doors methodically deconstructed and then blasted into useless lumps of metal. In the soot remaining were boot soles and a single, small handprint, walking side by side with unfamiliar dragon paws.

Berk broke into hysteria.

thats all i got :) thumbsup

#heliianswers #heliiart #httyd

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dreaminlittlenightmares · 2 years ago

Text

Dinner or a Show, Part 3 (END)

The continuation of the Dinner or a Show short...

Title: Dinner or a Show, Part 3 (THE END) Word Count: 1272 Characters: the Lady, the Thin Man, the Maw Crew CW: Heavy Language Use

The Thin Man stepped out the elevator and entered one of the main halls that lead to the kitchen area. He goal was to first tell the crew that he was in charge for the night. If that went as well as he hoped, the rest of the night should go smoothly. But, he knew he was still generally unliked by the the Maw Crew. Even with the Lady's words, he imagined this was going to be a uphill battle convincing them.

He ducked his head as he passed through a water-tight door. The delicious smells of cooked foods and lively chatter greeted him before he could make his appearance. As soon as he came into view, the warmth from both turned to quick iciness.

"You..." The Janitor sneered at the sound of the Thin Man's approaching.

"Da' fuck you doin' here?" One of the Twin Chefs stood up with a knife in hand.

"Gents...hi." The Thin Man held up his hands defensively. "The Mistress has asked me to take charge of tonight's shift."

"Why?" the other Chef asked quickly, "The fuck happened to her?" The rest of them rose from their seats, ready to pounce, in case he said the wrong answer.

"Nothing," the Thin Man answered calmly, "She's fine. She just wants to see me in pain as I try and succeed at doing her job." The crew didn't seem to like his response. "If I tell you we have a bet, does that change anything?"

"No," the Janitor and the Twin Chefs answered collectively.

"Guys. You know what...how competitive we are. She thinks she can do my job, and I think I can do her job. We just want to see which one of us fails first."

"So, where is the Mistress?" the Janitor growled.

"In Pale City," the Thin Man replied, "Trying to do my job. I'm here to do hers, but better."

"But, the Mistress didn't tell us about this..."

"It was a spontaneous thing." The Thin Man watched the three of them turn away and mutter something amongst themselves. "What?"

"Well..." started one Chef.

"Usually when the boss leaves, we have to put in the fail-safes in check," his Twin finished, "You know, just in case the ship sinks."

"The ship will sink?" the Thin Man asked, half alarmed and half with skepticism.

"Yes," the Janitor snapped, "Literally, in this case. I better get the Old Hag." He hopped down from his seat and hurried to the exit.

"Wait-" The Thin Man stepped forward suddenly. "What do you mean "literally"? The Maw will literally sink without her? Like...SPLOSH!...will actually submerge itself underwater?"

"Yes, you idiot!" The Janitor whirled around and barred his teeth. "I've tried to patch all the holes, but it's the Lady's magic that keeps us afloat. Why do you think she always makes sure things are okay here before you steal her away from us?"

The Thin Man was taken aback from this fact. He always thought the Lady was being overly diligent with her duties before she came over. He quickly thought if he could use his powers to keep the Maw afloat, but it wouldn't work. His abilities were too different from hers. "It's just for an hour or so, though..."

"Still more than enough damage done to the ship without the fail-safes," the Janitor replied quietly.

The Thin Man sighed. If anything happened to the Maw, he'll have to pay more than refunds. "Fine, I'll go get her." He turned to head back to the Residency. "Hope she doesn't think I gave up so easily..."

Once he was back upstairs, the Thin Man heard the gross sounds of sobbing. "Mistress?" He doubled his step to the source of the sound and found the Lady sitting in a fetal position near the t.v. He moved swiftly to her side and knelt down to touch her shoulders. The Lady gasped and flinched away fiercely. "Hey! Hey, it's just me..."

The Lady's face was runny and ruined. The Thin Man was alarmed by the distraught look in her eyes. "What happened?" He took a seat next to her on the floor, folding his long legs close to his chest.

The Lady held back a snivel and shook her head violently.

The Thin Man held her face in his hands. "Dearest, what happened?" He had never seen the Lady cry before...not like this. It scared him. When she didn't answer the second time, he repeated his question again, sterner but not too aggressively.

"N-Nothing," she finally coughed out, "I just..." The Lady wiped away her tears with her hands and sleeves.

The Thin Man backed away to give her space. He didn't want to press her, but his anger started to bubble. "What did they do to you?"

"Nothing!" The Lady held her knees close to her chest. "You really do that all day?"

"What?"

"The..." She pointed to her eye with a shaky finger. "Eye-Mind thing." Tears started to stream down again.

"What Eye-Mind thing?" the Thin Man asked.

"The thing!" the Lady shouted hysterically, "Where they replay what happened in the last episode!"

It took a second, but he got it. "Oh that...fuck." The Thin Man clenched his hand into a fist and looked away in anger. "They shouldn't have done that. They didn't need to. All you needed to do was create a new episode from scratch. Fuck..." A tiny jolt of electricity raced around his body, a clear sign he was angry by this.

"They wanted consistency." The Lady looked away, too; and wiped away some more tears. "How have you not gone mad from that?"

"Oh, I have," the Thin Man answered quickly, "On more than one occasion. The Eyes help me keep track of things, but even they get things confused. Some details get mixed up with different shows, story lines change or end up going to other characters; it's just madness in the long run."

"And Mono has to inherit that!?" the Lady exclaimed.

"Why do you think I work so hard trying to keep him from the worst of it?" The Thin Man looked at the Lady sadly. "It's one of the reasons why you're do important to me. Before you, I had all that running in my mind all the time. With you, I actually get a break from that. You literally keep me grounded."

The Lady smiled at the sincerity in his voice. "You sad boy. Okay, you have the worst job." She laughed at the end.

"Maybe," the Thin Man smiled more at her laugh than winning, "I wasn't allowed to get to your job. Apparently, the Maw will literally sink without you and your magic."

The Lady blinked. "Oh...yeah. I forgot about that." She saw him purse his lips. "Oh, stop. You would have been fine."

"Roger says otherwise," he joked. Then, the Thin Man leaned in closer to the Lady, and brought her knuckles close to his lips. He gave her a quick, soft kiss. "Truce?"

The Lady gave him a glance. She took back her hand and rested her head on his shoulder. "Fine. You can get the stupid bunny costume."

"I think we both lost in this regard, dearest." The Thin Man wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "I could pay the refunds, but I think this needs more than that."

"Hmmm..." The Lady laced her fingers into his, and gave his hand a squeeze. "Spend the night?" she asked.

"Here?" The Thin Man thought it over, but there wasn't much to debate against it. "Sure..."

The two sat on the floor in easy silence, enjoying the company.

#little nightmares #the Lady #the Thin Man #dream granted #short dapples

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